My little sister is an amazing person.
I’m six years older than her, so until she graduated college in the spring and moved here to Cincinnati as well, we really didn’t have a lot to do with one another. I remember a lot of babysitting, and though my mother denies it, I’ve changed my sister’s diaper a few times- I would’ve been seven, eight at the time, and perfectly capable of doing it, especially if my dad was too drunk to do it himself when I came home from school and found her languishing in a dirty diaper. I definitely ran the show a lot at that point, as dad was either drunk or well on his way there, and a lot of the time, asleep. I don’t know how much he actually took care of her, to be honest, and what else was going to happen? Mom was the only one working.
She was only four when mom kicked him out, so all she remembers is how he’d buy her a Little Debbie if he went to the store to keep her quiet. Our stepdad is the only dad she knows, and as he ALSO has a drinking problem, she is also familiar with the “when is the floor going to fall out again?” problem. For her, it fell out when she was ten. My mom and stepdad had been married for four years at that point, and my siblings and I were all starting to call him dad, my sister especially. I was working at the time, at Wendy’s, and mom came to my store with a bag of clothes and orders to go to my grandma’s. I knew exactly what was happening, just based on her expression, and I’d picked up on my stepdad coming home early from work drunk once or twice but I’d been silent, not sure what to do. None of us called him dad ever again, not even my sister, when he was the only dad she could remember.
Since moving here, my sister and I hang out a couple times a week, and it’s pretty awesome. My sister and I are a lot more alike than either of us realized, to my joy and probably her chagrin (she was always WAY cooler than I was. Still is, really.) She’s been the driving force in my apartment changing from various piles of boxes, especially after two rounds of bedbugs, to this week’s development of finally, FINALLY finishing my bedroom. We hung pictures tonight, in my room and bathroom, and put things in my display case. It’s an awesome feeling. She keeps me going and focused, and helps me organize. She LOVES organizing things, while organization and I have never really been friends, thought I always imagined it’s nice to live an organized life, especially like in magazines.
Guys, my apartment is ACTUALLY STARTING TO LOOK LIKE THAT. It is my space, full of my things and only my things, and calm and zen-like everywhere. Things are tidy and everything has a space, and they actually are IN that space. I’ve started doing various chores daily- I make my bed every morning, and I do my dishes every night before bed. The chore list has been getting longer every day, to keep things nicer. She doesn’t think I’m a complete slob, even though I’m not always the best about sweeping up cat hair or keeping all of my crap off the dining room table. (Her apartment? REALLY looks like a magazine. Utterly disgusting, I tell you.) She still comes here to hang out, twice a week. She makes me calendars because I forget things. She knows where more of my things are than I do at this point, and can tell me over the phone when I can’t quite figure out her system. She’s not quite as spatially aware as I am, but she can hang pictures very well, and came up with a cool configuration for over my bed.
She and I watch My Little Pony, and Dr. Who together. She went to see Wreck-It Ralph with me and understood most of it. (She’s a bit young for some of the characters, but I am too, by a smidge. I just played a lot of arcade games in bars as a kid, as giving me a roll of quarters was guaranteed silence for a few hours for my dad. I also got really, REALLY good at pool and shufflepuck.) We both have a love of politics- her more than myself, though I get more passionate about my pet issues- and adore Rachel Maddow, John Stewart, and Stephen Colbert. We both tell corny jokes and are complete dorks.
I don’t want her to get married and move away like she plans to. I hope they stay here in Cincinnati, at least for a little longer, because now that I have this part of my sister, I don’t ever want to let go.