Bothersome Brother

I can’t remember a day without my big brother.  He was my best friend, my first enemy, my biggest influcence, my only protector.  He taught me everything I know.   For example, when I was just learning to talk, my great big  bro taught me to say, “Jennifer did it (or in my immature articulation “Efferdid”),” any time questions arose like, “Who broke that lamp?”; “Who made that mess?”‘ or “Who peed on the floor?”  

His kindergarten year was so lonely for me.  I was lost without him. Each evening was full of activity, playing and learning together.  Later, when I started school, he carefully helped me on and off the bus each day.  During recess, he was on a mission to ensure my uninterrupted (read: unbullied) fun.   He was in high school when I was in junior high; he watched the boys like hawks, ensuring I was protected from their claws.

Now it wasn’t always flowers and butterflies.  One evening, while watching TV, my wonderful brother was being a royal couch hog (yes, brother you were!).  After repeated, sweetly asked, and polite requests to move his feet, I pinched his achilles tendon.  Hard, with all the force I could muster.  I could barely enjoy my victory, when, lo and behold, he kicked me.  In the face.  Hard, with all the force he could muster.  I screamed bloody murder and we both were grounded….forever.

Another time, I was innocently completing homework in my room with the door closed.  It was late, 10:30 or so, when I heard my wonderful brother call my name.  As the obedient younger sister, I immediately go to heed his call.   As I open the door, I can’t.  It’s stuck.  I keep trying to open the door, when I notice there is a rope, tying my door to the bathroom door, which is preventing me from opening it all the way.  I call and beg and plead to be let out.  He doesn’t respond.  I’m becoming claustrophobic.  I’m terrified.  I suddenly need to pee.  I look desperately around.  THE WINDOW!!!! I’ll climb out and go around to the side door.  I’m halfways out the window, when the door opens and my dad comes walking in, and bellows, “What are you doing?” 

As you can see, my brother and I have been through it all.  The constant separation and reunion of my parents.  Our tiffs, spats and fights (he choked me out…once, for a second, then apologized profusely for hours).  Graduations.  Moves.  Job losses.  Job offers.  Sicknesses.  Injuries.  The many family deaths.  The subsequent family fued that still lingers.   The birth of each of his children.  Perhaps the greatest honor he has bestowed on me is that of godmother to his oldest child. 

He is my brother.  We’ve laughed.  Cried.  Yelled.  But most of all we’ve  always supported each other throughout the years.  I am so proud of the man he has become, the family he has created.  Most importantly I am proud of the brother he has always been.

Imperfectly Perfect

For those of you who don’t know me, romantic relationships have never been my strong point.  As a matter of fact, there was a time when I believed I was more likely to be killed by a terrorist than to marry (true story).  My longest relationship was pushing a solid six months. 

…Then I met Simon.  We met the night of my 28th birthday party.  We danced, he was grilled by my friends and he left with my number newly entered in his phone.  The next day we met for coffee and the rest, as they say, is history. 

We really are a solid, strong couple (the kind other people either envy or make other people gag).  He’s my fashion counterpart,  suspenders and vests to match my stockinged heels and feathered hairband.  He has a sarcastic sense of humor that compliments (and more importantly gets) my twisted, dry sense of humor.  He’s passionate.  He challenges my thinking and sometimes we debate (or argue depending on the issue) for hours.  He’s adventurous and open minded, we’re always moving and trying something new.  He’s a sci-fi nerd.  I’m a bookworm.  He brings me flowers absolutely  no reason.   He smiles and I blush.  I smile and he tears up (just kidding it was getting a little sappy).  Overall we match up in all those ways a couple can and should.

Now let me clarify, we’re a perfect match but by no means are we perfect.  We both came with so much baggage, we spent almost the entire two years unpacking (both literally and figuratively).  We are each stubborn, bull headed, cabezudos, who can get so caught up in being right, we forget being kind.  We each have our weaknesses (although I’m sure he’d deny having any).  Ultimately though, we’re committed to ourselves, each other and this relationship. 

He’s my rock (ironic enough his middle name is Peter).  He always knows what to say or do to make me feel safe, secure and supported.  He seems to know (by my audible sighs) when I need a shoulder rub or the living room cleaned.  He let’s me cry for no reason, and listens with a focused ear.  He’s patient with me, and usually sympathetic (usually), when I’m moody.  He listens to what I need and does his best to provide.

I’ve been blessed because, he’s taught me so many things.  Unconditional Love.  My perfect golf swing.  Logical thinking.  Deep breathing and meditation.  Optimism.  Patience.  As a couple, we have learned so much.  Compromise.  Healthy Relationship Skills (google solves any disagreement…almost).  Total body by Jake.  Reflection.  Trust.  But, perhaps the most important is that we can get through anything… together.