Sweetness

Skinny, braided pigtails, adorned with ribbons.

Golden curly halo, crowning mischievous eyes.

Resounding choruses of pealing laughter, echoing.

Life gave me three lively boys.

My sister gave me two nieces.

Two beloved little cherubs to adore,

Two precious examples of girly sweetness.

Two girls, three boys, five cousins.

How could life be any sweeter?

What sweetens your days?  Tell us about it!  Visit Melissa at Making Things Up and learn more about Six Word Fridays!

!!!-Intentional Happiness for the week of July 16, 2010

After a whirlwind of cleaning up and organizing, I am as done as I can be. Every major closet is organized, months of bill statements have finally been organized, kitchen is in tip top shape, even the garage is cleaned up and organized. That is some serious !!!

But bigger than that is what the organizing and purging has done for my soul. For the last couple of years, my summers have been consumed by the needs of others, leaving little time for my own needs, let alone wants.

Three summers ago, I had a newborn. Although we did some traveling with our newly expanded family of three, caring for three small kids left me drained of any energy to tackle things such as closets and unfiled bills. I was barely surviving.

Two summers ago, my sister had a newborn. And was pregnant. So we tackled everything that needed tackling, together, with four kids.

Last summer, my mother's failing health forced whatever plans I had to the back burner. My sister now had two babies, 13 months apart. Together, with our now five children, we put my mother's affairs in order, and set on unchartered territory: caring for an elderly parent with a degenerative condition.

This summer, I reclaimed my freedom. In the midst of all that cleaning and organizing, I seemed to remember and find my way back to who I used to be and who I am trying to become.

And so this week, the French celebrated Bastille Day, commemorating the beginning of the French Revolution that eventually dismantled the Monarchy.

Twenty one years ago, on Bastille Day, a sixteen year old Cuban girl FINALLY got her driver's license. And with it, she opened a whole new world for herself. Major !!!

And now, twenty one years later, I am learning to fly by the seat of my pants, charter into new territories and relearn how to have fun. Case in point, a day trip to Sanibel Island to see my husband's aunt and uncle from Atlanta and their grown children and young grandchildren. Totally spur of the moment, total !!! to see the next generation of cousins play and have fun! Plus beach time is always worthy of !!!

Continued success with the potty training!!! A clean AC condensation line thanks to my wonderful main man!!! A sisters only movie night to see Eclipse!!! No children with us at the movie theater and swooning over Jacob's abs; double !!!

That being said, sometimes the greatest !!! comes from standing outside our comfort zone, confronting our fears and looking them dead in the eye and realizing that they hold no longer hold power over you.

Sometimes, those lessons take a very long time to be learned and understood. But once they are learned, they are your license to happiness...

You lift me up...

Last night, I went out with my sister and two former co-workers who are just about the best friends anyone could ask for. We had been planning this much needed escape from reality for weeks, as we are all busy with families, friends, work and other commitments.

We had decided that we would watch Sex and the City 2. We decided that we would have dinner. We had decided that we would put some effort into our appearance for our outing. J researched options, and we finally settled on our local CineBistro, where you pick your seats in the theatre, select from a wide variety of appetizers, entrees and desserts. And an extensive drink menu.

Just getting ready was an uplifting experience. Getting to dress up, put on girly makeup and accessorize was fun and put me in the mood for a great time. I drove over to my sister's and for the first time in two years, the place was quiet. No little girls running around, yelling, screaming or crying. We waited for our friends and caught up without children interrupting. It was weird, but wonderful.

When our friends joined us, we were on our way. We had enough time to catch up, boost our morale, share our worries and joys. And I wondered, why is it that we don't do this more often?

I truly enjoyed the atmosphere, the dinner, the movie. Especially the movie. Because we can all relate. We all have girlfriends that carry us through our scariest moments, share the journey we are on, provide us encouragement, a shoulder to cry on, someone to share our happiness with.

