My brother got here safely, but very late, last night.
He asked about doing laundry before he left, said he was afraid to go down the creaky basement stairs, and that started the first spat of the visit.
Then this morning, when we fixed pancakes for our wives, we fought over the last precious drops of butter pecan syrup. A sample of the conversation:
"I paid for it; it's mine."
"I said I'd pay for anything I ate!"
"You're diabetic. You're not supposed to have it anyhow."
"Don't bring my diabetes into this! You're just selfish!"
Then while we were fighting over the Washington Post this morning, which contained both panda baby *and* Sinead coverage, with him playing keep-away and me yelling "Get your own damn paper!", our mom called.
"The children are fighting over the newspaper," L'Ailee told her. (She's an only child; she doesn't get it.)
My mom said it brought back memories and she was going to cry.
And you know what's really stupid? I guess we've both just been way too rational and mature lately, because I felt *cleansed* and he looked calm, and we were smiling and hugging as I left for work.
WEIRD. Our wives thought so, too.
And now the Dorkfish and my SIL are walking around NYC, woefully underdressed for the weather in true Floridian style (I was there last year), and I'm fretting. I made damn sure their phones were charged up and they had all our numbers. I'm 7 years older than him, so worrying over him is a regressive thing for me, too!
I am worrying even though he begged me to "please don't go all crazy" at Sinead's show tomorrow night. Listen to this and tell me there ain't gonna be no dancing...especially since, instead of L'Ailee (who can get jealous of Sinead for some unfathomable reason), I'm taking my favorite dance partner!