Brotherly Love

I’m not sure I can do this but I will try.

In a few days, my younger (and only) brother and his wife and their three small children will be moving from Houston, back to his wife’s hometown in rural Indiana.

We’ve all known this was coming. It has not been a secret.

They have to do what is best for their family, and trying to raise small children in the rat race of Houston is hard and not good for small children.

In 1994, when my husband and I had one child, we did the exact same thing-packed up and moved with our 14 month old to a small town we had visited exactly one time.

As a new mom, I felt like the crime and city life was not where I wanted my kids to be raised.

Four years and two babies later, we moved right back so I could be near my mom.

When we moved back, our kids were the exact same age as my brother’s kids are now.

I understand the need to be near family and have help, and it’s been hard for our family to help them much due to our own crazy work schedules.

But, in my whole life, I have never, ever been far from my brother. We’ve lived within 2 hours of each other for almost twenty years now.

We weren’t exactly best friends growing up. That’s putting it mildly.

He was absolutely incorrigible as a younger brother.

Imagine Dennis the Menace on steroids. And then some.

 

 

 

 

 

He had some great gifts:

• He was very curious. He loved to take things apart. The problem was, everything he took apart was mine. And he had NO skill for putting things back together.
• He was skilled at vanishing, instantly. I cannot remember how many times we would be at the mall, long before the days of cell phones, and quite literally, you would blink your eyes and he would be gone. And he would stay gone. After the malls were nearly closed, and my mom had travelled the property at least three times with mall security and mumbled every four letter word under her breath, he would instantly appear at the car, looking at us all like ‘what, where’s everyone been?’

  I remember one summer day, he was grounded for something, who knows what.

  He got in the shower, which should have been a big clue that something was up, but I wasn’t a mom then and didn’t know 11 year old boys rarely take showers in the summer. About an hour later, I realized that shower had been going way too long.

  He had pulled my dads dresser drawer out, which blocked the window and must have weight 150 pounds, and my 11 year old brother had climbed OUT THE WINDOW and gone out to play. My charge had escaped

There were times when he would infuriate me, I would chase him around so I could just beat his a** for something he had done to me, but he was younger and faster and usually made it away from me.

He was awful, just awful-everything you would expect from a younger brother, multiplied by a thousand!

As the big sister though, I always got my revenge.

He loved Ramen Noodles, it was his favorite food (go figure). But he hated the noodles broken into pieces, they HAD to be whole. ;)

Think you can run faster than me? That’s fine. I can sure get the Ramen noodles out, all of them, and crunch them into a zillion pieces.

This brought the running to an instant halt, along with instant wails on injustice.

Loved it. Can you tell I still take pride in my creative revengefulness?

We were home alone during the summer a lot, and it was my job to make sure he got into as little trouble as possible (a nearly impossible feat.) A few times he would try to call my dad at work to report my few, I’m sure minor, infractions.

I would pick up the other phone line and sit.

You cannot call out when someone has the other phone off the hook. Heh, heh.

Think you can report on me mister? Good luck with that. I would just hold the other phone off the hook while he screamed about it not being fair that he couldn’t call out.

Saying he was sneaky, more like the devil, is an understatement.

One day last week, my eye caught one of those large photo frames we have in our house that holds several different sized photos. There is a photo of him holding my middle son as a newborn and kissing Tyler, who was about two years old.

I remembered that he brought Tyler a pair of new born Air Jordans to the hospital when he was born, when he had no job, and no business buying a newborn $60 shoes.

I realized when I saw that photo, how lucky I had been to have my children grow up around him their whole lives. They’ve had more head locks, wedgies, farts in their faces, and baseball games than anyone can imagine. He has been an integral part of their lives, and I am lucky that they have formed a life long bond with him that I know will last regardless of where he lives.

I was in the hospital room, helping (because he’s still such a chicken) when all three of his kids were born.

I understand the need to do what is right for your family. But, the air around us will be a little different, and it will take my entire extended family awhile to adjust to them being gone.

