So my brother and his wife just had their baby yesterday [I'd say "mazel tov," but they'd probably have to look it up; they live in Denver, and unless Daniel Libeskind's in town to check on his museum/condo project, I don't think there's anyone there who knows what it means [update: Denver man Scott points out that there are many many Jews in town, thank you, and so I apologize and wish them all a happy new year. Or I will. In September, when New Year's comes back around.]] He decided to come early, all is well, they had their name picked out for months, which only adds to the family pressure about our indecision.
Anyway, apparently our dad had really wanted to name him Trent, which they ended up using as Jeff's middle name. My dad tried to call him Trent for a while, but it never stuck. I think his jr. high friends' nickname for him, Jed, got more traction. I'll have to get him on here to set the story straight, though.
But before he gets here, another funny little brother story:
When our sister was born, Jeff was three. Apparently, one day during that first week home, our mom was taking a nap, and Jeff came and grabbed her by the scruff of her neck like a cat, took her downstairs, and dropped her out on the lawn by the mailbox. Then he went off to play with his neighborhood friend. My grandmother saw the dropoff from the window, and so she retrieved the then-unwelcome rival.
Still, my mom only told me this story for the first time last night, and all I can think is, "Wait, you let a 3-year-old go off down the street by himself to play?"