I'm still really sleepy from night time escapades. I'm hungover in love. And add that to my early PMS schedule. I'm grumpy as hell. You're all assholes. Here's a list of things I don't like right now because all I want is sleep. (and more escapades)
1. Puppies. Everyone thinks they're great, but they're fucked and squirmy and their breath smells like their shit. And when someone gets one, that's ALL they can focus on or talk about.
2. The fact that, without actual 100% proof, Malaysia was all "Yep, we saw an image from space of some stuff floating in the ocean and then we did some 'state of the art math' and that plane crashed insanely far from where it was going and everyone on board is dead. Don't ask about it anymore. It's gone. Bye." Does that not seem incredibly negligent? They didn't identify even one piece of the actual plane. You don't think it would be good to obtain proof before telling someone their loved one is dead?
3. Upon learning that wheat is actually not great for your body, all I want in the world is a giant loaf of fresh bread. Also, I just ate the last of my Italian chocolates.
4. Shopping for a vacuum is so fucked. I just want one to appear. Ditto for a coffee table.
5. I'm about to pay higher rent for an apartment in Okemos, MI than I paid for a bigger one in Toluca Lake, CA. That is compounded by the fact that my best friend got evicted from that dream apartment for jumping off the roof into the pool. When he was over 30 years old. With his boss.
6. The coffee at my work seems to make my insides completely liquefy.
7. My shoulders hurt from Pure Barre. I have Pure Barre again at 6pm.
8. My new bed won't be in for weeks. My new TV is also delayed.
9. I can't keep track of all the plans, work projects, social events, charity volunteer commitments or deadlines of my life. Even with 4 different calendars in my office.
10. My cuticles are just ALL fucked up.
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
I'm So Fucking Ready
I am so ready for that spring and summer feeling.
That first day of warmth, where you walk out of a building and the sun is actually hot on your skin and your car is a place you wouldn't leave a candy bar.
The first thunderstorm. The kind that doesn't bring down ice. The kind that you can smell coming and rumbles on through dropping big buckets of rain noisily while periodically lighting up your bedroom with flashes. Love it.
I'm ready for overgrown weeds and dusty roads and sticky sweat and just a touch of sunburn on my nose. Ready to ask for extra ice in my drinks and for tacky bright nail polish that I claim is "tropical". Ready to look out over Lake Michigan from behind my wayfarers and Instagram the experience so people trapped at work can be jealous.
I'm ready for ice cream.
I'm ready to show off the body that I work so hard on all winter. Clothes are for suckers.
That first day of warmth, where you walk out of a building and the sun is actually hot on your skin and your car is a place you wouldn't leave a candy bar.
The first thunderstorm. The kind that doesn't bring down ice. The kind that you can smell coming and rumbles on through dropping big buckets of rain noisily while periodically lighting up your bedroom with flashes. Love it.
I'm ready for overgrown weeds and dusty roads and sticky sweat and just a touch of sunburn on my nose. Ready to ask for extra ice in my drinks and for tacky bright nail polish that I claim is "tropical". Ready to look out over Lake Michigan from behind my wayfarers and Instagram the experience so people trapped at work can be jealous.
I'm ready for ice cream.
I'm ready to show off the body that I work so hard on all winter. Clothes are for suckers.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
I Hope They Have Starbucks In Heaven
L'Wren Scott was so damn tall. That's the first thing you noticed about her. She towered over you in stature and style.
When I was just beginning my career in commercial and music video production, she was already a well-respected and high profile stylist in that realm.
Stylists are famous in their own right. And the big ones are almost rock stars themselves. In New York and Los Angeles, they have a respect and recognition that is definitely all their own. Most of them also have the attitude of a rock star. They are fast-moving, impatient, outrageous at times, demanding snobs. You tolerate them anyway because you can't do what they do. They're needed, they know it, and they exploit it.
L'Wren was not that way. She looked that way, of course. You saw her saunter in, all 6'4" of her, with this raven black hair, alabaster skin, red lips, head to toe lady leather and you reminded yourself "do not make any eye contact" for fear of being verbally ripped to shreds over your outfit, your nerve to speak directly to her, or your general lack of anything resembling glamour. Instead, she was just a very nice lady. When I finally worked up the courage to interact with her directly, she was smiley and gracious and helpful. She was always expressing gratitude for any assistance the production staff gave her. She was one of those people, a living example of not judging a book by its couture-clad cover. I'm a huge fan of people like that. People that surprise you in the best ways. I remember years later learning that she had become a successful designer and thinking how nice that was.
