A Brotherly Cry

Wednesday did not start out well.

My alarm went off, jolting me out of a nightmare in which I was still teaching high school and was put in charge of an entire classroom of 12th-grade boys who had "behavior problems." Except no one told me that they'd moved the school day's start time, so I kept showing up to work an hour late and walking into an out-of-control classroom as I was being yelled at by a principal I'd always hated at my previous job.

I had the sweats and a racing heart-rate by the time I finally gained consciousness and realized, thank heavens, that it was all just some sort of sick and twisted dream.

Luckily, I made it to my current job on time, but then it all went downhill from there.

I had two clients stand me up, and then my small post-partum group fell to pieces within minutes of starting our workout. I witnessed poor parenting, borderline child abuse, and out-of-control kids in a matter of minutes, and I was near tears by the time the group finally left.

Women and children are my favorite populations to work with, and when I want to run away from them, you know it's bad. The stress of the morning was so intense that it had literally sent my blood-sugar plummeting, leaving me shaky and starving - a feeling I haven't had happen to me in years, as I'm normally very good at controlling it.

But, with another small group up next, which, child-and parent-wise, is normally even more of a nightmare than the first, I had no time to recuperate.

And my funk for the day had already been set. Before 10 a.m., I was officially over Wednesday.

Which is why, as I was timing an abs circuit for my clients, I didn't even glance back when I heard the training room door open behind me.

And, when I finally got a glimpse of a uniformed sailor standing there, I didn't so much as bat an eyelash. (I work on a Navy base, for cryin' out loud. Everyone's in uniform.)

But, then, for some reason, I did a double take.

Because standing in the door way, grinning away, was my baby brother.

I stopped yelling mid-sentence - "Keep your shoulders in line with your..." - and promptly burst into tears.

My clients looked at me like I'd grown three heads. My brother laughed at me and kept yelling, "Why the heck are you crying?"

And I just kept bawling away.

You see, my brother isn't stationed here, like us. He's safe, and he's stateside. But because he's a sailor, like my husband, we don't see a lot of each other. The government owns us all.

Plus, I had no idea he was in South Carolina for a few hours doing some paperwork yesterday.

And I had no idea he'd gone around all morning asking several other trainers in adjacent parts of the gym where I was until he found me.

I don't know. I guess it all just all got to me.

The bad day; the happy surprise. I was in shock.

And apparently, when in shock, I cry.

And thankfully, though I only got to spend no more than 15 minutes with him, it turned my entire day around.

I had a fun final class with my last group of cyclists for the day, and I made it home happy and much more relaxed than when I stumbled out of it at 6 a.m. that morning.

All thanks to my baby brother.

And, perhaps, a good cry.

***

Happy Thursday, everyone!

Bad Odds

I am not a gambling woman.

Instead of taking a big jump right into the deep end of life, I'm much more likely to stick my big toe in and test out the water first.

I just don't like to take unnecessary risks.

But, sometimes, I speak a little too soon and end up falling into the deep end of life by wrangling my way into a bet that I probably can't keep.

Except for the ever-annoying fact that I try to be a woman of my word.

Take last weekend.

My baby brother, Brad, was telling me about how he was struggling in his science classes.

Brad and I in Annapolis, Maryland last weekend

Having just finished his freshmen year at the Air Force Academy, he wasn't falling that far from the family tree: Our parents, my other brother, and I are all liberal arts, social-science thinkers and degree-holders.

Not a one of us had aspirations or realistic hopes of being a physicist.

Still, Brad, being a bit of a talker (I have no idea where he got that from) kept waxing on about how, all struggles with science aside, he still wanted to graduate in the top-100 members of his graduating class in three years.

In military academies, being in the top-10 percent of your class is a Big Deal, and, if you know Brad, you know he wants nothing more than to be a Big Deal.

So, being the big sister and educator that I am - and struck by a really bad case of verbal diarrhea - I made him an offer he couldn't refuse:

"If you graduate in the top-100 members of your class, I'll name one of my children after you."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew it was too late.

