This last weekend The King and I noticed Babboo doing this weird thing where he touched his thumb with the index finger on his other hand. This totally confused us. We kept asking him; do you have a sore on your thumb? We thought maybe he had a splinter or the cat has scratched him, or something.

Sunday, while Babboo was eating his dinner in his highchair, he kept touching his thumb over and over again. The King turned to me perplexed, and asked; does he know sign language?

I don’t know if he does. I didn’t teach him anything. Did you?

I didn’t. Maybe he learned it at school.

Yeah, maybe. I’ll ask them on Monday.

On Monday I was met at the school door by Babboo’s teacher. She told me that Babboo is getting very demanding. This was not news to me. Then she told me that they are trying very hard to get Babboo to use his words. I was all; he has words? Because seriously, he has words?!?

And that’s when she told me all about how he knows the signs for more, again, drink, food, and thank you.

So he was actually using sign language this weekend? And we, his parents, were in the dark. Completely. The kid was trying to communicate with us and we were staring at him blankly.

I can just imagine Babboo inner dialog:

What is wrong with these idiots? Can’t they see I want some more freakin’ waffles? How many times do I have to do this stupid sign before I get some more.damn.waffles? They just keep looking at me and smiling. Get off your fat asses and get me a damn waffle.

I wonder what the sign is for can I get some new parents? These two suck.

When my parents bought their house they were especially excited about the land they were getting also. The back yard had a below ground trampoline and a little blue playhouse. Even though I was 19 when they bought the house, Lil’ Isabel loved the playhouse. I was heartbroken that I was too old play in it. I imagined all the wonderful time I would have had in it if my parents would have just bought the house 10 year earlier.

This playhouse had a real door and a glass window. It was made out of wood, the roof was shingled and it looked just like a real house, you know, only smaller. It was nestled in the back corner of their yard, out of the way of everything. Instantly my dad wanted to tear it down. He felt there was no need for it. He was probably right. I mean my youngest sibling was 12 at the time, so she was never going to use it. But my mom fought to keep it.

After a few years of the playhouse just sitting there my dad started to use it as a chicken coop. He had a perfectly good chicken coop back near the horse stalls, but he wanted to use the playhouse. My dad put chicken wire around the bottom of the playhouse to keep the chickens in and the foxes out. My mom threw a fit and eventually the chickens moved. My dad boarded up the door and the little blue playhouse was left vacant again.

My dad is a school teacher. That means he gets the summer off. (Oh man, I’m so jealous of this aspect of his chosen career.) My mom usually gives my dad tasks to work on while he’s home and she’s at work. Things like; fix the shower in the camper, or plant grass where the chicken have pecked it out. This summer my mom decided on one task. Just one. But this one is a doosey.

My mom wants the playhouse fixed up. She wants her grandkids to be able to come over and be able play in it. She wants the chicken poop cleaned out. She wants new siding put up and painted. She wants a new window and door. And she wants curtains and furniture made. She also wants it to be accessible to both her girl and boy grandkids. That means it needs to be a playhouse for the girls and a fort for the boys.

For my mom’s birthday a few weeks ago all of us kids went in together and got my mom a gift card to Home Depot. We figured she could use it towards supplies for the playhouse. It was the perfect gift and she was thrilled.

They’ve been working hard. They tore down the old siding and bought the new siding. My mom sent out an e-mail today to all the kids. She wanted our suggestion for paint and trim color. She wants brown with white trim, my dad wants “barn red”. I voted for dark brown with off white siding and a “barn red” door.

(Look, I don’t have to black out my mom’s eyes. She did it for me!)

I can’t wait to see what fabric my mom picks out for the curtains. I’m anxious to see what furniture they come up. Will there be a sink and a couch? Will the girls let the boys play in it?

And more importantly, will they let me play in it?

(don’t forget to head over to my other blog and check out my latest post.)

There is really no way to sneak into your work’s restroom and look cool while taking a picture of yourself in the mirror.

I was just hoping and praying that nobody walked in and caught me and then I’d have to come up with a cover story really fast and on the spot. The best thing I could come up with would be “I need to take more pictures of toilets for this damn project I’m working on.”

But, I had to get the picture prior to heading to the salon to get my hair cut, and my new bangs. The interweb demands “before” shots.

I tried to get the best shot to accentuate my huge six-head. Damn, that thing is shiny and not very nice to look at.

Like a good girl, I brought in a picture of the hair cut I wanted. I found it on a very saucy postcard I received in the mail last week. (Apparently taking picture of a postcard is pert near impossible. But you get the idea, no?)

So the guy that cut my hair was awesome. He was all hot and tattooed and tough looking. He also did this thing with the scissors where he flipped them around while he cut. I was pretty sure I was going to lose an eye. Or maybe more hair then I had bargained for.