Especially poignant for me was the scene when Charlotte and Miranda have a heart to heart as Samantha readies herself for her date and Carrie is out. For any of us mothers, we know how hard it is to admit to ourselves that motherhood is not at all what we envisioned when we were planning a nursery. And regardless of what your station in life is, how well off you are economically, none of us know what we are doing.

For the longest time, I have seen several posts from some of my favorite bloggers trying to increase their support system. While I always thought that I had a huge village, it seems as though it has been shrinking, or perhaps, it was never as big as I thought it was.

But in the last few months I have put myself out there. I have asked for help, I have opened up, tried not to be so anxious in social settings. I have pushed my own boundaries and have begun to test limits, physically and emotionally. It has been scary at times.

And I feel better for it.

It is hard to do when you grew up isolated, alone and without many opportunities (or parental encouragement) as a child to make new friends. Add to that the need to feel safe and not venture out too much out of the boundaries, and you can see where I can get a teensy bit anxious in some social settings.

In reality, we all want acceptance of some sort. We need it from our parents, our spouses, our friends. We think nothing of encouraging our children, yet, when we are confronted with the same opportunities, we shy away from them, make excuses of how busy we really are, of why we can't.

But for the first time in a long time, I have said yes when it would be easier to say no. I have begun to solidify acquaintances in hopes of creating lasting friendships. And in saying yes, I have begun to eradicate my anxieties and self doubts. I am slowly becoming the me I want to be.

Last night, with my friends, and in watching the movie, my belief in people needing others was reaffirmed. Humans are social creatures. We can live alone, but our best memories are embedded deeply within our souls when we share experiences with those who love us and whom we love.

And no matter who you are, a fictional character or a stay at home mom, far from family, we are all uplifted by each other's company.

We all need validation, even if it's over drinks.

Especially when you get to dress up and have your dinner brought to you...

The first time, ever I saw your face...

Momalom's Five for Ten: Memory

I remember the weight that my small arms held. I remember the pounding of my little heart, as it beat ferociously within my chest. I remember the warmth of the mid-March night. I remember the sweetness of that face.

My earliest memory is one of happiness. It is one of meeting someone who would be my constant companion for the next nineteen years and my life long friend. It was the day my mother brought home my sister.

I was barely three. We lived in Queens, New York at the time. I cannot recall anything about the apartment we lived in, but I do remember the roughness of the small plaid fabric that covered the sofa I carefully sat on.

My grandmother had come to stay with me for over a month before my sister was born. There were complications that required that my mother be hospitalized for the last couple of months before my sister was born. Nature is a tricky combatant. The final ultrasound determined that my sister was overdue, labor was induced with no desired results. Blood anticoagulants were reversed, an emergency cesarean delivered my beautiful baby sister.

Over the phone calls during that time apart, my mother had promised me the ability to hold my baby sister when she arrived at home. I don't remember my parents coming home, but I do remember sitting with my back all the way to the back of the couch. Of holding my breath in anticipation. Of the weight in my arms and her soft, pink face, as she sighed her sweet baby sighs in my small, inefficient arms.

I remember my grandmother arguing with my mother, pleading with her not to place my sister in my arms, that I was too little, that I would drop her. My mother placed that precious baby, bundled against the cold New York spring in scratchy, white woolen clothes and blanket.

I remember that newborn baby, opening her eyes and looking at me as if to say, "I know you. I am here."

In the pictures that were taken that night, my face shows a curious expression for such a young child. I have this look of wonder, of delight, of happiness.

All throughout her pregnancy, my mother ingrained in my young mind that I was this baby's little mother. That I was responsible for her. Truer words were never spoken.

For as long as I can remember, I have been my sister's keeper. You could say that my sister is indeed my oldest child, even though I am only three years older. I have been her biggest defender, ally, cheerleader, shoulder to cry on, and co-conspirator.

When my sister found out I was pregnant with Matthew, my oldest son, she never had any doubts about what kind of mother I would be. I don't know that I share her opinion, even now. But I was grateful that I had a practice run with her.

When I see my two young nieces, I am constantly reminded of how fortunate my sister and I have been, in spite of such a painful childhood. We had each other; always, to love and support the other. My nieces are following in suit. It is uncanny how much they look like us, act like us. A constant reminder of our good fortune.

