Because My Brothers Don't Read This Blog

The other night I took Callie for her evening walk later than usual. The sun had already set, the air was cool, and the street was filled with that sublime summertime symphony of tree frogs and crickets. Lightning bugs flashed as we walked through the neighborhood, and as my flip-flopped feet made their way through the cool grass, suddenly, it hit me: it was summer. Real summer. The kind of summer that makes me want, more than anything, to be a kid again. To run around barefoot through our front yard in Richmond, clutching a Mason Jar with my sweaty little hands, eager to catch a jar full of lightning bugs (only to let them go twenty minutes later). I wanted to be sitting on the moss at the top of our hill, blowing bubbles with my little brothers into the night air. To be picking zucchini from our backyard garden with my Dad, and making zucchini bread with my Mom. To be carefree and happy and completely satisfied.

Of course, being the nutcase that I am, I don't think I've ever been carefree (though I know I've been truly happy and completely satisfied), but like many adults, I completely idealize my childhood--and frankly, as I should. I came from a comfortable middle class family, had a Mom who loved me and brothers I adored. My parents were never happy together, but my Mom made sure that my younger brothers and I never suspected a thing (until I was about 11, when the shit really hit the fan), and I just thought it was completely normal that fathers didn't come home at night.

Preston knows I would EAT HIM if he didn't come home at night. I know better now.

But there was just something about being outside, surrounded by lightning bugs and setting sun, and freshly mown grass, and utter calm that immediately transported me back to Richmond circa 1991. In that vein (and, let's be honest, in an effort to procrastinate filing ONE MILLION YEARS worth of papers) I decided to scan in some pictures from, well, a million years ago. So here's for nostalgia. And a celebration of my brothers, which I can have since they don't read this blog and can't get all hot and bothered that I've posted baby pictures of them.

This is one of my favorite pictures of Jeffrey. He's the middle child, 2 years younger than I am, and we're basically night and day. My Mom always says that when I was a baby, I was THE MOST ANNOYING CHILD on the planet (in nicer words, perhaps). I cried all the time (some things never change), I was a terrible napper, and generally moody. Jeffrey, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. He was the happiest of babies, hardly ever cried, slept ALL THE TIME, and amused himself well, like in this picture, when he covered himself in Desitin while my Mom thought he was napping. To this day, Jeffrey continues to get into trouble when my Mom thinks that he is doing something completely innocent. I, on the other hand, continue to worry and cry and not sleep. Jeffrey is wayyyy more bad ass than I am (on a bad ass test, I would absolutely receive a negative score). Jeffrey does the things I'm too scared to do (good and bad), and at the end of the day, I can't help but admire his gutsiness. I have a feeling that he'll do fantastic things (but, then again, I'm biased).

This is one of my favorite photos of all time. The picture is of my youngest brother, Matthew, and I actually keep it on my fridge because I have decided that THIS is the kind of happy I want to be. I want to be laying in the sand, arms outstretched, smiling ear to ear kind of happy. And that is totally Matthew (well, pre-puberty)--as the youngest of three, he was dragged to EVERY event that Jeffrey and I were involved in--soccer, lacrosse, football, chorale, drama, spelling bees, church stuff. You name it, and Matthew attended it. And he did it all with this enthusiasm and contentedness that I really envy. As he's gotten older (in spite of his moodiness), he has become one of my favorite people, and I really believe that we'll be good friends for life.

Maman (what I call my Mom) and I outside of Boston ('85-'86?).

The three of us. Forever ago (Jeffrey on the left and Matthew in the middle). Here's a more recent photo:

Jeffrey on the left and Matthew on the right. I couldn't possibly ask for better brothers. They make me laugh, they protect me, they challenge me to step outside of myself, and they are always, always there.

So even though I'm no longer running around barefoot in the backyard as the sun sets and the lightning bugs start to flash, I have beautiful memories of those days, and I have faith that one day, when we're not all young and restless and crazy, my brothers and I will sit on a porch during a July sunset and relax and smile and laugh and drink good beer and be happy just to be. To be there, and to be with each other, during that magical, wonderful, spell-binding time of year: summer.