I remember walking up the front steps of the Carnegie Public Library in East Liverpool, Ohio. The smell of libraries takes me to my childhood even now. The children’s book room, at that time, was a wonderful light blue and the ceilings were high. I remember getting my first library card, the feeling of pride that it gave me. My mother taught me how to read, the wonder of books and to love my local library. I hope I teach my sons the same thing.

When I was little, she would have me help her clean the bathroom. I would make “soup” in the toilet, happily scrubbing the blue bubbles while she carefully cleaned the sink. As I grew, the bathroom cleaning became one of my weekly chores. She taught me to clean that spot behind the faucet that most people don’t think to look at (but I always do if I visit your bathroom). She taught me the value of working hard, even when people aren’t going to see the results because maybe they just might. I hope to teach my sons the same thing.

I was in middle school, awkward age that it was. I had a friend over. We were sitting on my bed listening to Mariah Carey. My mother burst through my bedroom door, grabbed my hair brush and started singing “Hero” at the top of her lungs. I was mortified. My friend thought my mom was so cool. I thought my friend was off her rocker. My mom taught me that being silly and laughing were important. I hope to teach my sons the same thing.

She worked hard, finishing her degree(s) after I was born. She went on and got her CPA which is no small feat. She has worked hard in a male dominated field. She told me, time and time again, that I could be whatever I wanted to be. When I went to her when BigBrother was eight months old, exhausted after a miscarriage and working six days a week in yet another male dominated industry, she supported my desire to find a way to work from home. She told me that it wouldn’t be easy but she told me that I could do it. She always told me I could do it, no matter what my newest passion of the moment was. She has been my biggest cheerleader, my biggest challenger. I hope to be the same for my sons.

Today is my mom’s birthday. She taught me much more than these four little anecdotes. I am grateful for all she has taught, for all I have learned (however slowly). I am hopeful that she will teach my sons a lesson or two over the years as well.

Happy Birthday, Mom.

I was in the library, my absolute favorite part of elementary school. I would walk up and down the stacks that, now, would only come to my waist. Back then, in second grade, they towered over my short-even-for-my-age stature. I fancied Berenstain Bears and Boxcar Children books. I devoured books. I asked to visit the library, which was wonderfully close to my second grade classroom, every single day. It was my version of heaven.

We were sitting on our red, blue and green chairs for storytime. These chairs sat on the floor and had a bit of padding on the seat cushion. They sat stacked by the wall until it was time for the librarian to share a story with us. Then we would fight over our favorite colors and sit, wiggle, tip them over and generally make a ruckus while the story was being told. I was sitting in my chair, listening intently when the Ominous Voice of the Secretary came over the loud speaker in the library.

“Mrs. Librarian, would you please send The Girl With Pigtails Who Will One Day Become FireMom to the office?”

Sounds of “oooh” arose from my peers. I smiled, sheepishly. I wasn’t one to be called to the office. There was an issue with a food fight the prior year but that was so first grade. I was a good girl whose mother made her wear dresses even though my favorite past-time was hanging upside down from the monkey bars. I didn’t cause too much trouble though I did, in all honesty, talk. A lot. I exited the library and began the long walk to the office.

I thought about many things on the trip down the hallway. As I turned right to pass the cafeteria, butterflies began to dance in my stomach. I thought about the days after I got my swing set when I was four, eons ago at that point. I would sit on my yellow, hard-seated swing and cry for a sibling. I wanted a sister to play with so badly. Living in the country, our only neighbors being my grandparents, I just wanted a playmate. Years passed. I announced to my grandparents that my mom was pregnant before she had taken a pregnancy test or even suspected that she should. Intuition. I was seven at that point.

A week and a half before I turned eight, I walked into the office, took the phone from the Secretary and said, “Hi Dad!”

“You have a brother!”
“A brother?”
“Yes! A brother!”
“But why? You said I was getting a sister!”

And thus began the love/hate relationship with my brother.

I kid. Kind of. They did tell me that I was getting a sister. The Christmas before he was born, I got a Kid Sister doll. I was so excited to be getting a sister! I would braid her hair and help her dress and we’d talk about boys besides the fact that I was eight years her senior and by the time she liked boys I’d be gone. But then she was a he. That changed things a bit.

It was difficult going from the only child for eight years to having a brother. I made him a sign for his arrival home. And over the years we fought like siblings do, me being upset when he said his bike was cooler than mine and he getting upset when I didn’t want him in my room when my friends were over. And then I left. And he grew up. Sometimes I’m sad that we missed out on the playmate years, that I was gone when he was becoming the man he is today. But it’s worked out.

Today my Baby Brother turns 21. I don’t know how it happened. Sometimes I still see him as the little boy who liked to follow me absolutely everywhere, even when I didn’t want him to do so. I see him a lot in my oldest son, both in looks and mischievous actions and too-smart-for-his-own-good discussions.

My dad called and announced that he’s kicking it old school and setting off a bonfire tomorrow. We always had bonfires on our birthdays. It’s what you do in the country. I’m feeling nostalgic for the little brother that annoyed me, that I loved so fiercely. The one I sat on the swing and wished for… even if I didn’t know it was him for whom I was wishing. I’m glad he’s my brother. I would have killed a sister.

Happy Birthday, Buttface.