My sister’s birthday was Friday. She turned 107 years old.
Wait, I mean 27 years old. (Having a sister with a blog is FUN!)
When my parents brought her home from the hospital, I was 5 and a half. The oldest. The greatest. THE ONLY.
About 6 weeks into this bundle of joy’s stay, I inquired: When are we returning her?
Never? So I decided to love her.
Oh and I terrorize the crap out of her.
Once we were racing to the bathroom, and I made it to the toilet first. As she was leaving, I said: It’s okay to pee in the bathtub. She paused. The next bathroom was probably 30 feet away, but lazy runs strong in our genes. Guess who peed in the bathtub?
A favorite game that I happily taught my friends was Trip The Sister. It took place between a couch and a glass coffee table. It never ended well. For her. And me… if I got caught.
In my defense, I also taught her how to play Heart and Soul on the piano and how important it was to know every single lyric of Paula Abdul’s album Forever Your Girl.
And to be fair, I begged Katie and her friends to play Barbies with me long, long, LONG after my friends had grown out of it. (Um, 12 years olds are allowed to love Barbie, okay? My 7th grade friends were just LAME. But I’m also okay with never talking about this again.)
But eventually she grew taller and stronger than me so I had to resort to giving her beer and taking her to Halloween frat parties.
We both made it through alive and with better hair than we ever had growing up.
When I began my blog, my sister edited EVERY SINGLE POST for me. She told her friends to read it. She fielded extraordinarily boring phone calls of my bloggy failures and successes.
Late Enough wouldn’t exist if my sister hadn’t been my cheerleader during those first few months of having no idea what I was doing or why.
No one makes me laugh harder and longer than Katie.
No one is as kind.
No one is a better sister.
Katie, you still kick all my imaginary sisters’ butts every day.