A day late and a dollar short

When I was three my mom sat me down on her knee and explained that I would no longer be the baby of the family. I remember crying and not quite understanding, but being excited with my two sisters that we were getting a brother. A few weeks or months later, my mom brought little Blake Allen home from the hospital. I remember my mom sitting in the blue chair (that is now upholstered red and in her bedroom) in the living room of the Stearns house and crowding around the little bundle in her arms. I remember when it was my turn to hold him, how proud I was.

Getting a little brother was definitely something new to us three little girls. Bats and balls and gloves soon showed up at our house that had been solely inhabited by barbies and dolls and pink playthings. As far back as I remember, Blake loved sports. I have vivid memories of him playing catch with my dad and hitting the ball of the tee when he could barely run. Those memories are mixed in with the hundreds of little league games that started when he was five. Our Saturdays always revolved around the baseball schedule.

Even as a little kid, Blake was feisty. He had three (somewhat soft) older sisters and torment us, he did. If I remember right, he got along with Sara pretty good--they had a mutual respect for each other--but Tasha and I he would chase around the house screaming. I still know the look he gets when he is going to be mischievous.

Blake has always had a mind of his own. As a kid, he loved anything that had to do with being outside--skateboarding, surfing, soccer, baseball, bike-riding, lawn-mowing, etc. He always had energy and he was good at helping. My grandpa Snowball used to always tell how it was only Blake who had the stamina to work in the yard with him all day--long after the other grandkids had gone in for a glass of water or a movie. When he was old enough to help my dad put up the Christmas lights, he spent hours lining up and staple gunning what previously had been crooked and softly strung lights done by my dad.

His freshman year of high school I went away to college. My college semester would end for in April--just time in for the high school baseball season. While I didn't always love going to his little league games all Saturday as a kid, I did love watching him play on his high school and club teams.

My most vivid memory of Blake during those four years was right before my mission. He was a junior in high school and I was home getting ready (waiting) to leave. One Friday or Saturday night I was downstairs in the living room reading when he came home. He came in and we were talking. He told me that he was going to stop being friends with a kid down the street that he and Chad had both been friends with off and on since we'd moved to that house. I asked why and he told me that the kid was involved in drugs and other things that weren't good. He told me that he didn't do any of that stuff, but he didn't want Mom or Dad hearing rumors or thinking that he was. He didn't want to lose their trust. I remember feeling so proud of him for making that decision--for valuing my parent's trust over a friend's.

I will never forget how excited I was to get the email that Blake had made it onto the BYU baseball team. I was on my mission and missed almost all of his games that first year. When I got home it was early May and the season was almost over. Five days after getting off the plane, my mom and I drove out to Provo to see the last home games of the season. There is nothing so exciting as seeing your own little brother suited up in a BYU uniform and on the field or hanging out of the dugout watching the game.

That summer we all sat in the living room as Blake calmly opened his mission call to the St. Louis Spanish speaking mission. I hate to admit that I was not as good a letter writer as I should have been. We loved getting his fun little emails and hearing about his Spanish adventures. It was so fun to be on the home end of the Christmas and Mother's Day phone calls. We would put the phone on speaker and sit ourselves around it like the spokes of a wheel every time we got to talk to him. I loved speaking Spanish with him and asking about his investigators.

Almost a year ago he came home bigger and taller and really looking like a baseball player, and jumped right back into BYU baseball. I was able to be at a handful of games and don't know if there is anything I love more than a BYU game with Blake in the dugout. Alright, I like it when he is on the mound too--although I get really nervous for him! I loved sitting by Whitney, his girlfriend, or any of my family that was also in town for the game. I love going out afterward. Blake is so funny! He always has a joke or something witty to say. He came back from his mission just a little bit softer--more considerate. Every time I was in Provo this year, he had a way of making me feel welcome. I loved getting to watch him play, and I loved getting to spend time with him.And YESTERDAY was his birthday! Happy (late) Birthday, Blake. I love you.