Family

Linda was three years younger than I.  We always shared a bedroom until the year I turned nine and Julie was born, then we added her crib.  It was kind of fun having a baby in our room.  For one thing, she didn't have to share our double bed.  I loved Linda, but it was murder sleeping in the same bed with her.  In the winter she would always put her cold feet on the back of my legs to warm them.  Have you ever felt anything as yucky as that?  I would kick her feet off, but invariable she would sneak them over and they'd be nestling up against my legs a few minutes later.  She hogged the covers, too.  Disgusting!

Dad built a vanity in our room in a special niche he designed just for us.  It was made from a pink marbled counter top, with a full mirror behind, and was held up by a set of three deep drawers on either side.  My drawers were on the right.  Mom made us clean our drawers every couple of months, and I thought I kept my side pretty neat.  Linda's drawers and her side were a mess!  I mean, how many empty candy wrappers do you need? 

Dad also built our room with two separate closets, one on either side of our double bed.  Again, mom made us clean them out occasionally, and I tried to keep my stuff organized.  You should have seen the mess Linda accumulated!  Toys and coloring books and junk! 

Linda cared more about clothes than I did.  She still remembers events by what she was wearing at the time.  But she stressed way to much about what she was going to wear.  If mom didn't make her choose her outfit for school the night before she would spend half an hour just searching for the right thing, then another half an hour having a hissie fit because she couldn't find anything to wear.   Me, I just grabbed and went.  Nothing I owned was particularly cute anyway, so what did it matter?

When Julie moved in to share our bedroom we were already pretty full, but I didn't mind.  She didn't leave her clothes on my side of the room.  She didn't hog my covers or make sleeping impossible with her feet against my legs, and when she had a hissie fit she was easily appeased by putting a pacifier in her mouth.  Actually, she was a really cute baby, and I loved her.  Best of all, she loved me back.  It's funny, but the people we enjoy being around the most are the ones who like us.  I suppose that's the best part of having a baby around, isn't it.  They love us unconditionally, so it's easy to love them back.

Actually, I suppose that's the best part of having family.  We all love each other, even though we may get annoyed with the little stuff, because we belong together.  I mean, you can't just stop being someones sister, can you?  Or maybe I was just really blessed.  In our world, even when we were cross with each other, being family meant I knew Linda, or Phillip or Keith or Julie or Sharon or Mom or Dad or my grandparents or aunts and uncles and cousins still loved me, just because I was their family.  So I loved them back.  Cool, huh?