Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?
Wednesday morning and I’m still rather pathetic. I ran a fever pretty steady yesterday – something I very rarely do. Mr. Boyfriend brought chicken soup (which he made himself) and flowers. He visited with me outside, on the porch, so that my germs would not infect him. I actually agree with this, I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. At any rate, the chicken soup was just what the doctor ordered – Mr. Boyfriend has a penchant for spicy foods and this was no exception. My sinuses were cleared out in no time and I could actually taste what I was eating.
The flowers made me feel like a girl even while I’m dressed in the most comfortable clothes I own. I did, mind you, manage to take the bunny slippers and 11-year-old fleece robe off before he came. But the trade off was athletic Capri’s, an oversized t-shirt and a sweatshirt. Not much to look-at. But then again, after he left, I simply crawled into bed and went to sleep.
I may be well enough to get my butt dressed and get to work! I’m waiting for the cold meds to kick in and then off I’ll go.
The Rant
Meanwhile, I want to talk about my brother. As you’ll recall, he left my sister-in-law and her daughter after a three-year marriage and a million dollar home building project. He swiped thousands of dollars from their joint account – money that really was part of her inheritance from her parents. Then, he proceeded to string her along. He did all of this, while insisting there was not another women. I, of course, knew immediately that wasn’t the case, I even knew he’d met someone on the Internet. Go through the whole cheating thing a few times and you see the writing on the wall rather quickly (for other people, anyway).
My parents have pretty much disowned him. My mother is deeply depressed because although it is her choice, she looks at it as if she has lost a son. She looks at his actions as a rejection of HER. This simply makes me shake my head. She needed to have one more child. That woulda learned her good. With three or more kids you learn that you cannot control them – early on. Why? Well because you only have two hands. You can hold two children’s hands as you cross the street, but there is always one running amuck. You learn to let go. You learn to teach them to hold each other’s hands. And you certainly do not take it personally if they refuse to hold their sister’s hand or do what you tell them to do.
And I? Well, this is why I am writing. I only have one sibling. I love him. He and I used to be very, very close. I have supported my sister-in-law through this process because I have been through it myself. She was totally, completely devastated. I saw the numbness and the denial and bafflement on her face that I, myself had felt at one time. I have been very clear with her that I will still have a relationship with my brother. It’s time for me to reach out to him.
How I feel about him is very simple. I am deeply disappointed in what he has done, in the choices he has made. But I have made some pretty stupid choices, too. We all do. And really, I believe that what he has done by leaving all three wives, by sabotaging his own happiness, is no different than what I did by staying with an abusive husband for 15 years.
The Parents
I stated in an earlier blog around Easter time that my parents are crazy. Perhaps it is time to elaborate on this. My parents do not talk nicely to each other. Not lovingly. Nor do they talk that way to me. I used to excuse this behavior. Accept it as the way it was supposed to be – not the way it IS, but how it actually was supposed to be in a family. Guess what? No. They didn’t talk nicely to my brother, either. My father has the ability to converse with just about anybody – I have this same ability and so does my brother. So we are all pretty good conversationalists when we want to be. But my dad does not have the ability to be loving to my bro or I. He doesn’t understand what is needed. My mother lives so far down the path of denial that she has now taken on many of the traits she used to complain my father exhibited. I really don’t need to know what’s wrong with me physically, mentally or otherwise every time I see her. I don’t need a reminder of the things I haven’t gotten done around the house.
Here’s a funny one. My father has expressed serious disapproval of my choice to keep my house after I got a divorce. Or before, rather. He thought I should have sold my home, which is about 40 years old and bought something newer.
Can we all remember what field I spent the last three years of my life in? Oh, that’s right! Real Estate Appraisal. I knew I couldn’t BUY a comparable home for what I owed on the one I am in. I don’t expect to ever pay off my mortgage. I expect to sell it someday and downsize into something more my size.
At any rate, after a recent, lengthy discussion about my expectations regarding expenditures around the house, repairs that needed to be made and the prioritization of these things, my father announced to my mother (not in front of me, mind you) that I knew a lot about houses. Personally, I think it was because I used the words soffit, capital expenditures, and whole house water heater versus and on-demand.
What would the man say if he knew how I could rip apart three years worth of profit and loss statements and make estimates for the next year, develop capitalization rates for comparable properties and apply them to a subject? Or knew what functional obsolescence was and could explain why something fell into that category or did not? Or knew what the states official sand/dirt is? Or could read a flood plain map? Or had meetings with city and county planners and real estate moguls across WI? And that’s just the easy stuff. Those are the concrete parts of appraising. I could get into appraisal theory and he wouldn’t be able to follow me. Not because I’m smart, but because it has it’s own language, just like anything else.
