I found out last week from my sister-in-law Christy that she and my brother Jimmy are expecting a baby. So I would like to congratulate them here.... Congratulations!
It looks like the Dahlstrom line will continue to grace the world with its charming presence for at least another generation.
I imagine my mother was thrilled to tears...now there will be a perfectly unblemished creature who she can shape and mold to her specifications. I know when she heard the news she raised her fist victoriously and thought, "THIS TIME I WILL NOT FAIL!"
And then she disappeared to the basement to gather all our toys and books and baby things that she has been saving all these years, making lists to the future grandchild about exactly why it is IMPORTANT to make your bed with hospital corners, pre-scrub socks before washing them, iron your pillowcases and sheets, and to eat a good breakfast every morning.
Actually, that last one IS important. Thanks, Mom.
It's hard for me, however, to imagine my brother as a parent. It's also sometimes hard for me to believe that he carries a gun for a living. This is the same person who used to pin me to the ground, squat over me and belch in my face, not letting me up until I smelled it and correctly identified the contents of his stomach and large intestines. I would hold my breath I as long as possible (I was on swim team, but not even Michael Phelps could hold his breath that long). Eventually I had to inhale the stench.
"Guess what I ate for lunch?" he breathed into my face.
It would smell like rotten scrambled eggs served in a sweaty jockstrap with a side of fresh cat turds.
"I don't know!" I cried. The smell would make real tears come to my eyes. "Let me up!"
"Peanut butter and jelly and potato chips," he said smugly, before letting me up so I could run to the bathroom and spray a whole can of Lysol on my face.
Oh Jimmy, I'm going to tell this kid all kinds of stories. You've been warned.