I wonder what memories will stand out for my sons. Already, they talk about their youngest brother's birth, their young cousins' births, trips and activities we have shared. I wonder if one single event will stand out for them as my sister's birth stood out for me. I wonder if they have yet to have their life altering memory.

Memories, I feel, are gifts from the past. They are there, to carry you through hard times, through grief, longing, sadness.

They are there as a reminder of what worked, what was right, what was good, when things don't quite go as planned.

They are there to ground you. To remind you of who you are, what you are capable of, of the happiness your heart can hold.

But more importantly, like snapshots of a life well-lived, they are always with you. A quick glance back to a time when life was simpler, less chaotic.

As parents, we are bombarded by memories of our children's infancy, toddlerhood, middle childhood. We glean from the best, wistfully recall the details, the when's and why's.

This week, as we have taken on these topics from Momalom's Five for Ten Again, I have seen the natural transition of the topics.

It takes Courage to invite Happiness in.

Happiness brings Memories.

And of all of these, Memories of Happiness are by far the most cherished.

Another round...

Today called for heavy artillery of adult beverages in my house. None were consumed, although they were much deserved. An extremely busy week, a most difficult day, and still, another two days until the week end.

My morning was not particularly hard. I was able to get dressed, get out of the house, and get the older two boys to school on time. I was scheduled to serve as a Science Fair judge at my old school, where I worked for ten years.

I left six years ago this fall. I remember that I struggled with the decision to leave for over a year. My children were getting older, I lived too far from the school and my husband had started working in his current job, that required huge amounts of travel at the time.

I struggled for many reasons. The main one is change. I traditionally have never done well with it. I will change my wardrobe a million times. I might change my hair and it's color without too much remorse. But the big things like a place of employment, not so much.

I completed my final internship at HES school in December 1994. There were no open positions there when I graduated, so I found a job at another school where I was miserable. It was the longest six months of my life.

I doubted whether or not I had made the right career decision. I wondered if I should go back to school and get a degree in something else. At the end of the year, my position was eliminated, and I went back to the principal at HES, trying to secure ANYTHING for the following year.

As luck would have it, I was hired in mid September of 1995, after the school year had started. I was fortunate enough to work steadily, although in temporary teaching assignments until the following school year. In 1996, I finally had my own classroom with 38 of the most energetic, and bright Kindergarten students ever.

At this school, I began as a young 21 year old undergraduate. I slowly emerged to married woman, Graduate student, mother of one, struggled through the loss of one parent, to mother of two boys. More than coworkers, these people became a sort of family. We mourned our losses, we celebrated new additions and life's greatest joys. It was hard to leave them and all that history behind.

But I did. As scary as it was to go and begin again in a new place, to form new friendships and professional relationships, I understood that this was something I needed to do for my family. Matthew was nearing preschool age. I wanted him to be able to attend a school that was close to home. I wanted to be closer to home as well, and not spend the bulk of my day behind the wheel, in traffic, gathering children and getting home.

The reaction on the last day of school in 2004 was hard. As people heard that I had transferred out, the questions swirled. The tears flowed. It was surely one of the most difficult things I have ever done. I still had my doubts, but at least, I knew that my sister and I would be working together, that my children, one day, would be able to attend this school with me. I forged ahead.

The first few days of that school year were hard. As the school year began, I was preparing in a new classroom in a different school. I often thought of my old school, my friends that I had left behind, my old students. But I made new friends. I reveled in the new challenges and procedures. I enjoyed my new students. I loved being closer to home and not fighting that traffic as much.

I still keep in touch with more than a few people. Several of those Class of 1996 Kindergarten group stay in touch with me through Facebook. They are now completing their Freshman year in college, which is just astounding to me.

But today, as I walked through the old halls at HES, I did not feel too nostalgic. The last few years have been rough for the staff. Administration is not what it should be. I was GLAD that I was gone. People seemed sad. They said with longing, "Be glad you left." And I was.