The man drives me up a tree. He makes me feel stupid. I don’t like feeling stupid. I imagine he made my brother feel the same way. And we are both nearing age 40. A little old to feel that way. And a little too old to feel never quite good enough for my mother.
When I went on work/vacation to North Carolina, my mother’s response. “You’re going to miss a paycheck? That’s very hard on the children.”
I didn’t bother to explain that I had money in the bank to cover that particular loss. Cause, gee, I’m really not an idiot.
At any rate, watching my mother and father interact, watching the way they treat me, has explained in some ways, why I stayed with the ex. Why I thought barbs and sarcasm were equal to love. Now, finally, I have grown tired of these things. I want peace. I want love. I have discovered that I am actually a nice person, a person capable of great vulnerability. A girl that can be a girl and not need to add the word “tough” into a description of myself.
I need to stop now and get back on track. My brother. I was writing about my brother.
My Sibling
So, given my recognition of these things, I would like to be close to my brother again. Easter was particularly hard without him. There were moments I had to get up and leave the living room because I was beginning to feel like I was nuts and I would walk into the kitchen. In years past, my brother would be there; a smirk on his face, a smart-ass comment and a drink in has hand just for me. I could relax a little, knowing I wasn’t in this mess all by myself. There was someone else in this world that had the same experiences I did. Who knew exactly how I felt. He and I would cook together, all the while drinking wine and giggling. We could exchange looks and know what the other was feeling. Shoo my mother out of the kitchen and enjoy being brother and sister.
Or the summer after he left his second wife, when he would come to visit nearly every weekend. The ex didn’t like it too much, but I did. I thoroughly enjoyed having him around. My brother, he can get kind of loud. We’d sit on my porch and B.S. and as the night wore on, my bro would get louder and louder. The ex would cringe and eventually go to bed. I would walk the tight rope of keeping the ex happy and growing close to my brother. Don’t have that now. I can have whomever I want in my house. I want to open my home to my brother.
What am I giving up if I give him up? My childhood? The only person on the face of the earth that might know where I’m truly coming from? Then, I would truly be an idiot. Perhaps my brother and I have something more to offer each other then just being related. All I know is I miss him. I have an undeniable longing to connect with him the way I used to.
The flowers made me feel like a girl even while I’m dressed in the most comfortable clothes I own. I did, mind you, manage to take the bunny slippers and 11-year-old fleece robe off before he came. But the trade off was athletic Capri’s, an oversized t-shirt and a sweatshirt. Not much to look-at. But then again, after he left, I simply crawled into bed and went to sleep.
I may be well enough to get my butt dressed and get to work! I’m waiting for the cold meds to kick in and then off I’ll go.
The Rant
Meanwhile, I want to talk about my brother. As you’ll recall, he left my sister-in-law and her daughter after a three-year marriage and a million dollar home building project. He swiped thousands of dollars from their joint account – money that really was part of her inheritance from her parents. Then, he proceeded to string her along. He did all of this, while insisting there was not another women. I, of course, knew immediately that wasn’t the case, I even knew he’d met someone on the Internet. Go through the whole cheating thing a few times and you see the writing on the wall rather quickly (for other people, anyway).
My parents have pretty much disowned him. My mother is deeply depressed because although it is her choice, she looks at it as if she has lost a son. She looks at his actions as a rejection of HER. This simply makes me shake my head. She needed to have one more child. That woulda learned her good. With three or more kids you learn that you cannot control them – early on. Why? Well because you only have two hands. You can hold two children’s hands as you cross the street, but there is always one running amuck. You learn to let go. You learn to teach them to hold each other’s hands. And you certainly do not take it personally if they refuse to hold their sister’s hand or do what you tell them to do.
And I? Well, this is why I am writing. I only have one sibling. I love him. He and I used to be very, very close. I have supported my sister-in-law through this process because I have been through it myself. She was totally, completely devastated. I saw the numbness and the denial and bafflement on her face that I, myself had felt at one time. I have been very clear with her that I will still have a relationship with my brother. It’s time for me to reach out to him.
How I feel about him is very simple. I am deeply disappointed in what he has done, in the choices he has made. But I have made some pretty stupid choices, too. We all do. And really, I believe that what he has done by leaving all three wives, by sabotaging his own happiness, is no different than what I did by staying with an abusive husband for 15 years.