She was just so impressive. So magnetic. So beautiful. I remember joking around with her on set and just thinking how special she was. (And you have to be pretty damn special to get Mick Jagger to stay with you for 13 years, amiright?) If she had that kind of impression on me, just the few times I met her and worked with her, I can't imagine what it was like to be a regular part of her life and I really feel for those that truly lost her.
I hope wherever she is now, she is at piece. And that they have the best clothes ever.
When I was just beginning my career in commercial and music video production, she was already a well-respected and high profile stylist in that realm.
Stylists are famous in their own right. And the big ones are almost rock stars themselves. In New York and Los Angeles, they have a respect and recognition that is definitely all their own. Most of them also have the attitude of a rock star. They are fast-moving, impatient, outrageous at times, demanding snobs. You tolerate them anyway because you can't do what they do. They're needed, they know it, and they exploit it.
L'Wren was not that way. She looked that way, of course. You saw her saunter in, all 6'4" of her, with this raven black hair, alabaster skin, red lips, head to toe lady leather and you reminded yourself "do not make any eye contact" for fear of being verbally ripped to shreds over your outfit, your nerve to speak directly to her, or your general lack of anything resembling glamour. Instead, she was just a very nice lady. When I finally worked up the courage to interact with her directly, she was smiley and gracious and helpful. She was always expressing gratitude for any assistance the production staff gave her. She was one of those people, a living example of not judging a book by its couture-clad cover. I'm a huge fan of people like that. People that surprise you in the best ways. I remember years later learning that she had become a successful designer and thinking how nice that was.
She was just so impressive. So magnetic. So beautiful. I remember joking around with her on set and just thinking how special she was. (And you have to be pretty damn special to get Mick Jagger to stay with you for 13 years, amiright?) If she had that kind of impression on me, just the few times I met her and worked with her, I can't imagine what it was like to be a regular part of her life and I really feel for those that truly lost her.
I hope wherever she is now, she is at piece. And that they have the best clothes ever.
Friday, March 14, 2014
Side By Side, And Locked In Tight
I'm pretty obsessed with the country song by Keith Urban - Cop Car.
The first time I heard it, it just really took me back to being young in my home town. And let me tell you, my home town is one of those places. A place that is a living, breathing, drinkin' country song. Church pew or bar stool kind of life.
The song is more than just a good country tune. Just reminds me of being young and so so innocent, even though you thought you were so tough and adult and mature. Laughable. And, thank goodness, I grew up in a time before internet and social media. We talked to each other one on one or land line and that was the only option. Boys asked you out to your face in the hall at school or, if they were pussies, called you at your house, on a land line, when your dad answered and asked who they were and then handed you the phone with a stern look on his face. They had to promise to one of your parents they'd drive safe, keep you safe, have you home on curfew, with a clean record and your hymen intact. (that last part was implied through the look in your father's eyes, silently standing behind your mother)
It was a time when boys would totally pledge their hearts to you after one night of warm Boons on a back road holding hands. And if you got in trouble together, like in the song? Oh man. That boy was yours forever. Nothing a country boy loves more than seeing a sweet girl lose her temper. And the cops in my town did a pretty good job of keeping us just scared enough to behave a good percentage of the time. They'd take our booze, let us off if we promised to go home. But not before they cuffed us and set us in the back of their car while secretly laughing to each other to really make us cry or really shut us up. Nothing sounded more menacing than the sentence "Can I call your parents to come get you?".
As kids, we weren't trying to text each other naked pictures or score drugs, for fucks sake. We were holding hands and running through fields to a keg party and a bonfire where we'd get just drunk enough to pretend to be really drunk and fall down laughing. We feared our parents and we feared not being let out of the house again because that's how we communicated and that's where our fun was. We bonded face to face, hand to hand, or toe to toe - if we got pissed.
Sometimes I think about it and it all seems so simple and ignorant, and maybe it was, but man, I wouldn't change it. You never get to have that innocence again. Not just the innocence of holding hands and falling in love while getting in "trouble", but the innocence of running through a field of wet grass, dodging your curfew, not worrying about climbing the work and social ladder.
