At age 11 3/4, I finally got what I had wished for for years. A little sister. I called her Babe and pushed her around the block in her stroller. We danced together in the room we shared. We shared a bunk bed until I got married. She was a pretty little blonde with curly hair and big eyes. One time, she looked like this:
Now look at her.
She is fiercely loyal and always dependable. She will rub your back when you are sad and play with your hair just because.
She has sausage toes. And beautiful blue/green eyes. She is athletic and adventurous. Silly and determined.
She is the punk's favorite aunt, with good reason. She'll run and wrestle and play and laugh and pretend and sing and tickle.
No one can make me laugh as hard as she can.
And in August, she is leaving home. Sing your song, Little Sis. Then call me and tell me all about it. Okay? Okay?
2 comments:
How can one family have two such beautiful girls?
I do not have sausage toes! (And yes, I'll call you.)
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