I saw the sparkle hit his eyes.

A challenge.

The boy likes a challenge.

Almost as much as he likes being stubborn.

Because, my friends, this boy is class-A, 100-percent stubborn. (Again, I have no idea where he got that from.)

We shook on it, before I hastily retreated to find my cell phone and call my husband and tell him that, at some point, I had a hunch we'd be naming one of your children Brad.

Because while my brother is nowhere near the top-100 students in the Air Force Academy - yet - I have a feeling he will be in three years. Because the kid is almost more stubborn and challenge-driven than me.

And that's saying a lot.

Which is why, in the case that my husband and I manage to produce a house full of girls, I found my family coming up with a back-up plan later that night.

The alternate names they picked for Brad's namesake, in case she happens to be a niece and not a nephew?

Bradette.

Bradina.

Or Bradica.

I've never wished academic mediocrity on anyone so much in my life.

Still, I'm a woman of my word.

And I've made my bet, and now I have to lie in it.

***

Happy Friday everyone! Have a wonderful weekend!

Another Sailor

Apparently, I'm destined to spend most of my time around men in uniform.

Because my husband is not the only sailor in my life.

My brother, as of this weekend, is also an officer in the U.S. Navy.

He's graduating from the United States Naval Academy tomorrow, and I will be there.

Or, more accurately, I'm already there.

God willing.

Because I flew out last night to Maryland with my grandfather - a career Army man, who while retired for quite a while, still infuses his life with military precision and spirit.

Which means I'm now in the process of meeting up with my other brother - who is in the Air Force - my parents, my mom's best friend, and my cousin, who also happens to be in the military - an Army Ranger, to be exact.

That's a lot of men in uniform - buzz cuts and salutes and all.

But, the important thing is, uniforms or no, we're all there to celebrate my little brother's accomplishment.

And even though I'm two weeks away from moving, and the craziness has finally taken over - I'm living among boxes, people! - I took off for Maryland last night.

Because this is important!

And, also, I like to keep traditions alive.

Anyone remember last year? When we moved into our current home, threw a bridal shower for our friends, and then took off on a red-eye to Arkansas all in the same three days?

Apparently, I like to add extra trips into weeks already jam-packed with big life changes.

Also, I may be a little bit crazy.

But that's beside the point!

Because my brother is graduating from the Academy. He is coming out an officer and a leader of our country. And that should be honored. That is important to me.

So, of course, I'm going.

He should be celebrated.

Plus, I'm not one to pass up a chance to sleep in a hotel.

And get away from all these darn boxes.

***

Be back next week, everyone! Hope you all have a wonderful Memorial Day weekend!

Me, My Family, and Some Famous People: Part 2

Find Part 1 here.

***

So while I was en route to a fun and fabulous John Mayer concert, I took a call from my brother.

Who was in Washington, D.C., being all high-end and impressive.

Because my baby bro had been invited to the President's National Prayer Breakfast.

Apparently, he's just that important.

So while his big sis is just a teacher who's lucky enough to sing along with John Mayer one weekend, my brother - a plain, old military officer - gets to represent the state of Florida at the President's National Shindig for All Things Prayerful and Sacred.

Yes, my little brother prayed with President Barack Obama.

And Vice President Joe Biden.

And several other senators and congressional representatives, who - when not praying - were all too eager to shake his hand, buy him drinks, and talk to him about his life for the day-and-half event.

He even ate dinner with William P. Young, the author of the hit novel The Shack.

But besides rubbing elbows with the Obamas and other D.C. elite, he made a friend - a friend who, where I come from, pretty much trumps meeting the President of the United States.

It all started when my brother took his seat for dinner the first night.

Being young and nervous, and desperately trying to hang on in a conversation with U.S. senator Bill Nelson, my brother felt relieved when a younger guy about his age sat down next to him.

