A Military Man

When UT scored their first touchdown against OU yesterday, it was followed by the obligatory high fives and high pitched WHOOs customary of the rare successful Longhorn play for points. And as also is customary for those occasions when he is not in the room during sporting events, I reached for my phone to text Bro with an all caps “HOOK EM!”

Wait….that’s right…He’s at bootcamp, unreachable by phone or text or email or carrier pigeon. How odd to think he might not even know that UT won yesterday.

My one and only sibling, Tyler “Bro” Wilkinson, left for Great Lakes, Illinois last Tuesday to begin a four-year stint with the United States Navy. During the 6 months he lived in our guest bedroom, I might have welcomed a prolonged absence by the loveably oblivious, workout buff and football addict. But now that the days of living within two miles of my childhood partner in crime are essentially over, I’m realizing how much I’m gonna miss that dude, well most of him—not so much his unexpected pop-ins to the house in the middle of the week without a heads-up phone call. In fact, the newfound privacy and unfettered access to our own washing machine will actually be a treat. And I definitely won’t miss his aggressive defeatist attitude during the second half of Cowboys games. No, those 45 minutes of violent pacing and hair pulling  will be a void I welcome.

What I will miss are my regular bouts with his sweet disposition, trusting nature and general gooberishness. It’s not often I would hang out with Bro and he wouldn’t say or do something to cause my head to shake in affectionate befuddlement. And it’s a rare human who can match my zeal for dance parties and appreciation of terrible puns. He’s the only person in the world who knows what it’s like to have our mom for a mom, our dad for a dad, who knows what it means to come from the family we came from. For the first time, I’m realizing I won’t have my little Bro around to come over and just generally “get it.” That’s new territory that will take some time to get use to.

Bro has always wanted to be a hero, and the military serves as an adequate scratch to that itch. He’ll be good at it. He’s disciplined and he’s easily content in most situations. He’s regimented and committed and loyal, and this experience will be good for him, but I wouldn’t be a good big sister if I didn’t believe that as good as the Navy will be for him, he’ll be even better for the Navy.

Either way, it’s a bummer not to have him around, and we’ll drink a beer in his honor during the Cowboys game tonight.








Bro dancingBro at weddingBro photo bomb



We’re having a boy!

A 6-foot-tall, 180-pound boy, also known as Bro.

Yes, we’ve reached that stage in life that every young couple dreams of. After you’ve graduated from college, nailed down a respectable job, and bought your first house, it becomes time to lovingly welcome a Bro into your life.

Bro is my little brother, my only “real” sibling if you want to get technical about it. And although he is a complete goober, I am a little fond of him and would (rightfully) do anything for him. So when it became a little tough for this UT anthropology graduate to find a job in “these tough economic times” we thought it fair to let him bunk with us at The Doodle House until he can figure things out.

So the past couple days on the east side have been a little chaotic. Bro hasn’t graced us with his presence yet, but we’ve been plenty busy clearing out closets and rooms to prepare for his arrival. It goes to figure, you get the house set up just the way you like it and then, like that, you find yourself in the midst of a  complete reorganization of house and home. Bro will be staying in the office, which means saying goodbye to my peaceful grey nook and hello to a man cave.

That, of course, means finding places elsewhere in the house for the day bed, bookshelf, and desk that currently take up real estate here. The past week this same scene has been playing on repeat:

  • I move a piece of furniture to whatever place in the house I think it will fit.
  • I live with it for a few days and decide I don’t like it there.
  • I move it again.

Bless Heath for coming to my rescue every time I yell “MOOSHY, WILL YOU COME HELP ME MOVE THIS?!” from across the house (it’s been about 4 times a day).

Hopefully by the time Bro’s big move in day arrives, we will have gotten things sorted. Until then, I know how I’ll be spending my evenings. At least I don’t have to worry about lifting weights…

To Bro!