I'm officially out of the closet.
Both my sisters now know about this blog. I had managed to keep this place secret from everyone in my home life except for Justin. And now, almost a year later, I've decided to go public. Both my sisters had a small inkling about the blog. They knew I kept some kind of online journal, but a personal one that no one saw but me. I just got to the point where I didn't mind if they knew. Sure, I can't talk about them here anymore. But that's ok, because I'd rather just call them bitches to their faces.
I love my sisters. Yes, we have our differences, we have our fights. What siblings don't? At some point in your life you need to put aside your differing opinions and ideas and just love each other. We did enough squabbling when we were younger. I'm talking about name-calling, hair-pulling, teethmarks in your arm kind of fighting. We fought over doing the dishes, taking the garbage out, whose turn it was to watch a tv show. We rolled around the kitchen floor, throwing punches and crying over who started it while my father shook his head in disbelief. My poor, poor father. Having to live in a house with 3 girls. Not to mention my mother, who is a story unto herself.
Oh, we had our good times. The fun we shared was endless. Like the time they locked me in the closet to test out my claustrophobia. What a riot my sisters were. Ok, I was no angel. We did hide our infant sister in the toy chest once. And no matter what my middle sister says, I did not push her down the stairs when she was in her walker, and I did not try to suffocate her in her bassinet on her Christening day. Want to know what kind of people they are? Whenever I tell the story about being eight years old and saving my little sister's life when the car door opened as my mother drove like a speed demon (no one used seat belts or car seats back then), they will automatically launch into the story of how I almost became road pizza when my uncle drove too fast around a turn and I nearly fell out of the car when the door opened. They laugh when this story is told. They think it's funny.
I love them despite the way they tortured me. Despite the fact that being the oldest, I should have garnered some respect from them growing up instead of always being the victim of their practical jokes and mischevious behavior.
We are three entirely different people. We have different values, different tastes, different lifestyles. Yet when we are together, just the three of us, it's like we are one. I have never doubted once in my life that if I needed my sisters to be there for me, they would. They have both held my hand through some very trying times. They have given me comfort and support and guidance. They have yelled at me when I needed to be yelled at, and picked up my slack when I was in too much of a funk to be a good parent to my children. They tolerated my ex-husband, even though he treated them like shit, because I asked them to. They have no problem telling me when they disagree with my choices, yet they accept those choices because they accept me.
We have been through some rough times in the past few years. We have had arguments and issues and periods of not talking. I'd like to think we are in a place now where we are past that. We have our own lives separate from each other, and there is no reason our choices in those lives need to interfere with our love for each other. We have always accepted our differences. Why change now, when we are older and should be more mature than to let those things put a wedge between us?
Life is short. I do not want to waste it in petty arguments. I don't want to look back at my life and realize that I let the spaces between us get so far that we couldn't cross them.
So to my sisters, should you be reading this, I love you. I may bitch about you and call you names right to your face and question your sanity sometimes, but I love you and my children love you and sometimes, love is all you need.