As we speak, she and I are sending crazy text messages and posting back and forth on Facebook at the same time. Saying mushy crap in such a way that, if you were listening in, you wouldn’t be able to tell if we were serious or not.
Sometimes, I need a young, vibrant, ornery young woman to BS with at at night on a Thursday. Who better than my sister? She understands a part of me that not many people do. And she doesn’t have kids.
Will she one day? Yes. Do I think she’ll make a fantastic mother? Yes. Do I think that’ll happen anytime in the close future? Uh, Negative. She’s got my babies in her life and she’s Gooood. I mean that. She’s the best Auntie in the world. She loves them so hard and so fierce.
On Sunday, after being in the car for 11 hours on a trip back from
. A trip that she made after a weekend of doing God knows what with God knows whom. She was probably exhausted and a little hung over. She sent me a text from 10 minutes away asking if Las Vegas was awake. She said she missed him and needed to see him. It was at night. (Yeah, he was awake. Sue me. It’s summer. I’m the boss of this house) She’s an amazing Auntie. Sometimes, I think she loves my boys almost as much as I do. Her bonus is that she only gets the fun stuff. The stuff I love and ADORE about my children. The kisses and the inside jokes and the booty shaking. The way they manipulate her in such a way that even with full knowledge of what they’re doing, she can’t be mad. She doesn’t know how. She can’t get irritated. She just laughs and gives it to them. They way that I feel most of the time, when I’m not maybe, you know, a little bit tired and a little bit annoyed. Logan
I love the kind of Auntie she is. I love that I have her at this point in my life, in my children’s lives. She doesn’t get out of bed until . At least. She gets a Venti White Mocha and then eventually makes her way to my house. She gets in the floor and on the swings and in the pool. She makes them laugh and herself laugh so hard that it makes me laugh. It gives me a chance to breath. I sit, quietly, and watch them play. Listen to them laugh. Watch the joy they are able to bring to one another without fear or responsibility or irritation. She reminds me on a constant basis how lucky I am to have the children I do. I know it sounds a little jaded. I can’t apologize about that. It’s the truth. Sometimes my boys wear me out. By , I’m tired. I’m stretched thin. I’m a mess. Most days, I still haven’t showered. And then here comes my baby sister, saving the day.
No matter what’s going on in my life, she listens and reacts. If I’m sad, she’s sad. If I’m excited, she’s excited. If I’m on a mission to cut someone’s tires because they’ve pissed me off, she grabs a pocket knife. She’s always on my side. She’s always in my corner. We’ve never fought. We’re nine years apart. We’ve never had anything to fight about. We’re just enough alike that we understand one another yet just different enough to stay balanced and keep our mother from hanging herself.
She’s all the stuff I miss about being 21. She’s all the stuff I manage to hold on to. She’s the reason Hallmark makes so much money off of “I love my sister” greeting cards. She’s the reason I think it’s socially acceptable to call another woman a hooker and mean it in the best way possible. She’s the one who lets me drive her around at night and listen to Lady Gaga. She’s the one who will go to Taco Bell with me at . She’s the one I call when I need someone with nothing else to do but talk about stupid crap in the middle of the night.
Is she perfect? Oh, God no. If she were I wouldn’t like her nearly as much.
She’s hot tempered and easily distracted. She’s got the mouth of a sailor and the patience of a two year old. She changes her mind about stuff 20 times a day. She throws tantrums and puts her foot in her mouth on a daily basis. She’s a little bit selfish and a little bit spoiled. She’s been telling me for weeks that she “Wants a freakin’ blog”.
She’s my baby sister.
And I love her like that.