The Parents
I stated in an earlier blog around Easter time that my parents are crazy. Perhaps it is time to elaborate on this. My parents do not talk nicely to each other. Not lovingly. Nor do they talk that way to me. I used to excuse this behavior. Accept it as the way it was supposed to be – not the way it IS, but how it actually was supposed to be in a family. Guess what? No. They didn’t talk nicely to my brother, either. My father has the ability to converse with just about anybody – I have this same ability and so does my brother. So we are all pretty good conversationalists when we want to be. But my dad does not have the ability to be loving to my bro or I. He doesn’t understand what is needed. My mother lives so far down the path of denial that she has now taken on many of the traits she used to complain my father exhibited. I really don’t need to know what’s wrong with me physically, mentally or otherwise every time I see her. I don’t need a reminder of the things I haven’t gotten done around the house.
Here’s a funny one. My father has expressed serious disapproval of my choice to keep my house after I got a divorce. Or before, rather. He thought I should have sold my home, which is about 40 years old and bought something newer.
Can we all remember what field I spent the last three years of my life in? Oh, that’s right! Real Estate Appraisal. I knew I couldn’t BUY a comparable home for what I owed on the one I am in. I don’t expect to ever pay off my mortgage. I expect to sell it someday and downsize into something more my size.
At any rate, after a recent, lengthy discussion about my expectations regarding expenditures around the house, repairs that needed to be made and the prioritization of these things, my father announced to my mother (not in front of me, mind you) that I knew a lot about houses. Personally, I think it was because I used the words soffit, capital expenditures, and whole house water heater versus and on-demand.
What would the man say if he knew how I could rip apart three years worth of profit and loss statements and make estimates for the next year, develop capitalization rates for comparable properties and apply them to a subject? Or knew what functional obsolescence was and could explain why something fell into that category or did not? Or knew what the states official sand/dirt is? Or could read a flood plain map? Or had meetings with city and county planners and real estate moguls across WI? And that’s just the easy stuff. Those are the concrete parts of appraising. I could get into appraisal theory and he wouldn’t be able to follow me. Not because I’m smart, but because it has it’s own language, just like anything else.
The man drives me up a tree. He makes me feel stupid. I don’t like feeling stupid. I imagine he made my brother feel the same way. And we are both nearing age 40. A little old to feel that way. And a little too old to feel never quite good enough for my mother.
When I went on work/vacation to North Carolina, my mother’s response. “You’re going to miss a paycheck? That’s very hard on the children.”
I didn’t bother to explain that I had money in the bank to cover that particular loss. Cause, gee, I’m really not an idiot.
At any rate, watching my mother and father interact, watching the way they treat me, has explained in some ways, why I stayed with the ex. Why I thought barbs and sarcasm were equal to love. Now, finally, I have grown tired of these things. I want peace. I want love. I have discovered that I am actually a nice person, a person capable of great vulnerability. A girl that can be a girl and not need to add the word “tough” into a description of myself.
I need to stop now and get back on track. My brother. I was writing about my brother.
My Sibling
So, given my recognition of these things, I would like to be close to my brother again. Easter was particularly hard without him. There were moments I had to get up and leave the living room because I was beginning to feel like I was nuts and I would walk into the kitchen. In years past, my brother would be there; a smirk on his face, a smart-ass comment and a drink in has hand just for me. I could relax a little, knowing I wasn’t in this mess all by myself. There was someone else in this world that had the same experiences I did. Who knew exactly how I felt. He and I would cook together, all the while drinking wine and giggling. We could exchange looks and know what the other was feeling. Shoo my mother out of the kitchen and enjoy being brother and sister.
Or the summer after he left his second wife, when he would come to visit nearly every weekend. The ex didn’t like it too much, but I did. I thoroughly enjoyed having him around. My brother, he can get kind of loud. We’d sit on my porch and B.S. and as the night wore on, my bro would get louder and louder. The ex would cringe and eventually go to bed. I would walk the tight rope of keeping the ex happy and growing close to my brother. Don’t have that now. I can have whomever I want in my house. I want to open my home to my brother.
What am I giving up if I give him up? My childhood? The only person on the face of the earth that might know where I’m truly coming from? Then, I would truly be an idiot. Perhaps my brother and I have something more to offer each other then just being related. All I know is I miss him. I have an undeniable longing to connect with him the way I used to.
posted by New Day | 10:38 AM
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