My brothers three

I am surrounded on all sides by brothers. Three of them to be exact. This fact has always elicited some interesting responses....especially from boys on first dates....
I used to pretend that I wanted a sister. I even joked with a friend about trading one of her sisters for one of my brothers. When I was around 5 years old (okay, maybe for about 3 hours) I decided to skip the whole sister thing and just join in the male race. I insisted that my family call me "Noah," a name that I happened to have heard in church in reference to some ancient famous flood. I stomped around the house awhile in my new-found manhood...until the sparkles in my princess tiara caught my eye and I once again delved down deep into the world of insane girlyness. From then on, I referred to it as "Nora's Ark."

Truthfully though, I am and always have been, ridiculously proud of the strong, handsome men that I am fortunate enough to call my brothers.

Don't get me wrong, there were times that I certainly felt the brunt of being the minority sex. During our annual Thanksgiving football games my brothers squabbled over who would get stuck with me, finally agreeing that I came in a package with a mandatory touchdown. Mind you, I have always been athletic and not hideously butter-fingered, but I was still a girl.

And a girl I certainly was. Long blond hair, dresses and a favorite color of "rose red," I often found myself conning my youngest brother into playing barbies with me or putting on fashion shows....and if he didn't, well, I knew that he was afraid of the basement and the dark and I was not above locking him down there....or putting on a Halloween mask a shaking him awake in the middle of the night...

My younger is not the only one who has had to bear the wrath of little ol' me.

My oldest suffered through my incredibly palpable jealousy when he began dating his first serious girlfriend. I honestly was a new girlfriend's worst nightmare--the kid sister that just would not go away. I would linger around them, shooting poker hot glares at her and hissing indeterminable answers to her fumbling questions. Or not answering them at all and just turned my back to her with a huff and a exaggerated eye-roll. I was in love with every one of my oldest brother's friends, partly (or perhaps mainly) because they were close to him and I worshipped the ground he walked on. Unfortunately, this just manifested in my acting like a fool, giggling incessantly and applying pounds of make-up (their was one especially painful incident involving too much green eye-shadow and red lipstick).

My second brother and I often fought like alley cats attempting to mark as much territory as possible. We would deliberately peck at each other's weak spots until one of us cracked and our fiery tempers would spill like hot lava in a direct path towards the other. The object to burn, perhaps even leave a raw red scar.

But, when I have needed them, they are there, each offering my something different and so valued. My oldest brother's guiding advice and calming voice of reason; my second brother's sense of adventure and fearlessness; my little brother's goofy charm and giant bear hugs.

They are what I value most in life. My boys.