I found out that my cousin is married to Braeden's mission companion's sister.
(So they're practically related.)
(Did you keep that relationship straight?)
When you have fifty cousins, chances are you have a cousin for everything.
I'll file this away with other things that aren't going to happen:
Braeden wrote in his last email--in response to my queries about his accident, "I know it goes against your nature, but I hope and pray you don't worry about me too much."
Not. Going. To. Happen. Worrying is kind of my superpower. Stick with what you know, I say.
He started the email with, "Oh my goodness Mom, I'm fine!" and sent this picture:
He said it looks worse than it was and he thought the nurse was bored so she bandaged him extra.
I'll never learn:
Or Mark won't. He needed a haircut so I was planning to take him after school. Then I started contemplating driving him there and sitting and waiting and the stuff I had to do around here and I convinced him to let me cut it myself. He never likes it when I cut his hair and I was sure this time would be different and I persuaded him this time would be different.
He doesn't like it.
I think he looks cute.
|typical Horace: photobombing|
I always think he looks cute, even when he is doing math homework with a haircut he doesn't like. (And also, he hadn't seen that picture of Braeden with the nearly identical pose. )
Where did I go wrong with those two?
Another thing demonstrating I will never learn: in that picture Mark is wearing a new Star Wars t-shirt I bought him Saturday minutes after I told him I would definitely not, never-not-ever buy him a new Star Wars t-shirt because he has a closet full of them.
But did you see how cute he is?