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A text conversation from yesterday:
Me: I’m sitting in the waiting room. There’s a woman wearing a leather motorcycle jacket that says “Elton John! Saturday Night’s Alright by ME!” Hahahahaha!
Sister: Bahahahahaha
Me: I mean, what? She looks like a tough cookie, too.
Sister: Weird…
Me: Even weirder is that it’s my OBGYN office, so I know why she’s here!
Sister: Haha. She’s getting her Elton John checked out.
And then I died.
Posting will be light at best the next few days, as I am spending time with my family in New York.
It’s been great…blueberry picking, Scrabble games amd family bbqs.
There’s also been an abundance of white legs.
We’re OK with that, though.
My sister has been visiting me for a few days and it’s been awesome. I forget when we’re apart how much fun it is to be around her all the time. Even though I know I don’t have to entertain her, I feel a sort of responsibility to find fun things to do while she’s here. While running errands, exercising, cleaning the house and reading Twilight (well, I’m actually on to Eclipse) is good enough for me, I worry that she’s bored.
Of course the weather in Rhode Island has been cool and rainy and since she’s still recovering from gallbladder surgery, she can’t walk around for too long.
So we’ve shopped. And ate. And played cards and laughed and talked. And she doesn’t even make fun of me when I Shred. Not too much, at least.
We also made cupcakes, which were quite delicious.
In her words, she’s the closet thing I have on the planet to a twin — getting our genetic makeup from the same two people. I’m so unbelievably lucky to have her.
Last night I had one of those awesome conversations that could only be had with my sister. With almost seven years between us, it took us awhile to get to the point where we could relate on lots of things. We’re there now…and it’s awesome.
Tomorrow morning at the ungodly hour of 6 a.m. my flight will depart for Denver. I have not packed. I haven’t even remotely begun to even think about packing. I did, however, do laundry yesterday so at least I’m one step ahead of the game.
I actually considering starting to pack this weekend, but then wedding band shopping, barbecue hopping and mudslides with Oreo cookie crumbles and one really ouchy hornet sting on my stomach conveniently made me forget all about it. Until I woke up this morning and realized that I have to be at the airport when the little hand is on the four and that leaves no time for last minute packing.
The good news: during the day it will be a rotation of the same pants, shoes and work shirts (side note: work shirts never fit right, do they?) so that will be pretty simple to pack. It’s the evening events I have to really think about, all while fitting everything in one suite case. I’ll probably have to limit my shoes. Meh.
So for now, I bid you adieu. I’ve left you with three fabulous guest bloggers to keep you entertained and I’ll be back Monday, possibly drooling and mumbling something about sleep and airplane peanuts.
(PS- Happy birthday to my little sister! Nineteen today omigod. Not so little anymore.)
I remember when you were born. A tiny pink bundle of baby with no hair, but soft peach fuzz on the top of your perfectly round head. I sat in the rocking chair at the hospital and held you, looking down at your face and trying to decide if you looked like me. Mom and Dad smiled, someone took pictures. My heart swelled with pride as my little sister fell asleep in my arms.
I remember when you climbed up on the roof in Nantucket. He told you it was fine and you were little so you listened to him. I can still feel the panic in my chest as I stood on the little deck, looking up at you perched on the point of a window. I don’t remember if you were scared. I think you were. But I was more scared. Because I could not stand the thought of you falling. You got down safely, and a lock was installed on the deck door. Higher than you could reach.
I remember you in dance recitals. I loved that people compared you to me as a dancer. It made me proud. And when the Irish lullaby began to play and you danced across the stage in stockinged feet, I teared up. Your long hair whipped around and you looked like a little woodland sprite.
I remember you in orchestra concerts. Your face so serious as you played the cello. I sat in the audience remembering my time on that very stage and at the same time, being so impressed that you could play that instrument. While the violin came easily to me, the cello was something I always wished I could pick up.
I remember your laughter. You could always crack me up like no one else. Your sense of humor so sarcastic, so unique. As we grew up we became very different people. You dressed in Hot Topic, me in J Crew. While I sang along to Brittney, you belted out classic rock. My feet were adorned in pointy stilettos, yours in clunky boots with buckles. But whatever our differences, you could always make me laugh.
I remember when your laughter stopped. When depression and anger got in the way. When the wrong crowd and the wrong behavior drove a wedge between you and us. I remember the fights, the tears and the defeat. I remember thinking it would never get better.
And then it did. I remember the day you got into college. You were standing in my kitchen when we got the call. A smile burst across my face and wouldn’t go away for days. Despite it all, you had been given a chance.
I remember you at Family Weekend. So happy, so vibrant. You told me how it was the best decision you ever made, how you were so lucky to get this chance.
And I remember the phone call from Mom. I remember her words–not happy. Failing classes. Wants to drop out. I got angry. I sent you an email full of rage when you wouldn’t answer your phone, then apologized on your voicemail later. I feel angry, disappointed, bewildered and betrayed. I want to shake some sense into you and at the same time, hold you and let you cry.
Let me help you. Let us help you. We love you and we want you to figure out what’s right.
Please call.
The new job starts Monday. I decided only to take a long weekend between jobs because a) I would end up going to Marshalls way too many times if I took a week and b) it’s the holiday season and I can’t really afford to go too long between paychecks.
I decided today would be a Molly day. After a very emotional day yesterday (gah, the tears!), I got my hair done last night (blondie, blonde, blonde, blonde) and I have a massage scheduled for this afternoon, followed by some Christmas shopping.
