OLDER SIBLINGS
Writing this blog with my sister means so much more to me than I can ever express. Hold up, hold up! You think I’m about to go all mushy and sentimental on you, right? Well before you think I’m about to launch into a tear jerking account of how much I totally adore my big sister, let me just tell you I’m not. Not because I don’t. Because I do. I totally do. My sister is a Legend. Yep, that’s right, she ROCKS.
Ever since I was a teeeny weeny person I have looked up to her, desperately trying to come up with cunning plans to make her want to include me in her Uber Cool Circle of Trust. I would sit for hours outside her closed bedroom door, while she had friends round, cleverly tucked up inside our laundry basket (well I couldn’t just sit there without any form of disguise, could I? I was spying after all..) with my notepad and pencils. From her I would post secret messages, and post them under her door, to try and get their attention. I couldn’t write at the time, so who knows what I “wrote” on these little bits of scented, Barbie printed paper, but I could hear giggling coming from inside The Cool Big Sister’s Bedroom, so I figured my messages where having some sort of positive effect. Any time now, they’ll open that door and let me in. Or not.
Lou and her friends had this amazing Clubhouse in the loft of our garage. They built the whole thing themselves, which even to this day astonishes me. How did they do it? Where did they find those massive bits of wood? How did Mum even allow them?
Gaining access to the Clubhouse was not just difficult in the physical sense of the word (it involved standing on top of a bicycle, and a piece of rope among other things..). As the much younger, annoying little sister, I had no chance. I had nothing to add to the conversations about boys, I couldn’t ride a scate board, and I still completely, adoringly, enthusiastically loved playing with dolls. Not to mention, the Clubhouse was quite high up, and the few times I was allowed up there (occassionally one of my Big Sister’s friends would take pity on me), I suffered form vertigo and mainly spent my time up there trying not to burst into tears, or throw up (or down, as it would have been..)
Still, I dreamed of one day being included in the VIP club. Of gaining access to the Uber Cool Circle of Trust.
When Lou and her crew finally decided they were far too old and waaay too cool to be using the Clubhouse, she told my friends and I we were welcome to have it, if we wanted. We were besides ourselves with excitement. I mean, wowzer, biggest day of our life so far or what? Standing on top of the seat of the bicycle, and pulling myself up the last bit by holding on to the rope, I tore my t-shirt on a nail as I entered the magical place.
It stunk. The old pillows were mouldy from the damp coming through the loft roof and riddled with fleas, and the cat had been using the loft as a place to woo her many male bachelors. I have vague memories of neighbours complaining to Mum that their children had come home covered in spots after visiting the old Clubhouse. Such a downer.
Nevertheless, I continued my pursuit of trying to impress my sister, way into my teens and early twenties by visiting her at University and drinking Hooch with all her friends, and getting my bellybutton pierced just like hers. And I have no plans of stopping just yet. In fact, and here is where I am about to get a little soppy – I am incredibly lucky to have a sister like Lou. She’s like a massive fan club, all neatly rolled up into one trendy little lady. She’s fiercely protective of me (I used to shout to the horrible boys on our street from our balcony “Watch out, or my sister will come and chop your willies off!” hahaa..I mean, really.. ha HA), and THE proudest Aunty I could ever wish for, for my kids.
Watching Finley and Sienna interact makes me burst with pride. How do they know to love each other like that? Her little face lights up when he enters the room, legs-and-arms-kicking-like-crazy. I expect there will come a time in the not so distant future, where she’ll suddenly be on the move and heading for that carefully built train track with only one goal in mind – pull it apart! And I expect he won’t be so impressed with her then as he is now.
I imagine she’ll find him equally annoying the day he scares off her first crush though. And probably her second, too. And third. Then she’ll figure out that really, dating before she is at least 30 years old, will be a complete waste of time.
Almost the weekend! Back later with our weekend post,
/Camilla