I read something the other day - "forget your age and live your life". Man. Truer words were never put on a Pinterest pin! Hold on to parts of that youth. You'll be much happier if you do. And remember that feeling in the back of that cop car. It doesn't get much better.
"By the time they let us go, I was already goooooooone!!!"
I was already gooooooone - for your listening pleasure.
The first time I heard it, it just really took me back to being young in my home town. And let me tell you, my home town is one of those places. A place that is a living, breathing, drinkin' country song. Church pew or bar stool kind of life.
The song is more than just a good country tune. Just reminds me of being young and so so innocent, even though you thought you were so tough and adult and mature. Laughable. And, thank goodness, I grew up in a time before internet and social media. We talked to each other one on one or land line and that was the only option. Boys asked you out to your face in the hall at school or, if they were pussies, called you at your house, on a land line, when your dad answered and asked who they were and then handed you the phone with a stern look on his face. They had to promise to one of your parents they'd drive safe, keep you safe, have you home on curfew, with a clean record and your hymen intact. (that last part was implied through the look in your father's eyes, silently standing behind your mother)
It was a time when boys would totally pledge their hearts to you after one night of warm Boons on a back road holding hands. And if you got in trouble together, like in the song? Oh man. That boy was yours forever. Nothing a country boy loves more than seeing a sweet girl lose her temper. And the cops in my town did a pretty good job of keeping us just scared enough to behave a good percentage of the time. They'd take our booze, let us off if we promised to go home. But not before they cuffed us and set us in the back of their car while secretly laughing to each other to really make us cry or really shut us up. Nothing sounded more menacing than the sentence "Can I call your parents to come get you?".
As kids, we weren't trying to text each other naked pictures or score drugs, for fucks sake. We were holding hands and running through fields to a keg party and a bonfire where we'd get just drunk enough to pretend to be really drunk and fall down laughing. We feared our parents and we feared not being let out of the house again because that's how we communicated and that's where our fun was. We bonded face to face, hand to hand, or toe to toe - if we got pissed.
Sometimes I think about it and it all seems so simple and ignorant, and maybe it was, but man, I wouldn't change it. You never get to have that innocence again. Not just the innocence of holding hands and falling in love while getting in "trouble", but the innocence of running through a field of wet grass, dodging your curfew, not worrying about climbing the work and social ladder.
I read something the other day - "forget your age and live your life". Man. Truer words were never put on a Pinterest pin! Hold on to parts of that youth. You'll be much happier if you do. And remember that feeling in the back of that cop car. It doesn't get much better.
"By the time they let us go, I was already goooooooone!!!"
I was already gooooooone - for your listening pleasure.
Monday, March 10, 2014
"But It Would Be Nothing, Nothing, Without A Woman Or A Girl"
Dear Little Girls,
You can be whatever you want. Maybe you're being told this. Maybe you're not. I hope you are. But I also hope you're being told you can be everything you want.
As girls, when we are young, we are often identified at something. That first day we take Matchbox cars outside to play in the dirt, we are "a tomboy". That first day we dress up our Barbies and play house we are a "girly girl". That first time we ask for colored pencils and an easel we are "artsy".
Now, we can't help that one day we wake up with that first little spark of self awareness and realize that though our mother has us dressed in an all white sun dress, we long to be outside rolling around in the garden with the dog. But hopefully, she's the kind of mother (like mine) that has already subconsciously instilled in us so much self confidence that we feel comfortable saying "I'd like to go outside and play in that dirt pile, can I wear this dress? I like it, but I don't want to get it dirty." and she says "Mmmm maybe put on a darker dress". She doesn't say something like "Stay inside and play with your dolls" or even "You need to wear jeans to play outside". Aside for her laundry concerns, she didn't set me up with boundaries that forced me to identify myself. There were "play clothes" and "nice clothes", but play clothes could be dresses or my Hee-Haw overalls, I was given choices. I wasn't a little girl that only wanted girly clothes or jeans and flannel, girl toys or only wanted boy toys, I wanted them all and I wanted them mixed together and I was never told that was wrong or that I was weird, I was told that I was "smart" and "unique" and "creative". And it made a massively positive difference in my life and how I view the world.
