Why Things Between Siblings Will Always Be Unique

If you have siblings you know that of everyone in the world, they probably know you best. You might not admit it and, heck no do you talk about it but you know. And they know, too.

Along with knowing you so well, siblings have this way of bringing you back to reality. No putting on airs, no going to extremes. No matter what cloud you might be on and regardless of what their intention might be, no one puts your feet on the ground faster.

The following is from an email I recently sent my sister:

... I'm so glad you guys are going to be here soon! I'm looking forward to the time we'll get to spend together, unrushed, unhurried. It'll be like we get to know each other again, and better. And I'll get to be an aunt. A full-time aunt. I'm so happy to do that! It'll be great. It means so much to me that we'll be such a part of one another's life for a while. It's such an important time for that. We'll always remember this..."

.

And on I went for another paragraph more.

.

The response from my sister:

"I'm excited, too. Were you drinking when you wrote this?"

Not How We'd Imagine

In the last couple days, several people have asked me how I can have house guests stay for weeks. "How can you handle that?" they wonder. "I'd go crazy, especially if it were family." The thing is, my sister (and of course the little boy that can do no wrong) is probably the exception. Aside from my love of a full house, these people are right, house guests can be difficult. But not her. There's just something about our relationship that's based in reality. I'm eternally grateful for that.

Along with being real with each other, I think we both happen to find a way to make the best of a situation. For me, it's based in love. And not just a I-love-my-sister-she's-family-of-course-we're-supposed-to-love-family sort of way but more the idea that when you base your actions and motivations in love, you can rarely go wrong. In fact, I've yet to hear a case of this.

The truth is, things are hardly ever how I imagined they'd be. I don't know many people that haven't felt that and if you've been around this blog for more than ten minutes, you know how I tend to struggle with this. It's an acceptance issue, I'll admit but it's the process of the whole thing with which I seem to be in perpetual adaptation. Nonetheless, at the end of the day, I'm still willing to see the bright side. Even when you have to look for them quite intently, those bright sides are usually there, waiting for you.

When I was younger, for whatever reason (too many sappy country songs, too many movies, too many books maybe (but don't try to convince me there can ever be too many of any of these)) I always had this fantasy that saw me far in the future. It was later at night, I was with my family; one I'd helped create, not the one to which I was born. We'd finished dinner, the summer breeze was blowing through the window of the kitchen and we'd turn up the radio and dance. This isn't because we have rhythm, not because we did it on a regular basis. It was just taking advantage of a moment. A time for relaxing, acting silly, and living. There might be a fast song, or maybe slow, my imagination didn't specify. All I knew was, it was a simple pleasure and one I'd longed for my entire life.

But that might not be reality. Reality is, I have no window in my kitchen. The sliding door in the dining room is closest, and late yesterday, it was too windy to open it. My house is full right now, but of another kind of family. A family that I had no part in, and yet one that reminds me every day how I've been blessed. This particular family is not whole right now, which is never in the ideal plans. Still, with the door closed, our bellies full of breakfast-for-dinner fare, our feet bare and the radio volume way up, we danced in the kitchen.

Runs in the family

My sister and nephew are here now. He's nearly eleven months old and in case there was doubt, has the personality to prove it. He may strongly resemble his father's side of the family in looks however, the personality seems to be veering sharply toward our side.

For instance, he's a talker. Other than "mamamamama" and "gigi" (when pointing at the doggie, of course) no one really knows what he's saying. But in the true style of our family, that is hardly a reason to stop talking. In fact, it's good reason to talk more. If at first you don't communicate, try, try again. And continue trying until no one will answers the phone when you call or returns your emails at which point it's clearly time to drop by unannounced. My nephew is well on his way to that step, as well.

He's been pulling himself up on furniture to stand for months and man is he speedy on all fours. (Seriously, turn your back for a second and all the toilet paper is off the roll even though you are still in the next room.) Now, though, he's standing. And trying to walk. If there's anything more remarkable than watching someone, for the first time, put one foot in front of the other I don't know what it is. Then, when he inevitably flops down on his rear, he gets up and tries again. Quite a reminder and a testament to the determination of humans, even if they have knee injuries. Who thought you could learn something from a baby?

I'm bound and determined that the kid will learn to walk while staying at my house for the next few weeks. To ensure this, I gave him the house rules: 1) We all walk here 2) There are very few reasons to scream in the middle of the night. So far, he's followed neither rule. We're working on it, though. After all, what more can I expect from someone who poured the dog's water on his head within two minutes of being in my house?

The Women Who Have Shaped Me, Part II: The One Who Has Become My Friend

Dear Sister,

When I look at you now, at the woman you have and will continue to become, it's almost as if I'm seeing two things. First, I see history. I see the only person in the world that when someone says "where did you come from?" would give the same answer as me. I see the little girl who lived in the room next door, simultaneously complaining that I wouldn't let her borrow my things and that I talked in my sleep. Such a contradiction we once were. I see the girl that would watch horror movies in the middle of the night yet would make me kill the spiders. I see the girl that wore matching outfits with me, let me curl her hair and dug in the dirt with me, making "habitats" for our lady bug "farms." I see the girl that went through phases of sports, boys and eye makeup, and I watched, as you seemed so unafraid.

I often wondered if you were so unafraid because of how remarkably beautiful you are. You were cute, then pretty, then absolutely gorgeous. You never act like it, always giving credit to the clothes or the shoes, but it's you, sister. You are beautiful.