Because sometimes, you need another round to realize that even decisions made fearfully and with some doubt are the right ones.

Because I would have grown to hate my job.

Because, eventually, I would have equated those beautifully hearted co-workers with the confines of that building. And would have grown to dislike both.

Today, as I skipped out after judging Fourth Grade projects, I did not leave with the usual twinge of sadness for a simpler time.

I left with gratitude.

Gratitude for the people who had helped shape that shy 21 year old young teacher. Who had supported her, helped her hone her craft, and been a second family to her, and bade her goodbye six years ago.

Gratitude for having had the courage six years ago leave something that seemed safe, but would have surely killed the best part of me.

Gratitude for having forged ahead in a journey that made me mighty uncomfortable. But forced me to grow. To adapt. To change. And like it.

Another round of blessings that would have been forever undiscovered, had I not taken that simple step.

And for that, I am incredibly grateful.

On being the baby...

Yesterday was my youngest niece's birthday. My little sister's little girl turned one. We spent the better part of the day celebrating, and as you can see, I am late with my birthday tribute to my sweet Allison.

Allison is the youngest of two parents who are also the youngest...So she is literally the youngest of the youngest, and boy, does she know it!

Little Miss has sass. Her mouth sits in a permanent pout; as if she is modeling lipstick or constantly trying to figure out how to make you do what she wants, if she could only decide what it is she wants.

But that chubby baby is just a slice of heaven. Her head is covered in a golden halo of soft curls, and when she finally does smile or laugh, I swear, she is just like her mama. It is hearty, genuine, and impossible not to join her in her fit of giggles.

Being the youngest does have its privileges. She lives in a state of being perpetually spoiled. By her parents, her sister, her aunts and uncles. Her grandparents and cousins are no better.

And yesterday, as Her Royal Highness looked around at her loving subjects, she was a happy little girl. The youngest of the youngest. The most loved of all.

Happy birthday, little Miss Alli. We love you so! And I love that sass!

Missing you...

Today was Take Your Child To Work Day. My husband called me excitedly about a week and a half ago, wondering if he could bring the boys to work and we agreed that it would be a great experience for both of them. This morning, drop-off's were reversed and the day began.


It was a weird day in many ways. First, I dropped off Joshua, much later than usual. I did not have the two older boys with me. Although they are usually too asleep with their eyes open to be of much conversation (further proof that they are truly my children!), I missed having the warmth of their bodies accompanying me to work. There was hardly any traffic this morning, because the mothers and fathers of our metropolis had probably made arrangements with their bosses to come in a little later. Because I had no additional drop off's, I arrived early to work. And there were no children to greet me.

I typically have Physical Education first thing in the morning. My co-teacher and I have an "arrangement" of sorts with the P.E. coaches. Rather than haul the children and all their stuff up the stairs and try to beat the National Anthem and Pledge of Allegiance to make it to P.E. on time, the children just stay in their lines outside, are on time to class, and then we pick them up afterwards. Genius, I assure you. But this morning, we were expecting one student. And she was not there.

While we were the envy of just about every teacher in the school building, I felt more than a little out of sorts. It's not that I had planned to do anything extraordinary today and the plans had to be put on hold. It was just odd to be at school, on a school day, with no one to teach or watch.

Don't get me wrong. I caught up with paperwork and testing of other unfortunate students that had to be there today. But something was amiss.

At lunchtime, I usually see Matthew in the cafeteria, where we exchange a headshake and wink. Nothing. After school, I pick up Andrew from aftercare, when he jabbers about his day and whines about having to do homework. Nothing.

Silence on the way home; save for Bon Jovi, remnants of this weekend's concert, blaring on the stereo. It did little to put me back in normal mode. I had an appointment that I had to keep this early evening, so I really didn't have too much time to do anything wild like go window shopping by myself. I did manage to go to the nutritional supplement store and pick up a handful of supplements designed to help me move my tired arse in gear. This trip is usually rounded out by two elementary aged boys who whine and complain about having to be there, each other, and the homework that must be completed upon the arrival home.