You may even be past that now. Maybe a parent, a teacher, even you have already identified yourself as something. Maybe you like that and maybe you don't. You can always change. You don't have to pretend you're not funny if you have already identified as "smart girl". You don't have to pretend you're not smart if you've already identified as "bubbly girl". You don't have to give up cheerleading if you also want to play soccer. You can do yoga and wrestling. Middle school and high school, they're scary places where there's a lot of insecurity. Find the people that make you feel great and cared for no matter what you are or what you like, those are the people to hang with. Real friends don't always just tell you what you want to hear, but they do recognize what makes you really happy or really shine and they support you in that. And the people that don't support you, or even worse, are insulting and judgey, they're just trying to find their own way too. Don't hate on them, just wish them the best. Lead by example. Trust me, you'll feel good about that some day, even if in the moment you want to yell at them.
And as you get older, this gets more intense. It's very, very hard on society's brain if you're the country club girl that also likes the dirty town tavern. It's confusing to some people if you're the girl that wants to go to the hockey game Saturday night and the ballet Sunday afternoon. People really freak out if you're the girl that wants to wear a turtleneck and slacks one day and cut offs and a football jersey the next. But you know what? That girl has a lot of fun. That girl isn't "a crazy scatterbrain", that girl just likes what she likes and does what feels great. That girl has a lot of different experiences and the people who love her, really love her because she's into different things. You get to meet so many interesting people with supportive mindsets and diverse interests that will champion you in whatever area you choose that day. And the more confident you are in yourself, the more the haters will just walk away and fade to the background, and the people who dig you are drawn to you.
BUT, different example, if you WANT to be a Ballerina and that is your calling and you eat, sleep and breathe it and nothing else even exists, that's awesome too! That singular focus that results in me sitting in an audience and watching you move and express music in a way that I can only marvel at, that's amazing. And I hope and pray that someone believes in you as a little girl when you tell them you want to be a Ballerina. Even if when you started, you weren't very good at it. And I hope they recognized that you could be good and they make you stick with it much to your gratitude as an adult.
Whatever you want to be, whether its many things or just one thing, I want you to understand you can and you should. You only get so much time on this earth and it is a big, vast, wonderful place with so much to see and do and so many people to love and life to enjoy. You can be the smart, funny, goofy, beauty queen, bubbly, athletic artist. You can. And whatever you decide to do, I hope you do it with tenacity, honesty, love, kindness, intense happiness and heated passion all at once and I hope it fills you with joy and contentment that you are grateful for. And I hope you spread that to others one day to inspire them.
Love,
A Former Little Girl
You can be whatever you want. Maybe you're being told this. Maybe you're not. I hope you are. But I also hope you're being told you can be everything you want.
As girls, when we are young, we are often identified at something. That first day we take Matchbox cars outside to play in the dirt, we are "a tomboy". That first day we dress up our Barbies and play house we are a "girly girl". That first time we ask for colored pencils and an easel we are "artsy".
Now, we can't help that one day we wake up with that first little spark of self awareness and realize that though our mother has us dressed in an all white sun dress, we long to be outside rolling around in the garden with the dog. But hopefully, she's the kind of mother (like mine) that has already subconsciously instilled in us so much self confidence that we feel comfortable saying "I'd like to go outside and play in that dirt pile, can I wear this dress? I like it, but I don't want to get it dirty." and she says "Mmmm maybe put on a darker dress". She doesn't say something like "Stay inside and play with your dolls" or even "You need to wear jeans to play outside". Aside for her laundry concerns, she didn't set me up with boundaries that forced me to identify myself. There were "play clothes" and "nice clothes", but play clothes could be dresses or my Hee-Haw overalls, I was given choices. I wasn't a little girl that only wanted girly clothes or jeans and flannel, girl toys or only wanted boy toys, I wanted them all and I wanted them mixed together and I was never told that was wrong or that I was weird, I was told that I was "smart" and "unique" and "creative". And it made a massively positive difference in my life and how I view the world.
