My brother and his family stopped by our house on their way back from vacation. He gave me and my kids great big bear hugs, as always, and he made me laugh continuously throughout the evening with his acerbic tongue and unmatched raconteur abilities.
He also gave me my belated birthday gift which included a number of things. This really goes to the crux of why I love him so much. First, he gave me a "Pride and Prejudice" inspired novel-- one that I actually hadn't yet read. I love this genre (and I do think it's a genre in and of itself, even though it's a little "lightweight.") I was thrilled. Next, he gave me a book by Charles Dickens, Little Dorrit. He knows that after I read yet another Austen wannabe book, I'll need to read something with a little more clout to make me feel smart. He also said he thought the story was Austenesque, so he figured I'd like it. (Actually, I caught part of the movie, "Little Dorrit", on Masterpiece Theater last spring and was riveted, so he was right.) Next up, I opened a Michael Jackson tribute tee with the price tag of $5.99 still attached, for effect. He knew the shirt would make me laugh because we share the same sense of humor. And, for the piece de resistance, he gave me an absolutely beautiful and stylish (think New York City and single!) top that's form fitting and is precisely my size. By the way, my brother has the BEST taste in women's clothes of any heterosexual man I know. I get more compliments on the clothes he buys me than on anything I buy for myself.
But, it's not the material gifts that make me appreciate and love my brother. It's the fact that he takes so much time and effort to buy me things he knows I will adore. He knows me better than anyone else in the world, and I love that about him. When he gives me a gift, it's like he's telling me how much he cares about me and how much he loves me, and that's why he's priceless.