Monday, December 22, 2014
Look at this woman.
Isn't she gorgeous?
But she is more than just a pretty face.
She is a mom to four incredibly awesome kids.
She is a faithful wife (and has been for almost 20 years!).
She is a rock climber.
She is a musician.
She is a student.
She is a teacher.
She is a bicyclist.
She is an artist.
She is a reader.
She is an explorer.
She is a writer.
She is a muscle machine.
She is the kindest auntie in the world.
She is an amazing cook.
She is a skilled bargain shopper.
She is a yogini.
She is a home decorator.
She is ridiculously organized.
And . . . because I got incredibly lucky . . .
She is my sister.
Collette is seven years older than me, so she was always my idol. And she, who had waited seven long years for a little sister, took her role as big sister very seriously.
She taught me how to read. She taught me the proper way to hold a newborn kitten. She taught me how to play the piano. She taught me to love rainstorms. She taught me how to draw floor plans for houses. She taught me how to wear makeup. She taught me how to make a man sit on the pot without bending the paper. (<---inside joke.="" p="">
When she was in college, she wrote letters to me about her roommate and her professors and about the spider that lived in her dorm room. When I was in college, she wrote about her kids' antics and clipped the police log out of the Shelley Pioneer, highlighting her favorite entries and adding humorous commentary.
Once for my birthday, she surprised me with a picnic by the river.
We have taken many a long, giggle-filled walk together, swapping stories and worries.
Yes, there was that time that she paid me 5 cents to remain completely silent during the drive from Pocatello to Idaho Falls. There was that time that she permanently kicked me out of our shared bedroom. There was the time when I completely freaked out because she had accidentally thrown away my half-eaten dinner. There was that time that I said something jerky and insensitive and totally hurt her feelings (well, actually, that was lots of times.)
But for the most part, sisterhood has been good to us.
When Liam had his tonsils removed in May, I found myself sitting alone in the hospital waiting room. My baby had just been wheeled into an operating room filled with strangers. I had just received a text informing me that Soren had thrown up on the way to school. My parents were out of town. I was sitting there, trying to hold myself together, when my phone rang. It was my sister. I heard her voice and I was a goner. Tears streamed down my face. Between stifled sobs, I told her how worried I was about Liam and how sad I was that I couldn't be there to take care of Soren.
She knew just what to do. She validated my worries about Liam. She picked up some popsicles and Pedialyte and took Soren to her house, so he would get the kind of attention only a mom can give to a sick kid. She brought dinner to our house that night.
I felt loved and safe and cared for.
My sister is my angel, and I am so grateful to have her be a part of my world.
I love you, Clee!