I woke up this morning thinking, as I have all my life, that today is my brother Stephen's birthday. I was going to search for a picture of him as a child, because he was extremely adorable, but then he sent this to me in my morning e-mail. It is a truly hideous picture of him, but you shouldn't send a hideous picture to your sister unless you expect her to publish it. Today I am not feeling terribly creative after teaching co-op classes all morning, but fortunately I've blogged about Stephen before. He is in nearly every one of my childhood memories but very few of my significant adult memories. How does that happen? Where do we lose that? February 12 used to be one of the most significant days of the year, behind only my own birthday and Christmas. Funny how my brother's birthday becomes just a footnote on the day, just a casual mention at breakfast, a "by the way, it's Uncle Stephen's birthday."