Sweet Boy… I take it back. Sweet MAN!

I know I’ve blasted my brother in this blog. He’s done me some really fucked up shit, but my complaint has always been the selfishness.

The last few weeks though, he’s really been looking out for me. I have to say I appreciate it, because I wasn’t sure he and I were going to get back or ever to a real even keel after the last go around.

Before I left to go to Barbados on holiday, he came and helped me get ready, brought back my suitcase, and was with me in the minutes before I left to go to the airport.

Since I’ve been back, and especially with the broken arm, every few days he passes by my apartment, cleans the kitchen, runs to the corner store and stocks me up, takes out the garbage and cooks me lunch or dinner.

It’s amazing the change that has come over him!

He’s turning into a real sweetie. At least, he’s making sure I’m alright and totally understanding the pain. He’s broken his wrist, his collarbone, an arm, had dozens of stiches. All kinds of war wounds.

In all of my blogging out my frustrations about our relationship, I’ve also repeatedly mentioned that he is one of my best friends. We joking tell people we’re a twin, born 15 months apart. I guess, though we just can’t live together.

He was here today, and he brought his girlfirend’s youngest daughter who filled the apartment with froggy leaping around, an amazing compulsion to keep locking the door and opening the door, giggles and singing and dancing. Three year olds are amazing!

We all sat down and I was forced to consume something called “The Wiggles” and “Roly Poly Oly”. It was refreshing.

My brother has become so affectionate, and he’s really great with her, doing very well in this semi-parental role. I know he said he didn’t want to be anyone’s daddy, but he’s doing a pretty good job in his role as caring mother’s boyfriend.

It’s not hard to see why. She is a beautiful child, and getting prettier and prettier. She’s also as sharp as a tack; a three year old, but not quite. If you take my meaning.

Despite my consternation at the closing of the door, knocking, ignoring my summons to enter, waiting for me to specifically ask, ‘Who is it?’, her opening the door, locking it, then starting all that over again; it was a blast.

I got some many sweet, sweet, yummy kisses and a big hug before she left.

Even from my brother. The fact that he took out the garbage without me asking–a constant fighting point when we were living together–made me just feel positively warm and fuzzy.

I can report to my mother, that he’s coming along quite nicely.

Good for him.

Liked it? Take a second to join The Backroom Collective!
Just $1 a month can help us create safe spaces for women.

Comments

thegoddessroom

The Vault

sungoddess

mermaid, dayo's mama, water priestess, writer, web developer, omo yemoja, dos aguas, obsessive reader, sci-fi fan, trini-bajan, combermerian, second life, music, music, music!