Happy birthday, Jill
I wish I had a new picture of my nieces to show you, but my rule is not to show their faces and I was a little too talented with the camera on my last visit. Well. Most of them are too dark and some dark AND blurry. But they show faces.
So here’s a classic, in honor of their saying my name today when I called.
Ever since they started parroting their mom, I’ve been itching to get down there and see what I can teach them. What? I don’t mean obscenities or anything. I’m a good aunt. I meant: teach them how to say Aunt Lori.
But mission accomplished. All I had to do was call and have my sister say, “Do you want to talk to Aunt Lori on the phone?” And I heard Addison say, “Lori” as clear as anything. Later on they tried out some Lulus and some Lorlas. I kinda like the name Lula, Jesse.
I miss them. I miss my sister. I called to wish my sister a happy birthday, which is actually tomorrow. But I’ve been so busy at work this week, I had a feeling that if I didn’t call while I was remembering, I might forget to call at all. Which would make me a bad aunt. (Sister, but go with it.)
I have been a bad sister before. I think I’m reformed. My sister and I didn’t get along when we lived together, but after I went to college we got better at being friends. We have all that shared history and a lot of inside jokes. I could try to explain to you what was so funny at the Marsh Supermarket that time we walked there from a party in Muncie, but you wouldn’t laugh. One of us almost peed her pants, but I don’t remember why. But I think when my sister reads this (if she reads this; she’s a busy gal), she’ll remember and she’ll smile.
I heard on some radio station the other day—they actually still have live DJs, what a concept—that a study had found that people with sisters are happier than people without sisters. Male or female, having a sister makes you happier.
I know that to be absolutely true.
Happy birthday, Jill!
(That’s me being a good sister.) (And Jill being the cuter of the two of us, as normal.)