…and I’ve loved him all along.

This Sunday is the day the Broncos are going to win against the Patriots.

Sorry…just had to get that off my chest before I get into the real issue.

Which is…the fact that this sunday is also the day my little brother turns 17.

Even if I WANTED to forget about it though, I wouldn’t be able to…because he is forever reminding me how many days are left till his birthday…probably like 3 times a day, more or less.

He is my little brother, but in most ways we are like…polar opposites. For example, when my birthday is approaching, it is the LAST thing I want everyone to know. Other examples?

• He LOVES Justin Bieber. Gag.
• He is a social butterfly and LOVES being the center of attention. I didn’t exactly inherit that gene.
• He is definitely bold, and an awesome initiator. Mostly I’ve been noticing this as I see him interacting with his…ahem…”friend” Hannah at school. It blows my mind, because I am definitely NOT that way. I’m too timid to initiate. Which makes me appreciate all the more people who DO initiate.
• He is the pizza king. I am the fruit and veggie queen.
• He hates math…even after all my attempts to help him love it as much as I do.
• He’s a stud. A talkative one. I’m quiet…and a bit of a nerd.
• He can watch the same movie over and over and over and OVER again, and never get tired of it. In fact, it seems like watching it more only makes him love it more, which makes him want to watch it even more…and at this point, you will most likely find me begging my parents to not allow him to watch it anymore because “honestly, it isn’t natural and it MUST not be good for your health to watch one movie THAT many times.” For example, Sound of Music, the Rookie, Facing the Giants…I’ll stop there, because the list is quite extensive.
• He practices his dance moves in the kitchen for my mom and I to watch while we make dinner. I practice MY dance moves in…oh wait…I don’t have any dance moves…
• He LOVES fancy clothes…or any type of not-normal-everyday-wear. His favorites to wear? His suit, complete with nice white button-up shirt and a fancy schmancy tie, or jeans with his plaid button-up shirt, cowboy boots and cowboy hat. My favorites to wear? Give me comfiness over dressineess any day…sweatpants and hoodies, yup.
• He always wears shoes in the house. I will never understand why, and I think it is ridiculous. The FIRST thing I do when I step in the house is take my shoes off. Its bad enough having to wear them OUTSIDE the house, why prolong the awfulness by wearing them in the house? In the house, you will either find me in a) warm fuzzy socks, or b) warm slippers. I want to be warm and comfy. Enough said.
• He’s a go-with-the-crowd kind of person. Me…I’m definitely a don’t-go-with-the-crowd person. He cheers for the biggest, best, most popular sports teams…I always love the underdogs. He changes his mind frequently as to which team he’s rooting for (mostly depening on who is winning)…I stick with mine forever, no matter what, till the death.
• When we’re flipping through TV channels, he lingers on the love-drama shows…until I take control of the remote and flip it to either news or sports. Oh, the horror of having a boring big sister.
• He conks out anywhere, anytime. Seriously. And he has this weird ability to sleep sitting up. In the car, one minute he’s singing loudly along to the radio, and the next, his head is bobbing as he dozes off still half-singing in his sitting-up sleep. Crazy kid. I, on the other hand, will regularly spend an hour in bed trying and trying and trying to fall asleep, before I actually do. Side note–Last week I had an MRI done…and after 5 minutes inside this huge machine making insanely loud machine-gun-like noises…I woke up to the MRI technician talking to me through the headset I was wearing. Soo basically…I can spend an hour at night, at bedtime, when its dark, in my proper bed, and not be even close to sleep…but I can’t even last 5 minutes inside a huge machine making rapid-fire loud noises without falling asleep? I do not understand myself. –End of side note.

Buuuuuuut we are also similar in a lot of ways:

• We love music. Where there is silence, we bring the music.
• We love hugs.
• We love reading. (Success! I am SO proud of this fact.)
• We love giving.
• We do not have the greatest eyesight in the world.
• We like singing (though there is a bit of a dramatic difference in our approaches…he is bold as bold can be…I am not really)
• We have the lightest hair out of everyone in the family, and almost the same exact color: booooooring brown.
• We crack up hilariously at my dad’s jokes, no matter how lame they are…while my mom usually shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

Anyways. Its so weird to me that Matt is growing up. REALLY growing up. As in, he has muscles, manly hairy legs, and has to shave regularly (or rather, we have to keep him shaved regularly to save him and us from public awkward-teenage-boy-scruff embarrassment. Ahem.)

I still remember when he was wobbling around in diapers, babbling his toddler-language, clapping his hands together and giggling this adorable giggle.

I remember seeing him in his hospital bed when he was a baby, right after he had his heart surgery, scared and praying for God to please-just-make-him-better-quick, and simultaneously fascinated with the fact that the doctors had superglued his scar together.

I remember when we were eating dinner as a family one night when I was 8 and Matt was 6, and for some reason I stuck my tongue out at Matt (A definite WRONG move in our house at the time…I don’t remember if it was playful or a bratty-little-girl move). Matt of course, had to tell on me to my mom, who dismissed us both from the dinner table to go sit in the living room until she would come in and speak with us. I, as a smart 8 year old, used this time to my advantage, being extra nice to Matt in an effort to convince him I didn’t actually stick my tongue out at him, I was only licking my lips. I made sure he was 100% with me on this, and when my mom came in to speak with us, I explained what had really happened (but, in reality, NOT really)…my mom looked to Matt and asked him if this was true, and he looked at me, and then back to mom, and nodded his head. I look back on that memory and shake my head at how naughty I was…

I remember locking him into a room and sitting him down on the bed, on a mission to save his soul and make sure he would be going to heaven by praying “the prayer” with him. I remember doing this on three different occasions. I was little, we had been talking about heaven and hell in sunday school, and I had decided there was NO way I was gonna go to heaven without my little brother, NO WAY.

I remember doing math flash cards with him to help him learn his “plus and minus” tables.

I remember shooting hoops with him in front of our house. Mostly I remember that he swished nearly every shot, and mine nearly ALWAYS bounced off the backboard. No fair.

And now he’s all grown and growed up, and still growing.

And next year, he most probably will be bigger than me.

I’m stopping now because I’m just scaring myself.

My point is, I love that boy.

From diapers to suits and cowboy boots. From wobbly baby-legs to muscles. From soft chubby cheeks to awkward teenage-boy facial hair. I love that boy, and I’ve loved him all along.