Sisters are sisters for life. That’s what my grandchildren will know. Good or bad they will always know more about you than anyone you live with when you’re older. “Tell me more stories…” was the plea last night as snowballs on small heads and peeing in the wrong places, tumbled out. “Oh, I know, I know!” and out came another truth that probably has already been altered by memory and circumstance. But it made me realize how living overseas when the two older children were creating their first stories, was why I was hearing these for the first time. But we laughed and had renditions of the “I’m hungry” classic complete with a dramatic arm sweep across the forehead. A sister is a thing of beauty – until they hit you in a tender spot (or in the face with a slipper), which is when you understand they have no mercy. Already I can hear those hormones bubbling up. Perhaps it might be prudent to go back overseas!
