I sit in my apartment writing, the smell of grass making me homesick. Our courtyard has just been mowed for the first time this season, and the fumes so familiar waft through our open apartment window. Freshly cut grass. Springtime. Childhood. Home.

Homesickness is this funny thing that you expect but can never adequately defend against. I guess learning that is part of growing up. That being said, it has been harder than I expected to not be home for the birth of my nephew. Is it odd that I miss someone I have never met?

I hope to post a picture of Sergio Andrew Castillejos (III:) as soon as I can get permission from the new parents. I plan on calling him junior, though I am sure the name will never stick, or JR. He is from Dallas.