You may even be past that now. Maybe a parent, a teacher, even you have already identified yourself as something. Maybe you like that and maybe you don't. You can always change. You don't have to pretend you're not funny if you have already identified as "smart girl". You don't have to pretend you're not smart if you've already identified as "bubbly girl". You don't have to give up cheerleading if you also want to play soccer. You can do yoga and wrestling. Middle school and high school, they're scary places where there's a lot of insecurity. Find the people that make you feel great and cared for no matter what you are or what you like, those are the people to hang with. Real friends don't always just tell you what you want to hear, but they do recognize what makes you really happy or really shine and they support you in that. And the people that don't support you, or even worse, are insulting and judgey, they're just trying to find their own way too. Don't hate on them, just wish them the best. Lead by example. Trust me, you'll feel good about that some day, even if in the moment you want to yell at them.
And as you get older, this gets more intense. It's very, very hard on society's brain if you're the country club girl that also likes the dirty town tavern. It's confusing to some people if you're the girl that wants to go to the hockey game Saturday night and the ballet Sunday afternoon. People really freak out if you're the girl that wants to wear a turtleneck and slacks one day and cut offs and a football jersey the next. But you know what? That girl has a lot of fun. That girl isn't "a crazy scatterbrain", that girl just likes what she likes and does what feels great. That girl has a lot of different experiences and the people who love her, really love her because she's into different things. You get to meet so many interesting people with supportive mindsets and diverse interests that will champion you in whatever area you choose that day. And the more confident you are in yourself, the more the haters will just walk away and fade to the background, and the people who dig you are drawn to you.
BUT, different example, if you WANT to be a Ballerina and that is your calling and you eat, sleep and breathe it and nothing else even exists, that's awesome too! That singular focus that results in me sitting in an audience and watching you move and express music in a way that I can only marvel at, that's amazing. And I hope and pray that someone believes in you as a little girl when you tell them you want to be a Ballerina. Even if when you started, you weren't very good at it. And I hope they recognized that you could be good and they make you stick with it much to your gratitude as an adult.
Whatever you want to be, whether its many things or just one thing, I want you to understand you can and you should. You only get so much time on this earth and it is a big, vast, wonderful place with so much to see and do and so many people to love and life to enjoy. You can be the smart, funny, goofy, beauty queen, bubbly, athletic artist. You can. And whatever you decide to do, I hope you do it with tenacity, honesty, love, kindness, intense happiness and heated passion all at once and I hope it fills you with joy and contentment that you are grateful for. And I hope you spread that to others one day to inspire them.
Love,
A Former Little Girl
Friday, February 28, 2014
Um... So We're All Not Wearing Lycra??
When I was about 13 or 14 years old, my Dad and stepmom sent me to Barbizon. I know that sounds cheezy as fuck, but it was actually a really great experience. It's supposed to be a "modeling school" but it was really more about etiquette, performance and self-confidence than anything. And it was incredibly fun and very interesting.
One of the activities you participated in was a work out class. When the school gave you a list of the clothing you needed for your time there, exercise clothes were on the list. My stepmother, not knowing any better, bought me this adorable leotard/stretch pants combo thingy with polka dots. I had no idea that girls were just going to be working out in straight up sweats or boxer shorts. Yikes.
I had made a friend there, and I can't remember her name now, but she was a really cute brunette. Her face reminded me of my current hair stylist; really open and kind. I remember when we were all talking about ourselves she divulged that one of the things she does daily is match her undergarments to her outfit. I thought that was adorable. She also sometimes wore violet-colored contacts and had one pupil shaped like a tear drop instead of a circle and I thought that was badass. Anyway.
It's time to "work out" and I come strolling out in this rando leotard combo. I'm a very smiley and confident person and I must have been wearing my shock and discomfort all over my face because at a quiet moment in the class, when she knew nobody could hear her, she leaned over and whispered "If you're feeling weird or uncomfortable about that outfit, you can just tie my zip up hoodie around your waist. That will look totally cute". And she handed me her zip up. And I did. And it did. I looked like when Cher and Tai work out in Clueless.
I don't know why, but that has stuck with me all these years. She was a very pretty girl and a very sweet girl and I thought it was so mature the way, even at that young age, she was able to discreetly help me out without the slightest hint of teenage snark in her voice. Just a very honest effort to make another girl feel comfortable during a weird time in their lives.
I lost track of her in high school, but I hope wherever she is, she's doing well and lighting the world up with her charm.