It was the most quiet experience by far today.

As I paid for my purchases, I thought of when this silence is more of a permanent thing. Because the boys will be older and have their own activities to concern themselves with. When they are older and are perhaps living away at school. My heart ached.

I picked up Joshua. As I held his hand in the parking lot, I asked about his day. I waited for him to ask me where his brothers were. He never did. I think he was glad he didn't have to share me this afternoon.

I often wonder how each of my boys will see themselves outside of their relationship with their brothers.

Will Matthew always see himself as the older, more responsible one? Will he ever let go and just be silly, allow himself mistakes and forgive himself for them?

How will Andrew define himself when he is the oldest brother living at home? Will he ever break loose of the conflict within himself, being neither the oldest nor the youngest? Will he find his place in the world, making his own way and not living in his older brother's shadow?

How will Joshua react when he is the last one at home? Will he feel abandoned by his brothers and wishing he didn't have both of his parents' undivided attention? Will he learn to find his own voice in the cacophony of noise that permanently resides in our home?

How will John and I react and adjust to each bird leaving our nest? What would we do with all the time that is now consumed with parenting and chores? How will we choose to define ourselves and live the remainder of our lives without the constant responsibility of "raising" three sons?

All these questions floated around in my head as I drove home. Joshua easily found something to entertain himself with when we arrived, thankfully not Dora and the darned Star Catcher episode on On-Demand.

I thought of my own relationship with my younger sister. I still view her as someone that needs protecting, even though she is a grown woman, with children of her own. I have a hard time confiding big time stuff to her, mainly because I cannot stand to see her worry any more than she has to. And yet, she is a constant source of comfort. She is a friend in the truest sense of the word. And she completes such big portions of my life, as she knows me in ways that my dearest husband and children will never know. She has seen my evolution; knows my past because she lived it alongside me.

I wonder if my boys, in their own way, will have this gift in each other. I hope that they can support each other and love each other in similar ways.

All these thoughts brought on by a day of learning outside of the classroom. As I rushed out of the house for the appointment, Joshua asked me why I was leaving.

"Because I have something to take care of. But Daddy will be here, and your brothers. I'll only be gone a little bit," I said.

He scowled a little, then hugged me. "I want you here with me," he said.

The boys came home then. "I missed you so, Mom," exclaimed Matthew. "Hey Mommy. Did you have a good day?" asked Andrew.

As I looked around at my boys, I knew that the answers to all those questions would be answered in their own time. My heart was full.

Because I missed my boys today.

And because they missed me...

Life in the cry lane...

It has been a hectic few days, alas, the reason behind my lack of daily posts. Every day, I would longingly look at the computer, as it sat abandoned in the family room, awaiting our joyful reunion.

The weekend's festivities took a nose-dive when Joshua decided that he was going to be up half the night on Friday into Saturday. I had an early appointment for Andrew, so needless to say, I spent Saturday walking around like a zombie. I canceled our dinner plans with friends, mainly because I did not think I could stay awake long enough to make the 8 p.m. dinner reservations. However, even when you go to sleep at 10 p.m., you can never really catch up with sleep once you have been robbed.

Sunday was pretty much more of the same, but add rain to boot. John and I had purchased the Bon Jovi tickets as a birthday present for my sister. We had been looking forward to the concert for MONTHS...and here was the day of, I had babysitting AND a new outfit, and all I wanted was to crawl under the covers and wake up refreshed, renewed and 5 years younger...I know, delusional. I was still dragging my arse, so tired that I wanted to cry.

My mood improved slightly with a purchase of fabulous clogs and once I saw my sister and I dressed up and ready to go, I felt better. Nice Italian dinner at our favorite place, a bottle of wine shared with my favorite two people in the world (besides my children, and only when I have had a decent night's sleep) and a pre-concert beer in the parking lot of the arena (mostly because I REFUSED to spend $8 on a beer at the concert) and, voila, I was seventeen again, with 20 years experience. The concert was magnificent, the crowd was largely suburban mothers who had gotten gussied up and were ready to relive their youth, albeit if only for a few hours. Sound familiar?