I’m so disappointed in myself. Last year I was done with all my shopping by the second week in December. All the gifts were perfectly wrapped and waiting to travel to New York and rest under the tree.
This year? I’ve done nothing. I know what I’m getting Michael and my dad, I have an idea for my mom, but everyone else…gah!
So I’m enlisting your help. I really need a gift for my 18-year old sister.
Likes: music (all types, except country), theater, laughing, Sharpies, ugly hippie pants, nose rings, hair dye, Goldfish crackers, eyeliner.
Dislikes: Pointy-toe heels (I know. Breaks my heart too.), pickles…I can’t think of more. She’s pretty easy going.
OK…ready, set, HELP!
I spent the majority of last night cleaning our bedroom. Why? The piles. I’ve told you all about the piles before. I can’t help it…I make piles. Our bedroom was especially bad because it’s not finished. The walls are still an awful yellow from the previous owners and I hate the carpet. Since we haven’t renovated it yet, it doesn’t feel homey. And I suppose since it doesn’t feel homey, I don’t keep it as zen and I probably should keep my bedroom. Hence, the piles.
But the piles and piles of clothes had basically taken over the whole room, so while Michael was at work I put on the episode of Say Yes to the Dress I’d been waiting to watch and dove in.
Kodiak, who usually likes to lie right next to the bed apparently wanted nothing to do with the piles, as he took one look at me and went to lie at the top of the stairs.
Have you seen Say Yes to the Dress? It’s great. It’s a show on TLC about brides shopping for the perfect dress at Kleinfeld’s in New York City. Sometimes I’m shocked at what they spend (one bride spent $11,000 on her dress! And it was ugly!) and other times I wonder what they are thinking. (Feathers? Really?) Of course, sometimes it also sends me into a panic, like when one bride came for her fitting and her dress was the wrong color. If that happens to me I will probably lose it.
On one episode, a bride was talking about her colors and it got me thinking. I’m still not entirely sure what my wedding colors will be, but I’m thinking they will represent fall. I really like the colors represented in the inspiration board below.
One thing I do know is that my bridesmaids will wear red. I know they’ll all look great, especially my sister who looks stunning in red. Actually, she looks great all the time, especially when she’s laughing.
When Michael came home I hovered behind him until he walked into the bedroom and saw how clean it was. He was very, very happy to see the piles had disappeared. Like, really happy.
So happy, that as we snuggled up in bed he kissed the back of my neck and said, “Will you marry me?”
Hehe. Yes. Yes I will.
My baby sister leaves for college tomorrow. I say baby because with seven years between us, I always think of her as little. It doesn’t matter that she turns 18 (oh my god) on Sunday. She will always be my little sister.
I’ve thought long and hard about the advice I could send her off with. The Do’s and Dont’s I learned along the way. So I’m making her a list (mostly based on personal experience) and I’m asking you to help a sister out and tell me what you learned in college. I’ll compile it all and send it off to her. She can share it with her friends and be the most popular girl in school. Really!
- Dining hall food is awful. Because of this, you will find the one thing that isn’t awful and eat it all the time. Make sure this food is not grilled cheese. Grilled cheese makes you fat.
- Speaking of fat, it’s not a rumor. If you drink all the time and eat a lot of grilled cheese, you will gain the Freshman Fifteen.
- Living with someone is a challenge. No matter how much you like them, if they leave a bowl of milk and cereal in their bed the day your parents come to visit, you have to say something.
- Express common courtesy. Don’t sexile (locking them out for a booty call) your roommate. That’s just mean.
- What Dad said was true. Most guys are after one thing. It’s OK to have fun, but be safe. ALWAYS be safe.
- Use common sense. It’s probably not the best idea to drink the punch out of the storage container that’s sitting on the bathroom floor of a frat.
- You’ve heard it a thousand times, but it’s true. Don’t get in a car with someone who has been drinking. Please.
- Go to class. The whole point of college is to, you know, learn. College classes aren’t like high school. They’re interesting. Go. Do the work. Pass. You won’t regret it.
- Get involved. It’s a great way to meet lots of different people. (I joined the Student Entertainment Committee and a sorority and met some of my closest friends and my boyfriend.)
- If a class is only offered in the fall, sell the book back at the end of the spring semester. You’ll get more money back that way.
- Call home. Your family misses you.
- When you go out, always have a buddy. And take care of each other. If your friend disappears into a bathroom stall with a random guy, go find her.
- Take lots of pictures. You’ll want to remember it all.
Alright, that’s all I’ve got for now. So I’m counting on you to beef up the list. What advice do you have for my sister?
When she was born I made a big sign that said WELCOME HOME and wore a button of her picture on my dress to first grade every day for a week.
When she was three (or four?) I put her on a bicycle and pushed her down a hill. I thought that would help her learn how to ride.
When she was five I stuck her in a soccer goal, told her to get ready and kicked the ball. She caught it….with her face.
When she was six I told her we found her in a field. I also told her the Big Bad Wolf lived in our closet.
When she was nine she cried when she hugged me and told me she didn’t want me to go to Australia.
When she was 12 we hugged each other and cried when I left for college, and again when my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer.
When she was 15 I cried when I heard her sing “At Last”. Heart stoppingly beautiful.
She was 16 when she dyed her hair pink, then green, then blue.
She’s 17 now. And she’s coming to visit me tomorrow.
Yay!
