My little brother is now officially part of the surge of troops in Iraq now. I can't give away too many specifics, but he's finished his training stateside (he says prison must be better than what they went through) and today, we spoke for a bit, but I don't anticipate hearing from him again for some time. It's pretty trippy stuff. He's my little brother--- the little boy I terrorized, but wouldn't let anyone else touch. The baby whose feet I used to smell to make him laugh when he was a baby. I was able to send him my free ipod I got with my swanky new laptop, so that made me feel at least I could do something.
My Mom is pretty much a wreck- which surprises me- not that anyone wants to see their baby go off to war, but he's been in the reserves since right after 9-11, and really, it's remarkable he has not been deployed earlier. However, when soup comes to nuts and your kid heads off to a war zone, it's more than a good reason to go to bed. Which is what my Mom did. FOR A WEEK. She's never done that in my entire 35 years of knowing her--- through brain tumors, miscarriages, deaths in the family... this is one stoic woman. She can cook her way out of any mood (consider yourself blessed if you ever get her beef wellington) or twist it into a funny event (we giggled over hairstyles when her head got shaved to remove the brain tumor when I was in highschool) but she's not laughing about this one. I don't really think anyone is.