What surprised me was the magnitude of my tiredness the next morning. Apparently, even if you are young at heart, your body need not follow in suit. Every bone in my body ached. My throat was incapable of make any sound resembling words. Did I mention I am sleep deprived?

But, as they say, there is no rest for the weary. I had a wake to attend on Monday night. I heard some incredibly awful news regarding the twin daughter of some very good friends. And I was so tired, I could literally hang my head and cry.

Their little girl, who is just a few months shy of her third birthday, just had a brain tumor removed. They are hopeful that chemotherapy will work, if it is indeed malignant. News like that puts everything into perspective. It makes you hold your children a little longer and tighter. It tests your resistance as a parent. Are you a sprinter, or a marathon runner? If you are so inclined, please keep them all in your prayers...

Today, in my endless coming and goings, I went to pick up the boys at Church, where they receive religious education in the Catholic faith. This is when Joshua decides, on a weekly basis, to lose it. And I don't mean quietly or with dignity. I mean, full-fledged, three year old temper tantrum, with stomping of the feet, the constant changing of decibels and pitch in the screams and the indecision of "I want it/I don't want it." Of course, he is not deterred by all the other parents that are also waiting for their children to be dismissed. This, apparently fuels him, as he wants to make sure his audience gets the best he can give. I so wanted to be in the comfort of my own home, or, at the very least, join my youngest son in the screaming and stomping. I think it would have made me feel better.

You see, no one tells you that having children makes you want to cry, in good times and in bad. In the good times, the tears are joyful ones. They come from knowing that perhaps, you are not messing up your child too much; they are tears of pride, of happiness.

When things go wrong: you have a particularly frustrating parenting day, you have overreacted and unintentionally hurt your child's feelings, you hear devastating news that you are powerless against. It is those times that the tears are the hardest to bear, because they seem to mock you. Mock your inability to hold it together, your inability to protect your child from the awful things that seem to lurk and surprise at the most inopportune times.

So, what do you do? We cannot spend the rest of our adult lives in tears. It is not practical and it certainly does not improve your chances for a smooth complexion in your later years. All you can do is take the leap of faith and hope like hell there is some kind of cushion when you hit the ground running.

We mothers are not perfect. I make no apologies for the fact that from the day I decided I wanted to become a mother, I have stumbled, fallen, learned and surprised myself and others in my capacity to make light of the things I can, and tackle the bigger problems with as much grace as I can muster.

I don't dare judge others. I do not know the circumstances that account for their reality. All I can offer another mother is a shoulder to cry on, an funny story to make her laugh, or, at the very least; the name and number of a pediatric specialist.

No, ladies, I am not meant to spend my life in the cry lane, although looking at the pictures from the weekend, I certainly have enough reason to cry. The diet begins in earnest on Sunday, as well as a renewed effort to get my chunky arse back to the gym. I may not be crying now, but I will be soon if I don't do something about the arms and the area where my waist used to sit....

The first time...

The first time I laid eyes on you, sweet girl, you were barely five minutes old.

Your mother lay exhausted from birthing you. Your father, overwhelmed with joy, just looked at you, telling you how beautiful you were.

And there you were, this tiny, crying thing. My heart swelled with joy as I looked at this brand new family that had not existed five minutes earlier.

As I tried to compose myself, I realized that with your arrival, I added another name to my already overflowing list. But it was one that I had waited a long time for.

With you, my baby sister became a mother.

And I became an aunt, for the first time.

And for the first time, I realized that although I had three children of my own, there were many things that I did not understand or know. There are many things you have taught me in your short two years.

You have taught me that you can love a child that you have not birthed as much as one you have. I never understood how your mother loved her nephews until you came along. There is nothing that you could ask for that I would not try to acquire for you. Since you came, I have never thought of you and your sister as my nieces. I have thought of you both as my own; part of my brood. My five kids; my three boys, my two girls.