I hope he knows how much I love him and how proud I am of him-he is an amazing, wonderful, father-and how much we will miss them, how much my boys will miss the headlocks, the Christmas dinners, the Confetti Easter Eggs, the wedgies.

Now that I think about it, I bet he’s moving now because my kids are finally big enough to collectively take him down and return the wedgies and headlocks.

Chicken.

I guess I better Google the directions to Indiana.

And good luck with those Yankees, Sean.

Maybe you should ask one of them if you can take their car apart to fix it? ;)

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Saying Goodbye

I received an email this morning as I got ready for work, from a very good friend that I've known since childhood, saying that his mom had died of pancreatic cancer early this morning.

Without a calendar in front of me, I believe it's been 3 to 4 weeks from, 'my mom doesn't look good' until the news today, which fortunately arrived post coffee, pre-mascara.

Three to four weeks? How is that even possible?

It took my breath away, the suddeness, the sheer inability to even start a battle against a disease, much less lose one so quickly.

It was made more difficult by that fact that this was someone who, if I had stopped by to visit and had a Diet Coke in my hand (a definite), would have promptly handed me a dissertation on aspartame and the negative effects it has on your body. To say she was very health conscious would be like me saying 'I'm sorta busy'-huge understatement.

The world doesn't stop though, for cancer or tears or runny mascara.

I had no choice really but to continue with getting ready for work, Visine in first, mascara on last, Mary Kay puffy eye helper gel stuff on hand as back up.

I try to learn lessons when they are staring me straight in the face, sorta like when Darth Bulldog was breathing down my neck the other day and I couldn't get away from him.

There is a lesson here, many I am sure, some I might not think of for a long time.

What I walked away with, and I believe she might have wanted us to take something from this, is something we all know but just forget, other than skip the Diet cokes:


None of us is every guaranteed another moment, another day, another year, with a loved one.
We are so caught up in the warp speed world we all have grown accustomed to, that the small things, the things we would somehow change or say in the end if we had the chance, are forgotten or assumed. And suddenly with no notice, the chance is gone.

If only God was on Twitter or Facebook and could update people's status for them as needed.

We might all be on a little more alert if we logged on one night and our Facebook status suddenly said, "Only a few weeks left, better tell everyone you love them now, see you soon, God."

Or if I received a Tweet that said, "shannonr2, time's almost up, get ready, God."

If only it worked that way.

Of course I would have to instantly reply back, (because I have my Blackberry with me 24/7) with "Whoa, God, we need to talk. Who gave you access to my calendar? And you're not on my Outlook schedule yet!"

We all have a time and we hope it's a long time away, but when the moment arrives, I know I won't be looking for the Blackberry or worried about the bills.

I will wish for more pancakes at breakfast on Sunday with the kids, one more night of noisy teenagers crashed on my couch, a few more moments with my husband, more phone calls to my dad, lunches with my mom and swimming pool excursions with my Power Puff Girl/Cinderella nieces and happy as a clam nephew.

Call someone you haven't talked to and tell them you love them.

It will mean so much more now for you to tell someone how much you care for them, then in the urgency of final moments, that you may or may not be granted.

And if all else fails, go ahead and Tweet it to them. Text it. IM Them. Shoot, send it through Facebook.

After all, God gave us technology for a reason.

As for me, I'm going to watch a movie with my husband and son. No Tweeting necessary.

Good bye to an old friend, a good mom.

Thank you for the Thanksgiving dinners you served me throughout high school.

And I promise to try to cut back on the Diet Coke.

You will me missed.

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Jon minus Kate

Well, I started a blog tonight while waiting for my flight to Austin.

The original blog was about the tv programming choices that I had to choose from at 11:30 last night. I didn't finish that post, the flight arrived, maybe I'll get to it later.

As I spend the night at my dad's house in Austin, I am saddened by the news that Jon and Kate have decided to divorce. Not entirely surprised, but saddened.

I am a child of divorce, I know the pain divorce causes, on a very personal level.