We discussed bangs and he thought we should go for something “long and swoopy”. It sounded good to me since I was pretty nervous about getting bangs again. I mean I had just finished growing out my bangs from when I got them while I was pregnant. We figured I could always get them cut shorter.

When I told The King I was getting layers he advised against it. He thought layers meant “the rachel”. Yeah, I haven’t had “the rachel” since the early 90’s. Sunday I got up and tried to do my hair myself. Basically it looks the same, except the layers help even it out a ton.

I like it. It’s easier to do. And doesn’t remind me of how freakin’ bald I’ve become since giving birth. I hope that kid of mine appreciates what I did for him.

Blah, hair, blah, bangs, blah, layers, blah, stop, blah, talking, blah, now!

Sunday afternoon we decided to take a little drive. While stopped at a red light we saw this guy:

Not only is he riding a 12 foot high bike, there is also a full size bike attached to the back for hop-ons, plus he’s carrying a bike. And no helmet to be seen.

It’s like the guy is asking to be hit by a bus.

Or have his picture taken and plastered on the interweb.

(What is it with me and bikers?)

So tell me, did you see or do anything exciting this weekend?

Thanks to everyone who left comments and sent me e-mails about my latest posts pertaining to my older brother and our lack of a relationship. Is it bad to admit that knowing a lot of families have similar problems makes me feel better about my problems? Because really, there are a lot of family issues out there in this world.

Basically I’m drained emotionally after having to relive all of these issues all over again. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’m at peace with it.

Ahhh. That feels good to say.

On a much lighter note, I met a new blog friend this week. A new friend who is lovely and smart and sassy. All rolled into one gal. You know I like my friends to be sassy. And as much as I’d love to black out her eyes in an attempt to be funny, I just can’t bring myself to do it. She’s just too darn cute to black out.

This is Jihan, she blogs, she lives near me, she loves Vespas, traveling the world, wearing fancy dresses and polka dotted heels. I love her. We’re already trying to schedule an evening to meet up for drinks and a movie. (And by “drinks” I mean “soda pop” and by “movie” I mean “gossip and looking at cute boys”.)

Babboo is into a New Thing at our house these days.

He’s all about the downward facing dog:

He finds it especially funny when I bend down and look at his face upside down. I too find it especially funny. And plain dreamy.

I almost forgot. I am also guest blogging over at WeekdayWisdom today. So check it out, you know, if you’re interested in hearing where we stand on our 100 pack of condoms. And I know you are.

And another thing. I’m getting bangs today. Wish me luck. I just think I look a million times better with them. Don’t you?

It’s emotionally draining to have to think about all of this. I have no one to blame but myself for brining it up.

Did you miss Part I and Part II? You’ll want to get up to speed before you continue reading.

It probably didn’t happen overnight, but it felt like it. Suddenly Biff cut himself off from the family. Sure he told us all he was gay. But then, nothing. He quit calling. He quit picking up the phone when we called. The King and I didn’t see him.

I can’t speak for his reasons for doing this. I can only share my speculations. I’m assuming that Biff wasn’t happy about the way things turned out. I think he assumed the family would freak out and make a bigger deal out of it. I think he wanted a bigger deal to be made. Truth be told, it was essentially a non-issue. We had known he was gay for years. Flat out known. We had seen the porn.

My Mom told me Biff sent her a book on how to deal with your child being gay. The thing was, my Mom wasn’t looking for a book. She was fine. Life continued for her. I got the impression that maybe Biff was in some sort of counseling and his therapist was advising him on how to deal with this.

Except really, there was nothing to deal with.

The next year my younger brother got engaged to be married. Of course it was assumed that all of the family would attend. The King and I bought our tickets and planned our trip. Biff wouldn’t commit. In an attempt to insure he would be there, my Mom and Dad bought him a gift certificate to be used for a plane ticket to the wedding.

Biff used the gift certificate to buy a ticket to San Diego for some sort of convention. He missed his brothers wedding completely. No gift. No card. No phone call on the wedding day to congratulate the Groom.

My younger sister got married eight months later. This is the sister that would fight for Biff to the death. She would stab me in the back to show her love and devotion to him, even though I’m the one that will actually pick up the phone when she calls. Biff won’t.

Again, Biff missed her wedding. No gift. No card. No apology or viable reason for not attending. This time my parents had wised up and not paid for a plane ticket for him. Thank goodness.

Basically this is where the story ends.

Sure I see Biff when my parents fly out to visit. They plan their trips around seeing him, even though he refuses to pick up the phone when they call to make plans. He has never flown back home to visit anyone out there. He lives within walking distance of our new house. He’s never stopped by to check on the status.

To be fair and honest, I’ve never stopped by his place either. The last time I talked to him on the phone (last year) it ended with me hanging up on him when he suggested my Mom cancel her upcoming trip to Seattle because it was a bad time for him.

(Please don’t be jealous of my mad photoshop skillz.)

In 2005 my entire family came to Seattle to visit. We met at the photo studio and got our pictures taken together. This one day Biff was available to get together. He finally met my siblings spouses.

