Days I Wish I Had a Brother
I’ve talked about what it’s like to grow up in a house full of women about a gazillion times. Or at least two or three. Yes, it is amazing. It’s like a sleepover every night and shopping trip every other day. We bake, and take pictures of our cats, and refuse to change the channel when the Olympics is broadcasting the men’s volleyball or swim teams. Hannah also has this disillusioned dream that one day the two of us will swear off men and move into our own apartment, where we’ll have a whole room dedicated to shoes with quotes like, “Cinderella: Proof That A Great Pair of Shoes Can Change Your Life” on the walls. I let her dream about that for now, because it is nice to think about a rainbow of shoes greeting me every morning.
Anyway, I digress.
The point of this post is that I really need to hire someone who will agree to be our brother for like two hours a day for no pay. Well, I mean, we could pay him in pies, I guess. If he’s really going to be greedy like that.
This is the problem: There are so many boyish things that my sisters and I do not ever want to do. We do not like hauling groceries from the car, moving couches down two flights of stairs, or picking vegetables in the garden. Obviously, we are very spoiled. But still.
Sometimes I think it would just be really nice to have a brother. Someone to help my dad mow the lawn and powerwash the house. (Two chores I have still managed to avoid for sixteen years) Someone who will get us up-to-date on the names of action movies and video games, and help us keep track of what football teams are from what states. A nice teenage brother that we can manipulate into wearing bow ties and blazers on Sundays, and drag with us to ballroom dancing to learn the foxtrot.
[This is what he would look like—cool hair, bow tie, and always wearing a watch so I would know what time it is, since I have a weird aversion to wearing anything on my wrists. I wouldn’t even have to ask, because that gets embarrassing. He’d just be like, “Hey, Rachel, you should probably know that it’s a quarter til seven, in case you wanted to catch that new Cupcake Wars episode on TV tonight.”]
Gosh, the more I write this, I feel kind of sorry for my hired brother. The poor guy’s gotta do all the chores, carry all the groceries, wear fancy clothes, and learn how to rhumba. I’m just going to imagine that he’d love it. And he’d also give us advice about how teenage guys think and what they look for in potential wives and how we can prepare to be great wives and mothers one day. This brother would be the bomb. (In a totally non-90’s way, obviously)
But, life is life, and we don’t have a brother. This may make me sad sometimes, but then I remember what a great father I have. My dad is always quick to encourage and disciple me, and while he may have total disdain for the male J. Crew models’ rumpled plaid shirts and bow ties, I still think he’s pretty cool. He mows the lawn week after week without complaint, and has never once asked me to run to the dump without him. (With him on several occasions, but never on my own, thank heavens!)
I also have these cool guys, who are like the worlds’ best pretend brothers. They treat me and my sisters pretty well, and I’d be lost without them 99% of the time.
[Photo from Ruthie’s birthday, when we managed to eat a giant Barbie skirt cake, get high on sugar, roll around on the ground laughing, and make up crazy swing dance moves all within the course of two-and-a-half hours]
So, in the end, I have written this long, whiney blog post not only to bore you with my desire for a brother, but to let you know that I am going to be totally okay without one. I’ll just bite my lip whenever I want to complain about having to do something a brother could do so much better, and just remember how much toning my arms are getting from hauling three hundred dollars worth of groceries from the car to the door. Physical labor does have its perks, people.
[This is us, by the way, post-sugar crash. Too much icing…]