Tag Archives: growing up

My Idiot Brother

My little brother is only a year and a half younger than I am, so we were really close growing up. I used to be very bossy but my brother was always extremely mellow and did what I told him, so we got along great.


Notice we're all wearing fake mustaches before it was cool.

Notice we’re all wearing fake mustaches before it was cool.

My brother used to do weird shit like stand in my closet, still as a statue, just waiting to scare the living shit out of me. I would come in and do my thing and then catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye. It never failed. I freaked out every.single.time.

Just like this.

Just like this.

When I was about 13 I was very surprised when my dad sat me down to have a talk about curiosity.

I was very embarrassed when I realized we were talking about sexual curiosity.

I could not understand what had brought this horrible situation on. As it turned out, my dad had found one of his special movies in my VCR. Yes. My little brother borrowed it and played it in MY room on MY VCR BECAUSE HE WAS A SNEAKY LITTLE SNEAK. Of course, my dad did not believe my protestations, so I got to sit through what is still the most uncomfortable conversation I’ve ever had. With my DAD. Who thought I had STOLEN a PORNO.  Jesus. Just thinking about it is making me blush.

oh no you didnt


I didn’t kill him, although I wanted to.

The older we got, the wilder we got. My brother was always just a step ahead of me though. If I skipped school, he got caught for skipping school. If I got drunk, he got really drunk, danced on my car, head butted someone, and gave me a hundred dollars.

Someone's about to get headbutted.

Someone’s about to get headbutted.

Did I mention that we were a little wild?


One time my mom decided that his room needed cleaning while he wasn’t home. I took it upon myself to get everything out of there that I thought she might not like before she started cleaning.

I ran out of the house hauling a giant garbage bag full of shit, in the dark, into the backyard. My intention was to throw the bag in the woods behind our house, where he could then rescue it or let it rot as he saw fit. Unfortunately for both of us, I ran smack into a deer carcass that my dad had hung up earlier that day, totally unbeknownst to me. Straight into it, like I was trying to wear its dead body as a suit. I dropped my brother’s shit and ran as fast as I could back in the house. That’s what I got for trying to save him some grief.




Similar to this, only dead, skinned, and hanging spread eagle from a tree.


As we became adults and started settling down, I started depending on him a lot more. He was my best friend and anytime I was upset or sad (which was a lot) I would go visit him and some of his mellow-nothing-bothers-me-attitude would rub off on me for a while. I could always call him and he’d always be up to talk or hang out or go out or stay in or whatever. I can’t remember a single bit of advice my brother ever gave me, but I can name hundreds of times he’s made me feel better, just by being there. Now he’s grown up and moved away and become a father and a contributing member of society. I have no idea how that happened.

I’m proud of the little shit, but man, do I miss him.


Back to school. *sigh*

The kids went back to school today. I started freaking out about it Friday and proceeded to organize everything in my house, like it would somehow protect them from bullies, mean teachers, yucky food, and head lice.  If everything was in just the right spot, what could go wrong? (I realize this is nuts.  Thanks.)

I think I did pretty good at hiding my back-to-school and sending-my-baby-to-Pre-K anxiety from the children. I was all hearts and flowers and “It will be SO MUCH FUN! Aren’t you EXCITED?!” But inside I was like “Waaaaa! My babies.”

I’m not alone in this.  My husband has called me three times this morning, the last time to ask if he “should just go take a peek and see how she’s doing.”  No.  That’s frowned upon.  I know my limits, so I’m just staying away from that school. If any of the three kids even wrinkled a nose at me, I’d have ‘em packed in the car and the homeschool books ordered.

It’s not that I’m against public schools.  It’s not that I think my local school is a bad school.  It’s just that I love my kids the way they are.  I hate how rigid the schools are and how every child is expected to be just like every other child.  (My middle child is certainly well on his way to teaching them different.)  I mean, c’mon, do ALL the pencils have to be plain yellow #2 pencils? If my kid, who hates school with such a passion, wants a freaking green pencil, I’m fine with that.  My little one (who has been home with me since she first wiggled in my belly) was so excited to take her tiny little backpack today.  No.  No backpacks allowed.  Because Lord knows what a 4-year-old might smuggle into school in a 6-inch My Little Pony backpack.

I see the pros of school.  Interacting with peers, learning to follow rules, getting along with others, learning how to deal with assholes – these are all things children need to know.  But not every kid is a yellow #2 pencil.  I don’t want my purple-striped, glitter-covered, shiny-polka-dotted, maybe-chewed-a-little-bit pencils sharpened down until they match all the others.

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