Oh Brother, How Art Thou? and other philosophical ramblings

Our brother is the middle child. I suspect he felt and/or tried to be invisible for much of his childhood. Sarah and I, well, we tended to have the attention. Me being the perfect, overachieving oldest, and Sarah being the rule-breaking, boundary-ignoring, creative genius youngest. There was our brother, smack dab in the middle, quiet, understated and probably embarrassed by one or both of us on any given day. The poor, poor kid. But he sure grew up to be one exceptional dude. I only wish he didn’t live so damned FAR AWAY. But I digress.

So once, about, oh, say three-and-a-half years ago (when I was the only one of the three of us with more than one child), he said, “Anyone who has more than two children is crazy.” I remember laughing. Because this is just the sort of seemingly-judgmental, absolute thing that our brother says. He’s a bit of a math genius. And I can see that the numbers of two parents and three kids do not add up neatly. But I swear, the moment those words left his mouth, he was just asking for those twins of his to start their lives in utero. Yup. The planner of the family had three kids in 20 months. Sarah and I each have two kids who are less than 18 months apart in age, so we know it’s HARD. But this time, it’s our brother who got himself right into the spotlight. Just where he never wanted to be.

But here’s the thing: Man oh man, is he a great dad. And the three kids have not really changed him that much. I mean, besides the obvious facts of being a dad, he, more than anyone else I know, has maintained his pre-parent lifestyle. And I don’t know how in the WORLD he does it. (Well, I know it has a lot to do with his amazing wife.) He exercises regularly, often training for a crazy-ass bike riding competition through the desert, on which he subsequently medals or achieves some ridiculous feat (our sister-in-law runs marathons; people, she ran one WHILE PREGNANT WITH TWINS. Ooh, this will probably make some of you concerned. She didn’t know she was pregnant at the time); goes away on weekends with his friends (and so does said wife); is finishing the basement of his house (for the kids); is always taking a class or studying for some career-enhancing test of some sort; and, when I talk to him (which is never often enough) he always sounds just like my little brother. Reasonable. Relaxed. Happy.

Me, in comparison? OK. Exercise. Um, I used to be an athlete. Even worse, I used to be a COACH of a very competitive sport. Ugh. Remember the bread-dough middle? Well, I haven’t gotten into the damn pool yet. I do go to a book group once a month, which I look forward to for approximately 27 days and 22 hours. These women have become intellectual companions, emotional sounding boards, good friends. But a weekend away? Uh, no. Not with the girls. J and I have gotten away from the kids a few times. Ooh, that sounds bad, “Gotten away from…” And forget about home improvement, I can’t even keep on top of the daily maintenance. I have PILES upon piles of stuff–laundry, endless children’s “art” projects; seasonal clothes to put away in the closet or finally organize in dressers; bills; broken toys that I keep saying I’ll fix … Every day I tell myself, often out loud (!), that I will confront one of these piles. Just one room, one area of one room. But it doesn’t happen often enough. The piles multiply faster than I can conquer them.

Now even this post feels like it’s becoming like one of those piles–lost amongst the midst. Well, that’s what life with three kids is. Even if you are more high-functioning than I am. I know that it’s not fair to really compare my life with three with our brother’s life with three. There’s the twin aspect, of course. But, also, he’s not the mother. And, Sarah, really, isn’t that what we spend all of our mobile minutes talking about? Mothering three. MOTHERING.