My youngest brother

These memories of my brother have come up because my son is so much like my youngest brother.  I think we got his son by mistake.  I will say that growing up with a brother like my son helps me to understand and deal with his particular personality.

Setting:  We lived in a rental house until the renters finished their lease on our home.  I was sixteen.  My oldest brother and sister were out of the house, at college.  I was the oldest.  I am also the most social of all my siblings.  I was the only one who wanted to go "hang out" with friends, or go on dates.  My youngest brother was in fourth grade or so.  I have three memories from this time period I want to share.  The first two are indeed while we first moved there (Sept.) and the second was in January.

My parents made me get my driver's license so they could go back to Utah and go hunting with my brother just younger than me.  They left me in charge of my youngest brother, I'll call him Mike.  Mike was in fourth grade.  I remember one night, after my parents left, I threw up every hour on the hour for seven hours.  Since my mom wasn't there to take care of me, I was in danger of dehydration.  My brother stayed home from school to take care of me.  I'm not sure how they found out, but my mom's friends came by to bring me soda, Tylenol and to check on me.  I was in bed for four days straight, fever etc.  I only took one Tylenol.  Then I stopped taking them.  My mom's friend thought it was weird that I stopped taking them.  Asked me why and I said I don't usually take meds when I'm sick. This is still true.  A side note, in 2011 I finally finished a bottle of ibuprofen and was so proud of myself--my first!  When I flipped it over it said Exp 2009!  Oops!  Anyway, I found out later that with what illness I had, it could've killed me if I had taken the amount of Tylenol she'd left for me.  I was so glad that I listened to the Spirit and didn't take them.  I think Mike taking care of me strengthened our relationship.  He got me a water pitcher to put by my bed and brought me soda crackers.  When my mom came home, I tried to walk out of my room.  I hadn't eaten in four plus days.  I passed out in the hall.  My mom thought I was faking it (I guess she thought I tended toward the dramatic) and told me to get up and to come into the kitchen.  I was a little wounded that she didn't believe me.  I may have been dramatic in my younger days, but I was 17!  I wasn't going to pretend I passed out!  Not when I was so frail and sick.  When I fell and hit my ear on the counter, she finally walked with me to the table and sat me down.  Worried she called the doctor.  I passed out one more time sitting at the table.  I finally sat on the floor using the chair as a table and ate a piece of bread.  I found out after going to the doctor and doing some tests that I had mono.  Although they were military doctors and so one can never be too sure in the diagnosis.  However, I was given a curfew and was restricted from staying late at any activity, dances were curtailed and my social life ruined.  This may be why whenever I liked some guy, I wanted to be where he was.  I remember the January dance.  I liked some guy, but I wasn't allowed to go.  I believed he liked me or was at least a little interested and after that dance, I think he started liking some other girl.  Oh, well.  Story of my life!

Second memory.  This one is kind of fuzzy.  I remember the concept but can't remember if it was at the rental or at our house.  For some crazy reason, my mom made my chores dependent on my brother.  For all his strengths, my brother can be stubborn as well.  I wanted to go hang out with friends but I was supposed to load the dishwasher.  Well, Mike was supposed to unload the dishwasher.  He wouldn't do it no matter how much I begged pleaded, cajoled, threatened.  Well, one day he was playing with a magic wand.  I thought he was imaginative crazy and didn't think much of it until one day when I wanted him to unload the dishwasher, I found the magic wand.  The thought passed through my mind.  I took the wand and went into where he was and whacked him over the head with it and said, with this magic wand, you'll now obey my command, unload the dishwasher.  And you know what!  He got up as if under a spell and did it!  I hugged that little wand to my chest astonished at my new found power!  He told me if I wanted him to do something the best way was for me to  have fun, be creative.  Boy have I used that lesson on my son so many times.  I am thankful I learned that long ago!

The third memory is also with Mike.  My mom goes every January to Salt Lake City to a genealogy conference.  My brother just younger than me was often away at sports or at his one friends house.  Mike and I often had our own time together.  One occasion was when we decided to have "family scripture" reading with just the two of us.  Dad was in bed.  I remember reading Alma 56 about the stripling warriors, the little band of Helamen and I was so touched by the spirit.  I know Mike felt it too.  Having experiences like that together is what bonded us together. 

Earliest Memory

When I was living in Europe under some pretty stressful circumstances as a missionary, I had a hard time falling asleep sometimes.  In those nights, when my mind swirled with questions and homesickness, I would of often try to think of my memories. 

I have a good memory.  I think it's because I moved around so much (Army brat here) and so I can compartmentalize my memories--the question where was I living? helped me answer how old I was and helped me fill in other details. 

I don't know how accurate these are.  After talking to my mom, and other siblings, and even checking my journals (which I wrote daily from age twelve till about twenty-three) I've realized that not everything I remember is true. 

At the suggestion of a friend from high school, I'm starting a memory journal.  I haven't decided if I'm going to use names of those I associated with during my fragile and impressionable years.  Heck, I may not get to the insecurities and angsty teen years.  Those were not my best years, fraught with turbulent emotions of a teenage girl.  Those years are best forgotten.  But I will start with my earliest memories and see where it takes me.  Without further ado...

The smell of oil painting and turpentine bring these memory back.  My mother, always quick to try new things had set a table out in our living room with all sorts of interesting things.  This time she was painting little daisies.  I don't remember doing the deed, but I remember my mom, sitting on the stairs sobbing large boo-hoos, holding a picture of something in her hand.  I had never seen my mom, boo-hoo like that, heart wrenching, gut wrenching doubling over cries.  My dad was very distraught.  He didn't like to see my mom cry.  As a two year old.  I didn't know why she was crying.  In fact, I wasn't even aware that I was the one who was causing her to cry.  I remember feeling very confused at the weirdness of my parents.  Later, when I asked her about this memory, my mom said I had taken one of her daisies that she had spent so long painting and scrambled it with my little finger.  I have no memory of scrambling the daisy.  I am so glad that they didn't yell at me because I think I would not have connected to the two events.  Because of this memory, actually remembering that I felt confusion and no guilt at what I did, I am always careful when I discipline my kids to help them to understand what I'm feeling and why.  Emotions are tough to understand when we are young.