I used to steal my sister's clothes. Well, not really steal. Just borrow. She went to school earlier than I did, so I'd wait until she left the house, rummage through her closet and pick out my shirt for the day. Then, when I got home, I'd zip my jacket up to my chin and quickly make my way to the bathroom where I would switch shirts and quietly put hers back in her closet.
Fool proof plan, I tell ya. Until the day I forgot my jacket. But that's a story for another day.
My point is that sisterly love is a love unlike any other. A few summers back before my sister and I were married, we watched this movie. Not your typical A-list movie, but still it was charming and heartwarming -- about two sisters who grew old together. We always joked that if things didn't work out with our beaus, we could totally be the lavender ladies.
And don't even get me started on our little sister. I could go on for days about how much I love her. When she was a baby, I'd sit and hold her for what seemed like hours. I'd tell her my troubles (10-year-olds have a lot of troubles, ya know), sing to her, kiss her beautiful little head, all the while looking forward to the day I could really talk to her.
Now she's a grown woman and I cherish her all the same. She's a bright spot in my life and I love her to the moon and back.
Now, I don't want to leave out my brothers -- I love them just as much, but that's a post for another time as well. Brotherly love is full of jokes, sarcasm and what we like to call "stretching." That's where your little brother annoys you so much, that you and your sister each grab an end and try to stretch him. Too bad for him, it didn't work out. He's a touch on the short side.
ANYWAY. Stop distracting me.
Back to what I was saying about sisterly love. I try to foster it as much as I can in between the kicks and hits and spits, but some days it feels like an uphill battle.
Other days, it's almost as if I can see the bonds forming.
Oh-em-gee that leg pop in the last picture, slays me.
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