You have taught me that girls can keep up with boys, and even boss them around as soon as they can hold up their heads. Your cousins; my sons, love you as though you were their sister. These boys never fail to do your bidding, and you never fail to follow in their footsteps, gazing up at them adoringly, wondering what fun they will come up with next.

You have taught me to love pink. Where I would once scoff at your mother for fawning over pretty dresses and amassing the world's largest collection of hair accessories, I find myself , all too often, shopping for you and your sister. I have become almost as bad as she is, and I am no longer ashamed.

You have taught me that girls react differently. That, even at birth, we are held in a different regard. We are delicate, we need protection, we need love. Even at this young age, you show a sensitive heart. Hopefully, you will know great happiness and that little heart will never know the pangs of unrequited first loves, broken friendships, angry words that can so easily leave us broken-hearted.

You have taught me to nurture the little girl that you are, empower the young woman that you will inevitably become. Even now, you show an incredibly strong will. You know what you want, and you can usually figure out how to get it. You are not afraid to speak your mind. I hope that as you get older, you never lose that sense of self, you never lose the words that help keep you standing on firm ground. I hope that you are stronger than your mother and I.

Dear Alexandra, two years ago, you arrived on this Earth and forever changed this family's corner.

You were the first little flower in my life.

Happy birthday, sweet girl!

I love you so dearly.

Happy birthday to you...

Tomorrow is my sister's 34th birthday. I felt it was fitting to dedicate a blog post to just her because as a mother of two little girls herself, there is rarely anything that is just for her lately.

My sister and I are the children of two late bloomers. I still don't quite understand the dynamic of my parents' relationship, but nonetheless, regardless of the issues they had, they gave me the greatest gift; my sister. And the funny thing is, that even then, as a not-quite three year old, I loved her with all my heart.

My sister and I have endured together every facet of human emotion imaginable and we love each other in spite of every fault and personality defect that we possess. Perhaps it is because we had some connection in a past life, but to me, there is no greater ally or confidante than Angie.

I have always been fiercely protective of my sister. She will argue that in many ways, I have been her mother. She allowed me to hone in on those skills so that I could be a better mother to my own sons. There has never been any mistake or disappointment that could dim my love for her. There has never been anything that I wouldn't do for her...

When I was pregnant with my first son, I found out only days after her 24th birthday. When I had my first child, my sister was not in the hospital to meet Matthew right away. She was completing her Student Teaching, getting ready to graduate. But, she was the first one I called when I went into labor, she kept vigil throughout that long second night of labor. After I came out of the operating room early that morning, she was the first one I called, my voice choked with emotion of sharing such a momentous occasion with her. She has loved him, and all my kids as if they were her own.

I never quite understood the bond she shared with them until she became pregnant with my oldest niece, Alexandra. I understood the hyper-vigilance of her being, of worrying incessantly that she and the baby would be okay. I understood the joy of becoming an aunt of this precious little girl who will soon turn two and has changed me so profoundly. And when she had Allison 13 months later, I fell in love with this newest beautiful piece of my sister.

It is hard being the oldest child. You are constantly trying to break through a protective barrier your parents set up for you. But, in seeing Angie struggle to gain her independence, I think it is even more difficult to be the youngest. Because your parents are holding on like hell to keep you close to them, to keep you the baby.

As the oldest, you always view your younger sibling as just that; younger. But as Angie approaches her mid-thirties (!), I am reminded of the date on my own calendar. How is she not in her carefree twenties anymore? How and when did we become adults?

Angie has overcome so much. She lost our dad way too young, has watched our mother deteriorate in mind, body and spirit. She has been the cheerleader for so many. And yet, for as much as she has endured, she is the most positive, loving person I know. She is a constant inspiration to me, as I know she will be to her daughters.

I am thankful for many things in my life. I am thankful for my loving husband, my spirited, healthy sons, my beautiful nieces, the loving family God has blessed me with. But I am especially grateful for my beautiful little sister...Without her, I would not be the person I am today.

Angie, I love you! I hope you have the happiest of birthdays tomorrow and I can't wait to celebrate with our husbands and mess of kids! We are so lucky to have you!