I can blog about what I really want to blog about.
My brother Tabor!
It's his birthday.
I love pausing on birthdays to consider my family members. Writing about them makes me think about them and love and appreciate them all the more.
So pardon me while I regale you with tales of Tabor.
When I was seven I had a particular dilemma. It seems like it was family home evening related. I needed to make a chart (possibly commissioned by my mom) and I wanted to use initials.
My dad (Mark) had the same initial as Marianne so that wouldn't work.
If I switched to Mama and Daddy there was still the M problem with Marianne.
Such troubles for a seven year old.
I told my dad that I was glad there were no other "T"s in the family. He got a wry grin and told me that they were going to name the new baby my mom was expecting a "T" name. I was convinced it was just to spite me when Tabor showed up and was...Tabor.
I really think that's about all of the displeasure he's ever caused me though.
There are three girls in our family then three boys. When we babysat the boys, Marianne, delegating master that she is, declared she would be in charge of Enoch (who really was a pain most of the time...he could--and would--smack us with the business end of his stick horse). Since Marianne was oldest she could handle him. Olivia loved babies and so she got to be in charge of Ammon. I was the sort of lazy one in the middle without very high expectations so I got Tabor.
Because he was easy.
I loved being in charge of Tabor. We would eat something unimaginative like bread for dinner and he'd pleasantly do what I said while Olivia struggled with baby food and diapers and Marianne struggled with...Enoch.
For all his status as the easy keeper, Tabor has not had an easy life. Before he was even born my mom was on bed rest when she was pregnant with him. He was hospitalized with high fever induced seizures as a baby. He's had more ear infections than I can count and has broken more bones than I can count. He was banged up and broken playing football in high school but horses have probably inflicted the most pain.
He's been dragged by horses, bent, busted and broken. He's glued himself back together, had casts and braces and has a metal plate in his face from a nasty run in with a mule.
In a word. He's tough. If I'd been through what he's been through, I'd most likely be dead.
When he was eight years old after numerous ear infections and illnesses, Tabor had his tonsils out and tubes put in his ears. He has always been skinny skinny skinny but after that, he lost 15 pounds. He wouldn't eat because his throat hurt.
I think my mom figured he'd eat eventually.
I figured he was going to starve to death.
I also figured (since I was 15) that I knew more than my mom and it was up to me to save Tabor.
I stayed home from church with him. I made him milkshakes and pudding and convinced him to eat.
He's been saving me ever since.
When Tabor was a teenager and I was a young mother, I'd go on walks with him when I was home in Nevada. He'd listen to my tales of woe, my life in the trenches. He'd advise me and bolster me and I'm not sure how (because what did he know about being a mother?) but always he made me feel better. When he was a missionary he got permission to call me in Connecticut on Christmas. We were both marooned from our family over the holidays but I think he spent the bulk of the conversation encouraging me.
Now when I talk to Tabor about the things that are ailing me with my children and their education he gives me perspective and wisdom. He listens to me, tells me truths then makes me laugh.
He's always always made me laugh.
Here's my favorite picture of Tabor and Enoch (who hasn't hit any of us with a stick horse in years). I shamelessly stole it from my sister-in-law Melanee's blog...I hope that's OK.