Chapter Two – The Story of Us
My husband, Brandon, and I met when I was a freshman in high school. He was dating my best friend, Justine, and when her mother demanded that she break up with him, I wasn't exactly the best one to go to for comfort. I knew deep down that the way I cared for Brandon was different from the way I had ever cared for anyone, and while he was grieving for Justine, I told him some things to cheer him up, which were some pretty nasty comments that I hadn't really meant. I was being selfish. And I was being the worst kind of friend, the one every teenage girl dreads – "The Boyfriend Stealer." But Brandon and I only remained friends. For the rest of the school year and throughout the summer, that is.
School started back up in September. Brandon and I got closer and closer, despite my parents' wishes, and we finally made it official in October. We've been together ever since.
We were married the day after my eighteenth birthday. Brandon was twenty and had just been accepted to Lock Haven University. He wanted to be a History teacher, and just that thought in itself was a major accomplishment.
We had both struggled in high school. I failed ninth grade and came close to being held back a second time. Brandon had flunked the eighth grade and both of us had so many different subjects in so many different grades after that, we weren't sure what grades we were in. I ended up dropping out when I was seventeen, eventually going back to finish, but Brandon made up for everything he'd been behind in, graduated, then went on to LHU.
Another reason that Brandon's desire to be a teacher came as a bit of a shock was because of who Brandon was as a teenager. He was a "Goth," who wore black clothes, chains, and had slightly long black hair that he slicked back. He was different from everyone else. But that was what I loved about him – besides the fact that he easily lost his temper and did rash things, like punching a door or locker (and in one case a flagpole) only to slice his knuckles open. No, History teacher didn't seem to be anywhere in Brandon's future. Nor on his mind.
After we got married, we struggled a bit with money. His and my parents chipped in to pay for him to go to college. He had a dead-end job working at our local fast food restaurant, where he'd been since he was sixteen, and I was working at a bookstore in Williamsport. We were living with Brandon's father just outside of town and had to pay a little bit of rent to help with groceries and basic needs. We had our first child the spring after I turned twenty.
We named him Brandon Lee for two reasons – one, Brandon was his father's name, and two; Lee was his grandfather's name. We called him by his middle name so as not to be confused by having two Brandons in one house.
Jesse wasn't born until Lee was five. But after that, we just couldn't seem to stop. We'd only planned on three or four kids, but when a college buddy of Brandon's had a huge birthday bash with lots of alcohol, we got Cade. Kirian and Kieran resulted when I forgot to take my pills...for an entire week.
Brandon didn't want to take the chance of getting a "surprise" again because of my forgetfulness, so we used a different method of birth control this time. But it broke. Enter Cody Lynne.
Three months after her, it was once again alcohol that brought us Tyson, but we'd been unaware. We vowed there'd be no alcohol at my thirty-fifth birthday, but Lee – who was fourteen at the time – decided to spike the punch. And between Brandon and me, a lot of punch was consumed.
You'd think we would have learned by then, but – perhaps because we were stupid – we just plain took the risk the next time. And what did we get? Akira.
Enough was enough. I'd been begging Brandon to have a vasectomy since after the twins were born, and he finally did. The doctor promised that it was ninety-nine percent effective. Tommi was that ineffective one percent.
After that we figured we'd even things up and have one more. The vasectomy was reversed and along came Jason. That was twelve.
The one who, as Jesse says, "is in the oven," was another risk-taker. Some people just never learn.
My husband, Brandon, and I met when I was a freshman in high school. He was dating my best friend, Justine, and when her mother demanded that she break up with him, I wasn't exactly the best one to go to for comfort. I knew deep down that the way I cared for Brandon was different from the way I had ever cared for anyone, and while he was grieving for Justine, I told him some things to cheer him up, which were some pretty nasty comments that I hadn't really meant. I was being selfish. And I was being the worst kind of friend, the one every teenage girl dreads – "The Boyfriend Stealer." But Brandon and I only remained friends. For the rest of the school year and throughout the summer, that is.
School started back up in September. Brandon and I got closer and closer, despite my parents' wishes, and we finally made it official in October. We've been together ever since.
We were married the day after my eighteenth birthday. Brandon was twenty and had just been accepted to Lock Haven University. He wanted to be a History teacher, and just that thought in itself was a major accomplishment.
We had both struggled in high school. I failed ninth grade and came close to being held back a second time. Brandon had flunked the eighth grade and both of us had so many different subjects in so many different grades after that, we weren't sure what grades we were in. I ended up dropping out when I was seventeen, eventually going back to finish, but Brandon made up for everything he'd been behind in, graduated, then went on to LHU.
Another reason that Brandon's desire to be a teacher came as a bit of a shock was because of who Brandon was as a teenager. He was a "Goth," who wore black clothes, chains, and had slightly long black hair that he slicked back. He was different from everyone else. But that was what I loved about him – besides the fact that he easily lost his temper and did rash things, like punching a door or locker (and in one case a flagpole) only to slice his knuckles open. No, History teacher didn't seem to be anywhere in Brandon's future. Nor on his mind.
After we got married, we struggled a bit with money. His and my parents chipped in to pay for him to go to college. He had a dead-end job working at our local fast food restaurant, where he'd been since he was sixteen, and I was working at a bookstore in Williamsport. We were living with Brandon's father just outside of town and had to pay a little bit of rent to help with groceries and basic needs. We had our first child the spring after I turned twenty.
We named him Brandon Lee for two reasons – one, Brandon was his father's name, and two; Lee was his grandfather's name. We called him by his middle name so as not to be confused by having two Brandons in one house.
Jesse wasn't born until Lee was five. But after that, we just couldn't seem to stop. We'd only planned on three or four kids, but when a college buddy of Brandon's had a huge birthday bash with lots of alcohol, we got Cade. Kirian and Kieran resulted when I forgot to take my pills...for an entire week.
Brandon didn't want to take the chance of getting a "surprise" again because of my forgetfulness, so we used a different method of birth control this time. But it broke. Enter Cody Lynne.
Three months after her, it was once again alcohol that brought us Tyson, but we'd been unaware. We vowed there'd be no alcohol at my thirty-fifth birthday, but Lee – who was fourteen at the time – decided to spike the punch. And between Brandon and me, a lot of punch was consumed.
You'd think we would have learned by then, but – perhaps because we were stupid – we just plain took the risk the next time. And what did we get? Akira.
Enough was enough. I'd been begging Brandon to have a vasectomy since after the twins were born, and he finally did. The doctor promised that it was ninety-nine percent effective. Tommi was that ineffective one percent.
After that we figured we'd even things up and have one more. The vasectomy was reversed and along came Jason. That was twelve.
The one who, as Jesse says, "is in the oven," was another risk-taker. Some people just never learn.