Dearest Sistah...it's your birthday! I know how you are with math, so I'll help you out. You're half of 62. (I'm still in my 20's, but today's not about me.) I know growing up, we didn't always get along. In fact, we were the epitome of the sibling rivalry. But God knew we needed each other and I'm glad he stuck us together in the same family. He knew I needed someone to look up to, and He knew you needed someone to make you look good in public and popular by association.
Remember the time we were in the goat pen and we were playing with Dad's hatchet and you nearly chopped my finger off. Ha, that was funny.
Remember that other time we were in the goat pen and you got quiet all of a sudden, turned to me, your face almost transparent due to the lack of blood, and said, "Uh...I need to go." You disappeared for two hours, so I went to look for you. I followed the trail of blood drops to the front porch to find you sitting on the chair, tears streaming down your face, holding a towel and ice pack to the bottom of your foot...your blood-soaked shoe sitting nearby. You stepped on a nail. But, you were so brave...and milked it for a month.
You told me that an unconnected hand lived in the house, roaming the halls at night. You told me an octopus lived under my bed. You told me that It the Clown lived in my closet. I owe my tactical preparedness and massive weapons array against all things monster to you. I am prepared for anything.
To make me swim faster in the pool, you used to tell me a snake was behind me.
I used to put cicada exoskeletons on your back before church on Sunday mornings.
When I was 5 and had the chicken pox, you told me I would have them for forever.
I used to listen in on ALL of your phone calls.
You used to tell me that bananas grew on spiders' legs.
I used to tell you that you had brown eyes because God ran out of the good ones that day. (FYI, I have nothing against brown eyes...I think they're beautiful. This was just a mean sister thing.)
You used to hold me down, using your freakish height as leverage, and dangle spit above my face.
I used to pee in the pool really close to you.
You "borrowed" my favorite pair of Abercrombie shorts for FIVE YEARS.
I "borrowed" so much of your jewelry...and I'm still "borrowing" it.
You drew on my face with a Sharpie at Saddle Rock in the middle of the night.
We sprinkled Kool-Aid powder around your entire cabin in hopes the ants and wild animals would commune there.
You used to call me "Toddler Shoes."
I may or may not be teaching the girls to moo like a cow whenever they see you.
You let the goat sneeze on and then eat my oatmeal cream pie without saying a word.
You stood beside me when I married my best friend.
You were there just moments after the girls were born, so early in the morning.
You were there at the hospital every day, holding Piper Lee and visiting Harper so we could sleep.
You spent countless days with us helping with the girls those first few insane months.
You've been to so many doctor's appointments with me.
You've come over to give me company during the week.
You've been there for every event, small or big, in my children's lives.
You're always there (except when you're at the lake and the reception's crappy).
You are an amazing sister and friend and I love you. Thank you for being you.
Happy Birthday, SF!!!