I can still remember being 10 years old and my mom breaking the news to my brother and I at a restaurant not too far from where I am tonight actually.

Breaking the news to two kids was devastating, I am sure, although it's not something we've really ever discussed since then, how that conversation happened.

I really cannot comprehend breaking that news to eight children.

At the age of 10, I knew the news was coming. I believe the two older children on this tv show are about the age I was when my parents divorced.

At that age, you are old enough to know something has drastically gone wrong, but not old enough to comprehend what has happened or why.

Sort of like watching a car wreck happening in slow motion and being helpless to stop it.

I remember the knowing, the understanding, that what we had known as normal, would no longer be normal.

Even though my parents had not told me, I knew.

I remember the dread of waiting for the actual verbal announcement to arrive, and a little bit of relief at my mom confirming what my brain told me but my heart desperately wanted to change, to stop, to prove me wrong.

You cannot stop a wreck once it's in motion.

I've heard a lot of blame directed at Jon and Kate and who is at fault here.

The tabloids and gossip magazines have placed this couple on the front of their magazines and rotated the blame each week.

As much as Kate and Jon are grown ups and in full control of their own lives, TLC needs to step up to the plate here and own up to their part in this.

The Learning Channel? REALLY? What exactly are we learning from this situation? How to get divorced in 3 easy seasons?

TLC has dangled money, trips, gifts and more money in front of a family that was in dire need of help.

And I refuse to believe that the people behind the scenes on this show did not see this wreck unfolding.

They should be ashamed.

No, you cannot stop a wreck.

But you can certainly call for help.

Instead, TLC has done just the opposite. They have basked in the ratings of this catastrophe and as much as they've tried to seem concerned, the fact that they are allowing this show to go on, especially given the news today and how it will affect these children for the rest of their lives, is appalling.

If this was really The Learning Channel, the news today might have been, "Jon and Kate have decided to try and work on their marriage and out of concern for these 8 children, we are cancelling this series in an effort to give the kids some privacy."

Nope, not a chance are they going to pass this up.

I wonder, in 30 years, if these children will remember where they were when their mom or dad told them that their parents were truly divorcing?

I wonder if they've known already and have been waiting for someone to confirm it.

I wonder if they thought they could stop the wreck, instead of standing by, helpless to stop it.

And, I wonder what it must feel like to be 9 or 10 years old and helplessly watch a wreck happen in front of your very eyes, only the whole world watches the wreck happen with you and no one stops to call for help.

Someone needs to pull the plug here. The next story about this family should be no story at all, ever again.

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Reminders

I am at Texas Children's tonight as Jordan gets his MRI done. I don't know if I will finish this before he gets out, if I do, that's a good thing because it means he was very still and the test wasn't the full hour they have predicted.

I am reminded of many things as I sit in this waiting room in Texas Children's tonight. Here they are:

• I am reminded how grateful I am that I have a job that allows me the flexibility to bring my son down here during the middle of the week for this test.



• I am reminded that anytime I have a scheduled appointment that involves bringing my husband, other than maybe say an appointment to get my oil changed or some other manly appointment, I should give him a departure time a half hour earlier than what it is. I should know this after almost 20 years. My plan was to leave at 4:30 due to traffic (see further down). At 4:28 he started to shave. I was okay with that, really, I was. But, he cut himself shaving and started to bleed. Badly. As we drove down here to the hospital, with blood on his shirt and 2 huge pieces of toilet paper crammed up his nose to catch the bleeding, I thought, well, it's okay. Hospitals are used to people walking in with blood and Kleenex stuffed up their nostrils. It doesn't matter that we are going to a children's hospital, and my child looks fine but my husband will be hemorrhaging and need a crash cart, at least we will be at the hospital. Fortunately, there was so much traffic, we had more than enough time for the bleeding to stop and the tissue finally came out, I believe, right as the valet approached.



