weekend part one: what have you done with my brother?

This weekend Brad and I took a trip to the east coast. Jared, my brother-in-law, started graduate school at the University of Virginia this fall. In May, he graduated from Vanderbilt, where most students live on-campus all four years, saving their parents a host of money on first apartment necessities. Knowing Jared would be furnishing a bedroom, living room, and kitchen for the first time this fall, Brad and I gave him an Ikea shopping spree for graduation. We scheduled said spree for this weekend.

The closest Ikea to Charlottesville is just outside of D.C., so we flew into Reagan National on Friday night. The plan was to spend the night with my brother so we could head to Ikea first thing on Saturday morning. This seems like a solid, simple plan, until you remember that my brother likes to throw wrenches into solid, simple plans.

Let's turn the clock back fifteen years or so for a good example. I was a college student at the time, eager to do something nice for my mother on Mother's Day. We hadn't taken a professional family portrait in a number of years, so I decided to arrange a session with a Roanoke photographer for a picture of the Price kids. Home for spring break, I forced Randy and Caty into color-complimentary ensembles and we headed for the park. Randy was in 10th grade at the time, and Caty was in the 6th. The photographer finds a picturesque spot, puts us in a casual "just sitting close to each other in the park like we do every Saturday" pose, and walks back to the tripod. When he peers through the lens, he finds my sister in tears. Randy has been pinching her as hard as he can, and she is a blubbering mess. Even after he is reprimanded by the photographer, Randy doesn't stop. End result: 25 pictures of three siblings, one of whom is obviously forcing a smile through a flood of tears in every shot. Happy Mother's Day!

Here is a visual:



Randy is now older and wiser, but still a bit of a pill. I love him so much I cannot begin to put it into words, yet he somehow loves himself even more. Which means that when I visit Randy, I do not get red carpet treatment. So you'll understand why I'm not 100% sure that the young man I encountered on Friday night was actually my brother.

First, we arrived at his apartment building and only had to call three times before he buzzed us in. (Normally, he never answers, and we have to stalk the front door until someone walks through with an armful of groceries.)

Second, he did not give me hell when I told him that I wouldn't be going with him to a show at the Black Cat that night but would be going out to eat with my wonderful friend Cheryl. Instead of twisting my arm, he recommended the best place to get something vegetarian for dinner nearby. (Randy is usually incapable of taking "no" for an answer. This makes him a great lawyer, as well as a PITA sibling when there is a difference of opinion.)

Third, when I asked how I should get back in the apartment while he was at the show, he gave me a spare key and a building fab. It almost made my heart stop. (A few months ago, I threw a wedding shower at Randy's apartment for my sister. We were expecting a gaggle of women, and Randy decided his best move would be to abandon the apartment entirely and hide away at a bikinis and board shorts party. Randy left us with no way of getting in and out of the apartment, because he took all of his keys with him. We did a lot of front door stalking that weekend.)

Fourth (and I only know this by word of mouth), he was about to leave the apartment with Brad, Jared, and his three friends to go to the show when he stopped shot. "Wait, everybody. Robin might get home before us. We have to make her bed." Brad: "Why? She can make her own bed." Randy: "BRAD. She is PREGNANT."

Fifth, when we ran into the crew of gents on the street while walking back to the apartment after dinner, Randy stopped his friend from smoking. "Dude, you cannot smoke right now. You have to wait until she is a safe distance away. She is PREGNANT."

Sixth, when Randy got home at 4am with a crew of friends for the after-after-party and found Brad on the couch, he brought Brad to bed. When he noticed that I was awake (Brad and Jared had returned at 2:30am and knocked on the unlocked front door, because they couldn't open it), Randy asked if he could get me a glass of water. When I showed him that I already had a glass, he asked if I wanted some ice. When I declined, he asked if he could get Brad some water. That seemed like a wise idea (the evening involved very many tequila shots as I've been told), so I accepted. Randy got the water for Brad, and then forced Brad to drink it.

Seventh, when he started playing loud music for the after-after-party, he selected Mumford & Sons, because he knows I'm a fan. Yes, I was wide awake until 6am when the after-after-party shut down, but at least I was singing along.

Eighth, when we woke up at 830am to make it to Ikea, Randy got up on his own and came out to give me a hug goodbye. He even looked at my slightly protruding belly, which freaks him out but also makes him smile.

Turns out that pregnancy transforms Randy into a pseudo-gentleman! It's my favorite side effect to date. I am a pinching-free zone for the next sixth months. Ahhhh.