So, tomorrow I embark on a journey to my home away from home - my beloved little college town in the mountains of Virginia. But instead of going to see friends and revisit my old haunts and eat as much of my old favorite food as is physically possible in the matter of a couple of days (my favorite food places there are either sandwich places, or the place that mixes lots of unhealthy things in your frozen yogurt - but it's still yogurt so you feel healthy! How can one little place have several better sandwich places than the big place I live in now? It's just not right.)
Where was I? Oh yeah, instead of it being all me, me, me this weekend, I will be going for the purpose of seeing my brother get married. (But you can bet that in between the 2 breakfasts, 1 lunch, and 2 dinners that are already planned for me, I'll be finding a time to stuff down some multi-toppinged yogurt.)
Now, this is my baby brother. Do any of you out there know what I mean? My sister was my little sister. She tagged along after me, spied on me, told on me, and we generally tried to drive each other as crazy as possible. But my brother was the baby. I didn't compete with him like I did with my sister* - I cared for him. I taught him how to swing a baseball bat, how to identify who is a boy and who is a "gir", I picked him up out of his crib and carried him down the stairs in his dinosaur pajamas, and I changed that boy's diapers. And I wanted to make sure I announced that to the world, because nothing makes him more uncomfortable than for me to make a reference to changing his diapers. (This is why I do it.)
Oh, and once, when I was driving around my sister and her friend and their little 7th grade boyfriends, and those little 4-foot tall boys started making fun of my brother? I was instantly transformed from the extremely cool 16-year-old that I was into a very uncool adult mama-bear type when I pulled the car over on the side of a road, slowly turned around, barely containing my rage, and told those boys to get out and walk. I think it was the giggling of the girls that drove me over the edge.
*We did compete some when he got older... like the time he thought that just because he had grown taller than me while I was away at college meant that he could beat me at a game of around the world. One thing I must not have taught him was how to lose graciously.
Anyway, let's get back to this diapers thing. (Because that would make him happy - and I want to make him happy during his wedding week.) I don't think I actually changed his diapers that much, because I only had to do it when I was babysitting, and half the time when I was babysitting? I made my sister do it. Well, less than half the time really - I was nice. I only got her to do it when they were the stinky kind. And I really didn't even have to make her do it, I just had to ask (/order) and she went to work. I realize now that she must have been 5 or 6 years old, but hey, she was always good at that stuff! And she LOVED babies and anything to do with babies. She would have been perfectly happy lovin' on babies all day long, while I much preferred to be on the couch watching cartoons. And which one of us now has their own baby's diapers to change and needed the practice anyway? She does! I hope she appreciates the preparation I gave her.
At some point in my life I gained a little perspective on these diaper changing memories and realized, "wait a minute... if I was changing his diapers... then I couldn't have been more than 8 or 9 years old..." When I asked my mom if she was indeed leaving me in charge of my younger siblings at this age, she responded with, "Well, you were very mature for your age."
If that's true, I must be making it up for it now.
Let's take a look and see. I got the honor of organizing old photos that my parents found for the ole' rehearsal dinner slide show, so I have some recently scanned in family portraits here:
Why yes, I do look mature. No white paint-splattered jeans for me - I've grown beyond fashion. Just dress me in some sensible blue, please. And make sure my Izod shirt is extra tight.
What about at this age?
I don't know.... matching bows in the hair doesn't much convey maturity... maybe it could say, "I'm organized and color coordinated." But most likely it says, "My mommy does my hair."
Well, we all lived.
Believe it or not, none of this is what I meant to get to when beginning this post. "But how can somehow write so much about nothing?", you ask. I know, I'm talented. And you probably stopped reading long ago, anyway.
Here's what I was getting to: As excited as I am about seeing my extended family this weekend at the wedding (and I am excited about that), there are a few things I'd like not to be said to me this weekend. Or rather, a few things that I'd like not said again.
Here are some examples:
1) Aunt: "I pray every night that you'll find a good man!"
This one was actually wouldn't have been so bad, if it had not been shouted from a considerable distance. (And if she had not had such a look of desperation.)
2) Uncle: "So, how are things going up there?"
me: Start rambling excitedly on how busy work is, and how I get to help sue the tobacco companies and see all their hidden paperwork, and what an exciting place D.C. is, trips I am taking, etc.
Uncle: (cutting me off, rather abruptly) "mmhm, but what else is going on up there? They got them any boys up there in Virginy? Because, you're not so young anymore, you know. No, (low whistling sound), you're getting up there!"
I was 22, maybe 23. This was nearly 10 years ago. Not good.
3) Aunt, to my cousin, her son, who is my age: "What about Drew for Jennifer?"
cousin: "No, mom, he has a girlfriend."
Aunt: "Well what about Ethan?"
cousin: "He just got engaged."
Aunt: "What about Tom then?"
cousin: "No, that's a bad idea. He's not so good."
Aunt: "Hmm. Well. It's too bad you two are cousins."
cousin (horrified): "Mom!"
Aunt: "Well I'm just saying, I'd love to have Jennifer for a daughter-in-law. If she wasn't already my niece."
cousin, again: "Mom!"
Aunt: "What? I'm just saying that you're both great catches. Tell Jennifer she's a great catch. Tell her."
cousin walks away in disgust.
She brought it back up again later that night, and it just continued to decline from there.
I'm afraid that a wedding will be just the type of thing to bring on this behavior. Especially when it's the wedding of one's baby brother.
Well, wish me luck!
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