My younger brother has a 2 year old little girl (and another on the way). Biff has yet to meet his niece. He’s seen Babboo once in the past year. And it was only because my parents took Babboo to his place while I was at work.

(Again, me with the short blond hair.)

To me Biff lives a very sad and lonely life. He refuses to work in the field of his degree, instead choosing to work part time evenings so he won’t have to wake up early in the morning. I have no idea how he spends his Holidays or what he does on his days off. I’m sure he has friends, a support group of people in his life that like him. But he seems to have forgotten about the family that he lived with and loved for so many years.

I wish that I could understand where Biff is coming from, what he is thinking. And then maybe all of this would make more sense to me.

But for now, I just sort of forget about him.

It’s easier, for me, that way.

So tell me, am I the only one with a story like this?

I know you are all dying to hear the rest of the story of my big gay brother.

Did you miss yesterday’s post? If so you’ll want to go back and read it or today’s post is totally going to confuse you.

There was about three months that The King and I had to keep my brothers secret from coming out (no pun intended). I agreed that he was the one that needed to tell the family. So I just kept my mouth shut. I didn’t have a problem telling my friends, it was just the family I had to keep quiet to.

The first time I saw Biff after he came out was a few weeks later. I was meeting up with some of my lady friends from church for dinner. As we were walking to the restaurant I saw Biff coming towards us. We stopped to chat with him and I introduced him to the ladies he hadn’t met before. Of course everyone was very pleasant to Biff and we chatted away for a few minutes.

It was very clear that Biff was now gay and proud. Gone was the brother that I had known for 27 years. Gone was the little boy that had walked with me to school. Gone was the teenager that teased me about boys. Gone was the older brother who had given me my first taste of alcohol in a batch of Mac & Cheese. In his place was some guy dressed in a see through mesh shirt with a Hooters I Love Breasts pin attached (I think he was trying to be ironic) and rolled up denim jeans.

I didn’t know what to think about all the sudden changes in Biff. The King and I talked about it later that night. I chalked it up to his 30 years of pent up gayness. I figured he was just trying to make up for lost time and would be the same old Biff that I knew and loved so much.

My parents came out for Christmas. By this time Biff had moved to a new apartment and no longer lived near The King and I. This meant that we all wouldn’t be hanging out together as much. Every time my parents came back to our place from hanging out with Biff I waited for them to tell me he had finally told them.

He never told them.

I kept telling Biff that he needed to get it over with and just tell them. He said he would. He was just waiting for the “right time”. Okay, I bought that.

On their last night in Seattle I made Biff go out to dinner alone with my parents. They kept saying that The King and I should join them, but I politely declined. They needed to be alone. I truly felt like I was sending them off like lambs to the slaughter.

I didn’t see my parents until the next morning as they were packing their bags to head to the airport. We had been talking for about thirty minutes before my Dad said; your brother finally told us he is gay. I asked them how it went and how he had told them. My Mom said they were just hanging out in his apartment and he told them straight up that he was gay. My brother, the one who never had gone to church, also told them he found a church he liked. He told them he was involved in things now. And that’s when he turned to my sweet Mom and said the one thing that he probably didn’t need to say; don’t worry Mom, I always use a condom!”

That’s what did it. That’s what upset my Mom. It wasn’t him telling her he was gay, it wasn’t him saying that he no longer believed in the church he was raised in. It was him owning up to the fact that he was having sex. My Mom told me that morning; I don’t really need to know about any of my kids having sex.

Amen lady.

My parents caught their plane and headed home. By the time they got home Biff had called and told my younger sister he was gay. This part upset my parents. Since my sister was still a kid and living under their roof, they had wanted to sit down and discuss this with her. They had wanted to talk openly and honestly with her, keeping in tune with the beliefs they were raising her with. She took this to mean they were upset with my brother being gay. Which, I believe, wasn’t their intent at all.

You see, my parents have never been homophobes. While they are Christian, they aren’t necessarily what you would call conservative. They take Jesus’ message of Love One Another very seriously. They also raised my uncles, one of which is gay, since they were 11 years old. We’ve been around the gays. We’re not afraid of them.

I honestly can’t recall how my younger brother was told about Biff’s preference for men. That must have been a non issue. As for the extended family, well, Biff never told them. This has always bothered me since I am the one who constantly is being asked by my grandma; do you think Biff will ever find a nice girl and get married? I’ve even responded by saying that; no, there is a 0% chance that he will ever find a nice girl to marry! She just doesn’t seem to get it. Or maybe she doesn’t want to get it. I hear she has also chosen to ignore that one of my young cousins is a lesbian.

It’s been years and years since Biff came out to us. How have things changed since then?

Tune in tomorrow when I’ll sum up the last five years and try to figure out what happened to my relationship with Biff, the relationship that seemed so solid 25 years ago.