Uncle Matt in Ireland

Back in the day, when my love for Tony was only a crush, I would cringe every time he was late for something. During our senior year of high school, we had first period together. Every single day, I would sit and watch the clock nervously awaiting his arrival. Most of the time, he made it in seconds before the bell rang with soaking wet hair and wearing sweat pants. Some of the time, he was late and rewarded a "tardy" slip.

On Sundays, we would go to the same church in the evenings. Our group sat in the back row. I would look over my shoulder a hundred times waiting for Tony to show up. Once in awhile, he'd show up before Mass began, but sometimes he got there just in time for Communion. But he always did show up. Always.

I was raised by a dad who taught me what his dad taught him: if you're on time, you're fifteen minutes late. You can imagine how Tony's tardiness drove me to the brink of insanity. Especially when he was late to pick me up in Boston after I'd traveled across the country to visit him.

As my love for Tony grew (because he was always worth the wait), I subsequently got to know his older brother a little better and realized that he was even more late for things. Even more of a lollygagger. It was just a family tendency. I had to accept it. I've even learned to count on it. The Blaine boys might be late, but they always pull through. They never drop out because they lost track of time.

Now, our son is the biggest lollygagger of all, but that's not what this is about.

This is about Uncle Matt, who, after three years of receiving invites from us to come to Italy, finally, in true Blaine boy fashion, set foot on the same continent as us.

We met him at the Cliffs of Moher.

He got to meet his one and only niece for the first time. I think she likes him.

He gallivanted around Ireland with us for a bit.

He helped Graham become friends with a cute, Irish lassie.

His presence was wonderful and we enjoyed every second.

Graham, especially, enjoyed the shoulder rides.

But now, we're back in Italy, and he is in Brussels visiting friends with the promise that he will meet us here on the third of July.

I'm sitting here eating my pasta and drinking my wine with only a few weeks left to live in this country. I'm watching the clock, looking over my shoulder, and waiting on another Blaine boy to arrive just before it's too late...

This is the story of my life.