Fuzzy memories

I'm pretty sure I already put this picture up on the last blog. Actually, I lied when I said 'I'm pretty sure' because the reality is that I know I already put this picture up. But I don't care. I'm putting it up again. On a completely unrelated subject, I was reminded today of when me and my brothers had to go to Catilian. Catilian are classes designed to torture children and make parents proud of their offspring. Think piano lessons, but instead of teaching you how to play the piano, they teach you how to be polite, eat cookies with your right hand, and enjoy the art of torture. It's like signing your cat up for water polo lessons and forcing it to stay in the water for 2 hours straight. In kid time, that might as well be an entire day. It was painful... Anyway, I survived one year of it, but I utterly refused to go a second year. I can't remember why, but I threw such a fit that my parents didn't force me to go, but Brian and Matt ended up having to go. But then they ditched every class and would hide in these fake bushes inside of a hotel. I remember them telling me about their amazing adventures in hiding from security guards, and I kind of wished that I was hiding with them. But I was, in my own way, hiding from Catilian by staying at home. I'm not sure why I thought of these fuzzy memories today, and I'm not sure they're even fit for you to read, but I'm putting them up anyway. I'm sure I left out a lot of fun details, so Matt, feel free to comment...