Some sisterly...

... hell today.  I think I've mentioned that I'm a middle child.  Older sister, who is 41 and younger brother who is 38.  I've told you about my brother.  That was easy.  Strangely, telling you about my sister has been harder.  I'm not sure why.  It's not really for any negative reason, but I can see where it might be a little hurtful for me to have left her out.

The relationships sisters have are generally very complicated, to say the least.  I think that is because often a sister is like a funhouse mirror.  We see glimpses of ourselves in it, but it isn't wholly us.  Often a sister, when no one else will, reflects back to us things we don't want to look at about ourselves. 

My sister, Stacie, was the first grandchild on my mom's side.  My Uncle Don used her to get girls.  She was a traveling buddy for my Uncle Harry.  She was my mom's perfectly behaved, well-mannered daughter.  And she was my dad's favorite.  She was an absolute Daddy's girl.  That never changed.  He's gone and she still is his girl.

Then came me.  I'd imagine my arrival was a bit like a never-ending thunderstorm to Stac.  Babies need and Stacie was used to being the only.  We're told she babied me and tried to carry me around.  She called me "Lucy" because she thought that should be my name.  She loved me while at the same time wished she could send me back to wherever the hell I came from.

Stacie and I are, in a lot of ways, mirror images of each other.  She's inside and I'm outside.  She's stubborn in a different way than I am.  She will speak up for herself, and I'll get quiet.  She'll pick a fight when she sees an injustice, while I'll fret until there is peace.  She's "this is me, love me or leave me."  I'm frequently, "like me like me like me." She'll push and I'll withdraw.  She was the good girl, the easy child.  I was the break some rules and do a lousy job covering my tracks.

Here's the amazing thing about my big sister, all those things she does, she'll do for me.  She'll pick a fight, she'll speak up, she'll push and sometimes she'll even help me cover my tracks.  She'll do my dishes and clean out my refrigerator just because it needs done.  She'll roll her eyes at me when I've had a bit too much vodka.  She'll be the one to ask me what the hell I think I'm doing when my judgement is flawed.  She's also a big "I told you so" when I don't listen.

She will absolutely tell me if my butt looks big in something.  She'll tell me when she doesn't like my hair or if I have too much cleavage showing.   She'll say, "I like those shoes on you, but they'd look ridiculous on anyone else."  (That's my favorite thing she says.)  There are things only sisters will tell you.  You know, stuff your friends will white lie to you about and men fear telling you, that's the stuff about which Stacie will be brutally honest.

Sometimes, because I am passive and want to just go along to get along, I end up in situations that are unpleasant or uncomfortable and I have to find a way to get myself out of.  I worry I'll hurt someone's feelings or piss someone off or someone won't like me.  Stacie, always always, will help me find a way out.  Because as my big sister, she feels that's her responsibility.

We fight. Damn do we fight.  We say things that hurt each other in ways only sisters can.  We're jealous and pissy and catty.  But we're sisters, always.  There are times I do wonder if she even likes me at all.  One thing I know, she must love me a hell of a lot to put up with me.  Now, that's one thing reflected in the sister mirror that's the same.

Stacie, 3 & me, 1

I bet I talked her into doing this.

Tell me...

... how in the heck he went from this:

... to this in 365 days.  (He's only one, I really shouldn't say hell around him, you know.)

Magic and good parents, would be my guess. Today, our little guy, my Godson, my youngest nephew, the one who shares my initials, is 1.  Wow.  He's loud and funny and silly and oh so happy.  He's curious and stubborn. I just watched his mommy tell him NO when he was trying to put his fingers in the DVD player over and over again.  He made the saddest face, then stuck his finger back into the DVD player just one more time before getting into some other sort of mischief.

His favorite toy is this:

Landon's first word was "mama".  Shannon earned that for sure.  He scared us when he came into this world.  We'd been used to Randy's babies coming into our lives in a relatively calm way.  (Easy for me to say!)  Landon was in the wrong position to be born the usual path.  After about 8 hours of labor for Shannon, the nurse figured it out and Landon was born by c-section.  He didn't breathe immediately.  I remember getting a text from my 6'5" manly-man of a brother saying "Holy $hit!" when they found out there needed to be an emergency c-section.  And then a text saying "I wish you were here.  He's going to be ok, right?"  I was watching Gavin and Sydnee.  Waiting.  Scared.  Helpless.  I can't begin to imagine what Shan and Randy were feeling.

Randy and Shannon didn't get to touch him until Landon was 7 hours old.  Aside from the bruise on his back, he was pink and perfect.  Big hands and big eyes.

Now, he's big and bright.  He's constantly on the move.  He kisses and hugs.  He bangs on things and pushes things over.  He's a boy.

Like the day I told you about his birth, no hell today folks.  Just a little heck.  My life is bigger now than a year ago... funny how it grew the exact amount to fit a 1 year old.