SISTERS- THANK GOD FOR THE MUFFIN TIN!!

Having sisters is awesome. 

It's magical, mercurial, and mischievous, all wrapped into one.  It's the perfect recipe for a lifetime of adventure and love. 

Plus unending talk about hair. 

I am the youngest of four girls, so, naturally, I've had built-in BFFs all my life. In addition, my sisters have always been cohorts in crime. 

One night our parents were at a cocktail party, and we opened all of our Christmas presents, then meticulously re-wrapped them.  Half the fun was pretending to be surprised when we opened the presents, again, on Christmas Day. Oohing and aahing  over the Yuletide goodies, knowing that our parents were completely oblivious. There's nothing better than a group effort to dupe the parents. Especially when it works.

There was also the time when our father had open-heart surgery, and was in intensive care. We were having dinner after a long day, and a delightful woman from down the street brought by a homemade chocolate cake. But this wasn't just any ordinary chocolate cake. It had 5 layers, and was topped off with six inches of fluffy frosting. The kind of frosting that looks like clouds. 

As the neighbor was leaving, one of my sisters looked at me.  It was one of those looks that said, "Come on, let's do it." I seem to recall she even raised a single eyebrow.  I immediately looked at another sister, and, at that point I knew there was no going back. Within a split second, the first frosting was thrown. Not lobbed, but propelled.  At a face across the table that looked a lot like the face of the person who'd just thrown it. Then the full-on confection war ensued.  And through it all, there was laughter. Waves and waves of it. Sugar and sibling delight - does get any better than that?

But most importantly, for a few precious minutes, we forgot all about the ICU. My sisters and I have always said that the cake was one of the best presents we ever received (wore).   

Right now, I'm visiting one of my sisters, Christina, in Wisconsin.  I love teasing her that her house, and jewelry box, are full of all my parents' best things.  When our parents passed away, we did what all good daughters do - the four of us played poker to see who got the (very valuable) car, our mother's beloved pearls, the Waterford crystal, fine china, and sterling silver flatware.  I kid you not - Christina won all of them.  I'm sure it wasn't statistically possible, but she scooped it all, fair and square.  Ultimately, my other sisters, Anne and Theresa, were able to pick some very nice jewelry.  I ended up with the "vintage" outdoor lawn furniture, ladened with a thick suntan lotion veneer from the 1970s.  

About a year later, Christina and I did a little further horse-trading, and she gave me the sterling silver flatware for the furniture.  Never has there been a greater act of love.   And never has she let me forget it.  To this day, we still joke about it.  But it's not about the silver.  Or the furniture.  It's about having something that links us, as sisters, to our family's past.  To a time gone by, which we keep alive through selfless love.  

But, hands down, Christina's best sisterly act was about 20 years ago, when she agreed to accompany me to a particularly scary place from my childhood.  As if that wasn't enough, she also agreed (at my request) to wear a toy gun in a plastic holster, and let me call her "Rambo."   She never asked why.  She just did it, "Because that's what sisters do."  

Sisters do the extraordinary.  They have your back, and your heart.  Always.

If you are lucky enough to have a sister (or really hit the jackpot and have more than one!), please stop whatever you're doing, and give her a call or send her a text.  Reminisce about the years gone by, when, side-by-side, you lived purposefully, with wild abandon, and deliberate joy.  Thank your sister for being that one-in-a million someone who was your first friend, and helped make your ordinary childhood extraordinary.    Forgive her for stealing your most prized hand-painted barrettes, and the savage physical fight that ensued (Theresa, you know that one was for you!  I guess I should also take this opportunity to publicly apologize for never telling you that you were a beautiful May Crowning Queen in 8th grade).  Praise them for getting the good genes you didn't (Anne, you rock the fine art DNA!).  Then schedule a visit with her and bring some old pictures with you. The ones in which she looks good.  And skinny.  With great hair.  

P.S.  Last Sunday was National Sister Day. I'd love it if you'd share your sister stories in the Comments below.  I'm sure you have some winners!!  We'd all like to hear about them!