How My Sister Ate My Barbie and Turned into My Best Friend

Today I would like to tell you about my sister.  I have to admit when she was born I was not a fan.  I was the only child in the family for 5 years until she was born.  I had the adoring love of all the grandparents and aunts until she arrived.  To make matters worse my mom had a hard pregnancy, putting her in bed for 3 months.  When my sister made her way into the world she was dubbed the "miracle baby."  Ugh!

Things went downhill from there.  She cried, she pooped, she had to be held all the time and she was boring.  No one quite explained that new babies were not nearly as fun as my standard doll.  Even though she was much more functional no one would let me play with her.  Apparently carrying her around by the foot was frowned upon. (No I didn't do that, but I thought about it I'm sure, and I'm also sure someone stopped me.) 

As she got older she chewed the feet off my barbie dolls.  Yes you heard that right, my sister and not the dog ate my barbies.  She destroyed other things too, like the time my mom made her a Cookie Monster birthday cake with blue frosting when she was taking a nap.  When she got up from her nap she climbed up on the table and put her face directly into the cake before my mom could even get a picture of her with it.  (On the up side, her face was blue for days. hehe)

As we grew up she wanted to tag along.  My mom usually agreed, and being a mom now I understand why.  Once my sister was pushed off a slide by my friend and I had to send my mom down the street to say I would never play with the friend again.  (Just because I thought she was a pest didn't mean my friends could be mean to her...after all I had a duty to protect her.)

As I got old enough to date she thought boys had cooties.  Well, they do, but you aren't supposed to tell them that when they come to the door.  Dating is awkward enough without "help" from a sister with a silly grin on her face.  Eventually she was the one to ask my future husband embarrassing questions.  The funny thing is I knew if he could handle her my family wouldn't bother him at all.

All of a sudden a funny thing happened.  We became friends.  I don't know if becoming adults made it happen or if the number of things we understood about each other overcame the differences.  One day we were sisters, the next day we were friends. 

No one can play a game against us as a team, we win every time (ask my husband).  We can finish each other's sentences. We don't even have to tell the whole joke before we start laughing.  We load a dishwasher the same way.  We clean a house in the same order.  We order the same crazy food at a restaurant.  We play card games together while watching chick flicks and eating the same comfort foods.  (Can I help it that spagettios with franks are a family tradition?)

I know a lot of people are close with their families.  I know a lot of people are not.  I never expected the pesky little sister who tormented me to turn out to be a friend, a really good friend.

I am sure I could offer some advice about finding ways to love your family, but I won't.  I don't know how we ended up where we are, but I am glad we did.  It was worth the barbie feet, the scared off dates, the lost playmates and all the other silly things that happened.  It is wonderful to have a person who knows you from the beginning, someone who knows why you laugh the way you do, why you cry at kleenex commercials and why you eat spagettios when sad.

Thanks sis.

P.S. I am sure she could write an extended list of things I did to torment her over the years.  I am also sure it would be a frightening list.  Good thing this is my blog...I might have to hide under a chair after we hear her version...