A Big Happy *sob* Birthday!


It’s the big one.  I’m officially old.  Practically ancient and decrepit, I’m only a few short years from being set adrift on my own personal ice floe.  One foot in the grave.  I’m pretty sure I found a gray hair this morning.  I’ll probably go bald, too.  That happens to women, sometimes, you know.  I’m definitely a spinster at this point, and I’m pretty sure I’m going senile.

What?  My birthday?  No, don’t be silly, that’s not for months.  My birthday hearkens the return of flowers.  Also, no, I’m not being over-dramatic here.  You are.  No, you are.  I know you are, but what am I?

Cue the Sad Violin.

It’s my baby sister’s 19th Birthday.  Nineteen.    She’s able to vote.  Well, ok, she could do that last year, But Still!  She’s living on her own in the far-away Ottawaland, having to scavenge for her own food and beverage in the not-quite-arctic-tundra of University Residentia.  She’s stopped thinking that boys are icky, probably.  She attends classes at an institute of higher learning.  She is officially able to purchase alcohol anywhere in Canada.  She’s an adult. 

She looks an awful lot like me. Only taller, more fit, and... well... like a taller, fitter me.

She was born when I was in Senior Kindergarten.  I was a great big sister right from the start.  When my teacher asked me what my new baby sister’s name was, I, already deeply attached to the girl, answered, “Dooor… something… something like door.  But… not.  I don’t know.  Can I play in the lego area?”

I taught her valuable lessons along the way.  Affectionate older-sisterly lessons like,

“Don’t lie down in the middle of the road while I’m riding my bike towards you, because you will be run over.  See, I wasn’t bluffing.”

And … well… off the top of my head, I can’t think of anything else that fits here.  Still.  I was a part of her education.

In return, she taught me valuable lessons like,

“If your demon-spawn baby sister comes up to you, looking completely innocent and cute, and wants to give you a hug, it’s actually in order to bite you on the face.

And

“If you chop off your bangs, and all the hair along the part in the top of your hair, right down to a buzz-cuttwice … our hairdresser will actually get out the electric razor and start prepping your hair for being an all-over buzz-cut.  And it really seems like he isn’t bluffing.”  That was definitely not the best look for her, even if she avoided getting the full buzz-cut.

I remember reading the Harry Potter books to her… Aloud.  With voices.  We learned together that Hermione wasn’t pronounced how it was spelled.

She actually enjoys going on walks with me.  I don’t even have to bribe her, most of the time.

Even when it's cold out... And even after we realised that the thing Gwynn is so interested in there is a deer-leg. Yech.

When she was really little (in real life, not just in my mind), her teacher asked them to draw someone they cared for.  While all the other kids drew spider-blob-people or block-blob-people representative of their parents, she drew a surprisingly detailed and identifyable picture of her babysitter.  Having finished the front (curly hair and all) before the aloted time was up, she turned the page over, and did the woman’s back, too (typical hands-in-back-pockets-of-her-jeans stance and all).

She makes art.  Artistic art, and always has.  At the age when I was drawing super-creepy-spider-people with no neck and spindly arms and legs protruding at unnatural angles from their bloated torsos, she was drawing relatively proportional not-scary people whose eyes were in the right part of their heads, and the same size as each other.  She’s in art school now, and the piece she gave me for my last birthday will be the basis for all decoration in a room of my future-house.

A woman came to our front door trying to sell something, and my sister politely turned her down.  As the woman was walking away, she told the woman, “Be Safe.”  Like she was sending the woman out into the zombie-apocalypse-wasteland.

yup... it's a zombie-arm for Sadie. We are totally ready for that apocalypse.

She and her friends were once spat upon by a silver mime.

All in all, she’s pretty kickass.

I look at her, and I still see her at 5, 8, 10… maybe 15… sometimes.  But she isn’t – she’s a young woman, and all grown up.  Holy cow, I feel old.

So Happy Birthday, Doodle.  I’m proud of you, and very impressed at how awesome you grew up to be.  Have fun celebrating!

ps, I hope you didn’t get awoken at god-awful-in-the-morning again today!

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10 Comments

  1. Aw, what a nice big sisterly post to write. Happy birthday to your sister…

  2. Happy Birthday to your sis!

  3. Thank you very much 😀

  4. You can just delete that last one, meant it as my own reply to 2browndogs 😀
    You just never have gotten over that bite, have you? I don’t even remember it! You don’t know my reasons… Maybe I was hungry! Ever think of that?
    And ah, you running me over with a bike… and Harry Potter voices! I wonder if you can still do Hagrids voice… To make you feel young again, I consent to you reading me Harry Potter books when I get home. No, no, no need to thank me, I know I’m a good sister 😀
    I like that you add the links to definitions to Young Woman and Happy Birthday… THANK YOU FOR MAKING ME THIS POST!
    Love you!
    Can’t wait to see you for Hogswatch!

  5. What a lovely tribute to your sister. My little brother is four years behind me, and when he hit 25 last year I knew I was ancient.

    I love your description of little kids’ drawings. Spider people indeed. What a great way to describe them.

    • 😐 when she reaches 25, I’m going to be ridiculously old. Or at least, ridiculously drunk…
      looking back at my childhood drawings… they were kind of creepy. Why did everyone i know have a giant bloated body, no neck and twig-arms and legs?

  6. As someone who grew up in Michigan, I always appreciated Canada’s drinking age of 19.

    • The first time I went to the states, I was 20… it was a real disappointment to go ‘back in time’ to being underage again. You guys should seriously consider copying our drinking age 🙂 Then again, Ontario should seriously consider adopting the 18 year drinking age of at least half the other provinces!

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