Brotherly love

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In my family, there's not much of a tradition of close, loving, secret-sharing relationships between the female siblings. I read in books, see in movies, even observe in some of my friends and their sisters the ideal sisterly state. In the real world, though, in my real world that's flush with far more females than males, it just hasn't been. Not for those sisters who came before me nor for those who've come after.

My mom and her two sisters clearly love one another, but I'd venture to say calling each other best friends would be pushing it. My sisters and I? Well, we did—and do—love one another, but in a group of five females, you can imagine the competitions, the cat fights. Or maybe you can't, if you're one of the fortunate ones who indeed calls your sister your best friend.

Even my own daughters—whom I have no doubt whatsoever love and cherish one other dearly—aren't now and never have been a tight-knit trio. Nor is there even an exclusive duo among the three, leaving a third wheel to roll on her own. (Which, truth be told, I accept, for having one child continually left out and heartbroken would be an even more difficult situation than the overall arms length at which they all seem to keep one another.)

It saddens me that somehow, somewhere, the sisters-as-best-friends gene seems to have skipped generation after generation after generation in my family. I envy those sisters for whom the sappy adages cross-stitched on pillows and emblazoned across coffee mugs ring true. I wanted that. I wanted that for my daughters.

When it comes to my grandsons, though, they do have that. And what a heartwarming delight it is to see. Bubby and Mac are unabashedly best buds, best friends who love and cherish, adore and idolize one another. Countless times during their visit I witnessed one reaching out to the other just to cuddle or kiss, share a toy or a moment. Sometimes I'd see one little hand pat a shoulder, an arm, a cheek as if they simply needed assurance their best buddy was still there.

Just as many times, I watched one hop on the other as though a bell audible to only them had been rung, signaling the start of a wrestling match. They'd giggle and roll and squeal in delight. Then just as quickly, the match would be over and they'd move on to another activity, together or solo, secure in knowing their brother, their best friend, was nearby if the urge to wrestle and wrangle struck once again.

 

Of course Bubby and Mac argue, compete for attention, clamor for the very same toys and don't hold back physically or vocally in challenging one another for what they feel is rightfully theirs. But once the victor is declared—by virtue of who's most determined to get their way or by virtue of Mommy or another adult breaking up the bickering—they're right back to lovin' on one another. No grudges, no resentment.

I'm not sure how it happened. I don't know whether Megan subconsciously—or consciously—did something absolutely perfectly right in creating the connection between the boys, instilled something that eluded me when raising my girls, or if it's just luck of the draw and she came up with the winning and perfectly matched pair.

Whatever the reason, whatever the cause, I'd say that Bubby and Mac are the true winners. I hope their winning streak continues. They'll always be brothers, of course. I'm crossing my fingers and saying my prayers that they'll always—and in all ways—be best friends, as well.

Today's question:

Which of your siblings did you consider your best friend as children?

The Saturday Post: "Friends" edition

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It's been a rather serious week here on Grandma's Briefs, what with stories of guilt and attacks and serious safety hazards.

I say it's time for a change of pace, time to lighten the mood.

In other words, it's time for my favorite funny fellas, the masters of all things silly: Flight of the Conchords.

Happy Saturday to you, my friends. ♪ La, la, la, la! ♪

Friends and food

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I have a lovely friend who's just a few centimeters away from having her first baby. She recently posted on her blog a great list of ways to assist a friend upon the arrival of their newborn, a list she was given by an equally lovely friend of ours. Many of the ideas include ways to help out by providing food, lasagne naturally being one of the suggestions.

My family and I have fond memories of lasagne. Delicious pan after pan of lasagne, provided by friends while I was in the hospital for a week nearly 20 years ago. Thank God for friends and for lasagne, as that's what my husband and daughters lived on while I was away.

My return home was met by more friends with more food. Dinner of pork tenderloins and pasta, warm and flavorful from a friend down the block. A huge sliced ham, selections of cheese, and soft sandwich rolls from the deli. And more lasagne, quite different than how I make it but all the more luscious as it was not my hands that prepared it. Again, thank God for friends and food as it's what we all lived on while I recuperated.

I know firsthand how helpful it is to provide meals and more to friends and family recovering from medical issues. Or getting used to a newborn in the home. But I also know firsthand how difficult it is to provide such things anymore. Not because of financial constraints, but because of what folks eat nowadays. Or don't eat nowadays.

Outside of my family — and to some degree, inside my family — nearly every person I know has strong preferences for the types of food they eat. Be it organic or locally grown or low-carb or low-salt or high-protein or no-fat, low-fat or only fats of a certain sort, it's mind boggling. And seemingly impossible to get the right combination for the right person.

Lasagne is no longer what it used to be. Back in the day, the basic dish had basic ingredients: noodles, sauce, cheeses, maybe meat. You couldn't go wrong. Now wrong is about all you can do when making it for someone other than those you make it for regularly. Are the noodles wheat or enriched or gluten-free? Sauce? Are the tomatoes organically grown, and what's the sodium content? Cheese? Don't even get me going on the cheesy possibilities. Or the meat ... or no meat ... or veggie options that would have been preferred over what I may have picked.

Lasagne is a fairly expensive dish to produce so I'm recently reluctant to make it for others when there's the possibility of it being poked, prodded, and questioned by a recipient, who may politely smile and offer thanks then feed it to the dog. Depending on the dog's dietary restrictions, of course.

"Make a giant pot of vegetable soup," reads another suggestion, but it's rife with the same concerns, same dilemma, because I'm pretty darn sure I'd use the wrong vegies, the wrong stock, the non-locally grown goodies that might make noses snarl and tummies roil, despite how delicious it may be. Not that my friend is a snarly kind of gal by any means; we just eat differently.

I'm known for giving food gifts at Christmas: cookies, bars, breads. I'm not tooting my own horn by saying they're all delicious, I'm simply sharing the feedback the goodies have received. I'm pretty darn sure my gifts haven't gone to the dogs ... or the garbage can. But I'm reconsidering food gifts, for holidays and definitely when it comes to helping out a friend, for food no longer feels like a gift. It feels like a landmine. With too much potential for such offerings to explode, leaving both sides with burned feelings of one degree or another.

Bottom line is that because of our vastly different dietary preferences, when it comes to helping out my friend, the new mom, you can be sure food won't be the form of assistance I offer. With food off-limits, though, the assistance suggestion I next considered was the one about buying "6 pairs of black cotton underpants (women’s size____)." But unlike food preferences, panty size is something not even the best of friends share with one another.

Which likely leaves me to opt for the suggestions that include holding the baby while Mom showers, folding laundry, and buying household staples such as toilet paper.

As long as I'm told what kind of toilet paper to purchase, that is. Because, just like lasagne, purchasing toilet paper for friends is no longer as simple as it used to be.

Photo: Flickr/VancityAllie

Today's question:

What are your favorite ingredients for lasagne?