Second, I see you now. I see the wife you choose to be and the mother you are. You approach your life and your marriage in a way that compares you to women two and three times your age. You're both light-hearted and seriously dedicated. You seem to have found a balance that so very few ever do. It's so natural to you. Like the way you are with your son; when I watch you two together, it's like God is reminding me that yes, He knows exactly what He's doing. You are one of the best mothers I've ever seen. You are not lazy, you put in the effort. I hope you realize how valuable that is, not only to your family, but to everyone. The way you talk about raising your child in the best way possible and then, follow that talk with action, is truly special. I'm in awe of how simple that comes to you and yet, how little you might realize it's importance to the world.

I can't help but thinking as I see you living your life now, that I'm lucky. My childhood companion, confidant, enemy, co-conspirator, fellow fort builder and occasional fellow hair puller is now one of my very best friends. I've been able to know you through all this time, our lives together and now, as they've grown in so many other ways and I feel bad for all the other people that are just now getting to meet you. Yes, they can all say how wonderful you are and how much they like you, and they will be right. But they'll never know what I know. They'll never know the person you were and the way you've grown so perfectly and suitably into the woman you are. Most of all, when they talk about you, they'll never be able to say what I can: I've always known you're amazing.

I love you, sister. See you in a couple weeks!

Love,
Lu

P.S. Happy Birthday.
_____________________________

This entry is part of Bre's idea to write about women who have shaped us for Women's History Month.

New York City?! *

The super secret mission? Accomplished!

I'm now sitting in weather around 70 degrees (F) and no where near the snow (sorry, Northerners). My morning run this morning consisted of hills and roads somewhere between the Verdugo and San Gabriel mountain ranges.

But let's back up a little, shall we?

Last night I flew, slightly incognito, into LAX. Well, okay, not incognito because that's actually what a lot of people at LAX do. I was more "hiding" from one person. Around 7:30 p.m. last night, I walked into the house of my sister's in-laws and stood in front of my sister, who was somewhere between a heart attack and a one-woman parade when she saw me come in.

We'd been keeping the secret for weeks and since she is an occasional blog reader, well I couldn't really mention it here, either. And I really really wanted to because keeping a surprise from her is one of the hardest things I've had to do.

After she screamed, I screamed, we laughed (and, okay, cried a little too) we sat down to dinner. After all, surprises trump food but only for a little while.

And the nephew? He's perfect, and huge and strong and adorable and hilarious. Expect billions upon billions of pictures to come!

Oh, and running here? At thousands of feet lower than home? Well that's some darn good oxygen. Dare I say, hills are even easier.
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*That's funny. I would love, of course, to go to New York but I would totally tell all of you because I WOULD BE SO DANG LOST THERE IT WOULDN'T EVEN BE FUNNY and therefore, I'd need all the help I could get.

Caring for caring's sake

Somewhere, sometime, who knows when, my sister and I have switched roles. She's less often inclined to play the free-spirited adventurer role and I'm more inclined to seek experiences out. She used to be the one that would take risks while I'd be the one carefully calculating every move, lest I arrive somewhere five minutes late and end the very world as we know it.

I like to think, for the most part, we are equally there for each other on the advice front though. It's nice to have that dependable, caring voice of reason. Then again, sometimes that voice of reason is less than reasonable (albeit never less caring).

"So you just sail, out on the water with nothing around you for days and days?"

"Yes, that's partially the point."

"But what if something happens? What if the boat tips over?"

"The boats don't often 'tip over.' I mean, it could happen but they're generally made to not tip over."

"Well they have to rock back and forth to sail. They practically tip sideways, that's how they go."

"That is not how they go. They sail, with sails. And wind. It's not like the ski boat out on the lake like when we were kids, you know?"

"Of course not. But what about sharks? Have you seen that movie where a boat leaves those people out in the ocean and they drown or get eaten by sharks and die?"

"No, I didn't see that. But that was different, those people we diving and under water and... why am I even explaining this? It's completely different."

"What about whales? What if a whale jumps on the boat?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"Whales are big."

"When is the last time you picked up the paper and read about a boat sunken by an incredible jumping whale?"

"Alright, but I'm still skeptical."

"Obviously."


You have to admit, having someone who loves you enough to fear things that aren't even possible, well that's pretty special.

All That and a Fully Cooked Turkey

A couple years ago, when my sister moved away for the first time and I was visiting her in her new Kentucky home, we attempted to cook our first solo Thanksgiving dinner. Yes, we had each other but my expertise was green bean casserole, her's mashed potatoes and neither of us had done anything but eat turkey before that day- never pulled out the insides, never greased it up, never even basted. We had to do it, though. We had to pretend life was the same and things hadn't changed, that we could still eat turkey and act like we lived in the bubble of our little family, a bubble that had been stretched over a thousand miles.



What we lacked in experience, we made up for in research and planning, though. Thank heaven and earth for that, because when I called my sister three days before and told her to take the turkey out of the freezer and put it in the refrigerator, she asked me "why?" with a seriousness in her voice that had me imagining us eating our turkey for breakfast the following Friday. Later, she would be just as panicked for me as she said she needed a meat thermometer and I asked "why?" How we staved off e-coli that year, I'll never know.



Talking to her the other night, I knew that we'd never have a frozen turkey at her house, again. In addition to me, she's hosting another eight or so people at her house with the possibility of more. She's not worried a bit and plans to cook all day without, and I quote, "missing any of the football or beer." (We are definitely related.) I'm so proud of her for everything she's done and how far she's come. She continues to grow and amaze me with the choices she makes and the approach she uses in life. As an older sister, I don't know what makes me more proud: the fact that she can do it all or the fact that she believes she can.



Happy Thanksgiving, sister. I love you and I'll see you soon.