My sister and I grew up in the same room until I was fourteen (she was ten) and we even shared the same full-sized bed with a white and green comforter that our mom made until I was thirteen. She drove me crazy with My Little Pony dolls and the way she'd watch movies on a loop (Beethoven! Fern Gully! Home Alone! Fern Gully again!) and I drove her crazy with how I always had to have the bed made (even her side!) and the way I ignored her when I wanted to read Ella Enchanted for the fifteenth time in a row. Then I started high school and scored my own bedroom and our fights changed to fights over clothing and jewelry and who had the longest hair. After high school, though, the fighting slowed down to a halt and instead we'd only fight about whether or not she should come visit me and, when I came home, we'd fight over whether we should have sleepovers in her room, my old room, or the basement watching Gossip Girl marathons. Now she's my children's aunt and she's grown up gorgeous and I grin every time I think about her as the wild-haired four-year-old who stole all my Barbies and made me roll my eyes every three minutes.
I love having a sister and I love the afternoons we spend wandering around our hometown snapping photographs and talking about everything under the sun. It's become a tradition of sorts and I hope it never fades!