We are so different, she and I. But not so much that we don’t thoroughly enjoy each others company and perspective. I make her laugh. She makes things funny. I go to bed late. She turns in early. I like my coffee hot. She’d rather have it over ice. We both love chocolate cake and Pushing Daisies and laughing. Hard. At nearly everything. She helps me not take myself too seriously. I think I do the same for her.

I spent this weekend with her. The men were out of town, so we decided to join forces. Otherwise, we would be in our prospective houses not sleeping, listening for all the killers who were targeting our man-less households. But with all of us together under one roof, we were so much safer. We had each other and all of our six kids ages 10 and under to protect us, after all.

She spent a lot of time this weekend doing what she does…namely, nesting.
She pulled ribbons from cabinets like this to wrap gifts. There are several of them.

She wrapped up some tassels she made and is selling. But first she took photos of them. Then she said goodbye. Then she cried a little. She gets very attached.

She also spent time putting together this centerpiece for a shower. Why all this nesting? No, she’s not pregnant. She’s the Nester (or haven’t you heard?) I kept busy helping her. I worked real hard on this.
There’s something so special about having another person in the world who has the same parents as you. We stayed up talking late one night about growing up memories. It always surprises me that I am surprised when we talk about those days. Because even though we lived in the same house with the same parents and ate the same food, we turned out so different from one another. And we remember it all differently as well.

Family history is becoming increasingly important to me. We don’t have any surviving grandparents so any stories that exist remain with our parents, aunts and uncles. I want to remember to ask them to remember. Because I don’t know what I don’t know so I don’t know what to ask. In other words, it was good to hang with my big sister. Because she has stories, too. Different from mine…they overlap, certainly. But they are different. Just like us.

And I’m happy to report, no killers. The whole weekend.

And completely irrelevant to anything in this post (or in my life, for that matter), Ryan Seacrest just asked Jessica Alba if she’ll be breastfeeding her baby. Live. On the red carpet. At the Oscars. I just don’t think I can handle hearing Ryan Seacrest say “breastfeeding”. From the looks of it, neither could Jessica Alba.