You know, it’s funny. Twenty years after I hated my brother so much I was willing to smack him in the head with a frying pan (yep, actually did), we’ve come so far in our relationship. I consider him one of my best friends, and he always knows just how to cheer me up, even online. After lamenting on about having to wait over the weekend to hear back on a couple of job interviews I had today, he replied with the sweetest tweet:
Now I feel really bad about that frying pan incident…
“Hi. My name is Catherine. I am nine years old.”
I glanced nervously over at my big brother, his grin both mischievous and proud. “Keep going,” he mouthed. I held the crayon written paper up in my shaking hand.
“This is my favorite radio station. Can you please play Achy Breaky Heart? It’s my favorite song.”
The dee-jay’s booming laugh bounced off my ear through the beige phone. “Shouldn’t you be in bed little girl?”
I threw the phone to my brother, the spiraled cord catching right before it hit his hands, sending it bouncing to the orangeish-brown carpet and sliding right back to me.
“Um…I guess so.” I somehow found the nerve to keep talking.
“Well alright. But after it plays, you go …
For awhile now, I’ve been sharing what’s on my heart about the tragic loss and aftermath of losing my brother Eric. But here’s the thing. God not only blessed me with one amazing brother, but with two. My brother Luke is five years older than me, and although we fought like crazy when we were young, I consider him one of my best friends now. And today is his birthday.
If I could turn back time, I would have a puppy party with him at sunset after finishing the dishes, share a bowl of ramen noodles in front of the wall furnace, fix a bowl of cockadoodledoo, watch back-to-back episodes of Star Trek (Captain Picard only, please), and sing every song in the Jungle Book sound track at the top of our lungs. These are …
Playing…leads to…stealing…leads to…screaming…leads to…pushing…leads to… refereeing…leads to…hugging…leads to…biting…leads to…crying…leads to…scolding…leads to…more crying…leads to…feeding…leads to…flinging…leads to…cleaning…leads to…bathing…leads to…splashing…leads to…whining…leads to…more crying…leads to…Googling “at-home vasectomy.”
If we don’t laugh, we’ll cry, so might as well find the funny!
I’d like to tell you about Erica. My second born. Her big sister gets all of the attention on momma’s blog, but little sister is a personality all her own. Anna is my squeaky wheel, mainly because she is three, and challenges and delights my mind in ways I never knew possible.
Just tonight, Anna told me, “Mom! I just saw an angel! In the sky! It was a girl. She had magic in her ears!” When asked the angel’s name, she replied, “Water bottle.” See? There she goes, stealing the spotlight from a post about how her little sister never gets the attention. Anyhoo…
Erica is a delight. A chubby, bubbly toddling bundle of energy and curiosity. How do I love Erica? Let me count the ways:
1. I love how she passionately …