My brother said he recognized the guy, but barely. It was the classic, "I think I know you from somewhere. But where?" scenario.

Nervously, my brother gave his new table-mate a smile. The young guy smiles back, extends his hand, and says, "Hi there. I'm Tim."

My brother nods, smiles, introduces himself, all while wondering, "Who's Tim, and how do I know him?"

Tim, it turned out, was very interested in my brother, his military career, his relationship with God, and his general outlook on life.

My brother said they were having a genuinely nice, fraternal conversation when Tim haphazardly mentioned something about "being nervous with the draft coming up."

And by "draft," he totally meant the NFL Draft.

As in, the place all big-time college football players go to be farmed out according to their rank and talent level.

It's enough to make a grown man quake with fear.

Even if that grown man happens to be the one and only Tim Tebow.

Or, in other words, my brother's new best friend.

Yes, my brother had befriended - unknowingly, mind you - University of Florida former quarterback, Heisman Trophy-winner, controversial Super Bowl commercial star, and Christian powerhouse Tim Tebow.

source

At this point, my brother did the obligatory tie-in and managed to mention that his dear big sister was also a fellow Florida Gator - a proud University of Florida alumni.

He also may or may not have mentioned the fact that his sister makes a mean pot roast and still lives in the UF vicinity should Tim ever need a home-cooked meal while he's finishing up his bachelor's degree this year.

Or I may have imagined that part.

But whatever.

My brother ate dinner with the President and chatted up Tim Tebow.

In some weird six degrees of separation, I am now a de-facto politico who wines and dines infamous college football players.

Or I'm just a high-school teacher with a wild imagination who enjoys living vicariously through my little brother.

My life is uber-exciting, people. Uber.

But still! Tim Tebow and my brother. Just a bunch of old chums. Laughing and talking and praying and sharing war stories from the football field and the pool. (My brother - who is actually Tim's age - was a college water polo player.)

All while President Barack and First Lady Michelle look on beneficently. (Or at least that's how I imagined it going down.)

What a weekend.

For my brother.

I'm just the sister he told about it.

But still, a girl can dream.

So here's hoping one day my brother brings his new friend Tim over for dinner.

And hey, the President can totally come, too.

***

Happy Tuesday everyone! And if you haven't done so yet, don't forget to enter my Bloggy Birthday Giveaway!

A proud little-brother moment: Part 2

It's Tuesday, and I've got some good news to report.

My little brother, Brad, just got accepted to the Air Force Academy. This is a huge deal, and we're so happy for him. He wants to be a doctor, and he figured that one of the three military academies would be the best place to get medical school paid for and some really honest and valuable training.

My other brother, Brett, is already at the U.S. Naval Academy (he'll be a senior next year), and my cousin and my grandfather are graduates of West Point (the U.S. Army's academy), so we've got all our military bases covered in my family, it seems.

I'm very proud of my brothers, and while I worry about them, as they'll be military officers when they graduate, I know they have made informed decisions that are their own.

But all military plans aside, no on is more excited for my brothers than my good old father. In fact, he's already buying plane tickets to Annapolis, Maryland, for the Navy Open Water Polo tournamanet in October. There, the big-time water polo rivalry, Navy. v. Air Force, will occur. Or, as it now will forevermore be known in my family, Brett v. Brad: Round One.

Brad, the field player, will get to take some sweet shots...

...on his big brother, Brett, the U.S. Naval Academy's top goalie!

Little brother will get to take on big brother in an exciting water polo game. My dad couldn't be more thrilled, and something tells me we're all going to be along for the ride.

Just think of the clothing we'll need to sport.

Some T-shirt slogans I'm currently debating:

"Go Air Navy!" or...

"Three Cheers for Naval Force!" or, the ever so subtle...

"Fly Those Ships, Boys!"
(Get it?!? Sorry. I crack myself up sometimes.)

Happy Tuesday everyone!
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And thank you Gina and Ruggy13 for the award! I promise to pass it on soon!