• I am reminded that I should never, ever, ever try again to come to the Medical Center for any reason at this time of day. Here's the deal. Most people know that Southerners, especially Texans, are extremely friendly. But something happens to those of us who live in big southern cities when we start to drive. We morph from friendly "hi ya'll" type people, to raging, crazed maniacs. The closer it is to 5 pm or 8 am, the worse we become. We can shake your hand and pray with you on Sunday. But come rush hour, that hand shake becomes a hand gesture. Until we get to our destination and get out of the car. And then we will tell the parking attendant 'Howdy!' like we didn't just try to run over, drag down and curse out ten people on the way there. Driving in the medical center at this time of day requires the driving skills of Mario Andretti, the navigational skills of the crazy people who try to climb Mount Everest, the patience of Job (which none of us have) and the hand gestures of..well..pick your favorite. Never again. I will be here at 6 am before I try to be here at 6 pm again.




• I am reminded that the staff at Texas Children's is remarkable. This is our second visit and I am no less impressed than the first visit. We got lost looking for the MRI lab and in less than 30 seconds, at least 5 people asked us if we were lost, and the last lady, who was clearly getting off work, and God bless her about to get into that traffic, actually walked us all the way down here. Maybe she doesn't turn into a beast in the traffic because she sure was nice. (But we are sneaky like that when it comes to being friendly versus being in traffic...you never know.)




• I am reminded that I am incredibly grateful to have health insurance. Our portion for this MRI was $500 which was 20% of the cost. For many people, this test would have been out of reach. I can think of a million ways to spend $500 (i.e a Kate Spade purse, several pairs of cute shoes, a spa day...I could go on...)But none of them come close to the value of spending $500 on this child. I would spend $5 million if needed.




• I am reminded that while we are down here tonight for a medical test on my 11 year old, all around me in this building are children who are extremely sick, many of whom I am quite sure have some sort of terminal or severe illness. Juvenile Arthritis, Spondyloarthritis (couldn't they come up with something easier to spell?) is nothing compared to what some of these children are facing. As I sit in the waiting room, the kids (who look to be about 6 to 11 in age range) look scared and nervous, regardless of Hannah Montana playing on the TV. The moms look like they are nervously holding it together at best. Their eyes say it all.




• I am reminded about what the first words were that the pediatric rheumatologist said to me after examining Jordan: "Well, you don't have leukemia or lymphoma, and I was looking for that." Nope, we are not here for cancer or kidney disease or liver disease or a brain tumor. We are here for something that is livable and manageable and means many more days of football, swimming, and leaving my house a mess all summer. I'll take it.




• I am reminded that as a parent, we must always, always be an advocate for our children's health care, because no one-not even your trusted pediatrician-will do it for you. Jordan was tested for the flu and mono at least 5 times. I knew that my son didn't have the flu or mono the same way I know that when I ask him if he's brushed his teeth the first time, the first answer is always a fib, the same way that I know that he needs help with math but loves to write, the same way I knew there wasn't an 800 lb gorilla in my living room. After the third round of flu and mono testing, I started my own research and the light went off that Robert has a family history of arthritis. As soon as I read the symptoms I knew what we were looking at. But as much as I insisted, the pediatrician resisted. Finally, she said to me, we will test him for arthritis "if it will make you feel better." I am not mad at her really-arthritis in children is rare, and his version is even more rare. But doctors need to understand that mother's know their children and to listen to them. And if the doctors won't listen, then the mom needs to find a doctor who will listen.




• I am reminded that we all have a plan for our lives and a journey we must travel and this is Jordan's journey. It might not be fun or easy on some days. But it could be worse, much worse.




• Lastly, I am reminded that, well, I have to go home soon hopefully. Through that traffic and the pseudo-friendly southern drivers and the hand gestures. But, my husband's nose is not bleeding any more, the toilet paper is out of his nose thank goodness. And I'm taking my son home with me instead of leaving him here as I know some parents are doing tonight.

We can deal with traffic, no problem, and we will deal with arthritis (I didn't even try to spell it that time.)

And I can make hand gestures just as good as the rest of them.

But the gesture I'll make tonight will be with my hands put together in thankfullness, and not what I know you were thinking.

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