One of the activities you participated in was a work out class. When the school gave you a list of the clothing you needed for your time there, exercise clothes were on the list. My stepmother, not knowing any better, bought me this adorable leotard/stretch pants combo thingy with polka dots. I had no idea that girls were just going to be working out in straight up sweats or boxer shorts. Yikes.
I had made a friend there, and I can't remember her name now, but she was a really cute brunette. Her face reminded me of my current hair stylist; really open and kind. I remember when we were all talking about ourselves she divulged that one of the things she does daily is match her undergarments to her outfit. I thought that was adorable. She also sometimes wore violet-colored contacts and had one pupil shaped like a tear drop instead of a circle and I thought that was badass. Anyway.
It's time to "work out" and I come strolling out in this rando leotard combo. I'm a very smiley and confident person and I must have been wearing my shock and discomfort all over my face because at a quiet moment in the class, when she knew nobody could hear her, she leaned over and whispered "If you're feeling weird or uncomfortable about that outfit, you can just tie my zip up hoodie around your waist. That will look totally cute". And she handed me her zip up. And I did. And it did. I looked like when Cher and Tai work out in Clueless.
I don't know why, but that has stuck with me all these years. She was a very pretty girl and a very sweet girl and I thought it was so mature the way, even at that young age, she was able to discreetly help me out without the slightest hint of teenage snark in her voice. Just a very honest effort to make another girl feel comfortable during a weird time in their lives.
I lost track of her in high school, but I hope wherever she is, she's doing well and lighting the world up with her charm.
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Taters.
My littlest little sister is in love with me.
She's not even actually my sister. By regulatory standards, she would be my niece, but her father was never legally adopted by my parents. He's so much older than me, that he had a hand in raising me, just like I had a hand in raising her, so she and I have much more of a "sisters" relationship.
She is addicted to me. Not in a way where she floods me and bugs me constantly when I'm away, but if I text our Austrian exchange sister, Hannah, she will text me no more than 30 seconds later in a fit of jealousy asking why I didn't text her. And I like that. I love when the girls need me.
If I am home with her, yes, it's a constant thing. She has to be touching me every second. If I sit, she sits next to me. Or lies her head on my lap. Or spoons me like a body pillow. She must always have a hand or a foot on me at all times. She is constantly touching my face or winding her fingers into my hair.
She's not even a little girl, she's 14. And I hope she never ever grows out of it. I love having little sisters.
I moved to California 2 weeks after she was born. I held her exactly one time and then didn't see her again until she was a year and a half old. A very different situation than I had with her 2 other sisters who I spent time with almost daily. When I did see her, I think, at first, she didn't feel the same bond that a little girl feels with you when you take care of her as a baby. A Baby knows your smell, your voice, they have a very deep sense of you. When she was 5, I moved back to Michigan briefly and I took care of her all the time so she started to develop that attachment. I think she also saw the bond between the other 2 girls and I so she just trusted deep down that we were obviously family even though she didn't see me all the time. Very much the same way I felt about her father when I was her age. He was older, he was out of the house, but there were pictures of him and when he did come around, he was my brother. I didn't know him as anything else.
Sometimes I wonder if she's making up for that lost time now when she hangs on to me so tightly. She's also a very different personality than her other sisters, she's very much like me. Very bouncy, very sassy, very giggly and pouty all at the same time. Even her father says he can't believe we're not actually related because she's a clone of me when I was her age. Maybe when I'm around, she feels that similar connection and clings to it. She loves her other sisters fiercely, more than she loves me, but you just have a slightly different feeling when a kindred spirit is around.
Its very difficult to watch her get older and talk about boys and ask me for advice on things I don't think she's mature enough to handle. It's hard to know that she's probably one day not going to want to curl up next to me and sleep with her head on my shoulder. And what will be the worst is if she really doesn't grow out of it naturally; knowing that one day the best thing for her will be to pry her arms from around my waste and encourage her to use them as wings to go to other parts of the world and love me from a far distance, just the way I loved her when she was born.
She's not even actually my sister. By regulatory standards, she would be my niece, but her father was never legally adopted by my parents. He's so much older than me, that he had a hand in raising me, just like I had a hand in raising her, so she and I have much more of a "sisters" relationship.
She is addicted to me. Not in a way where she floods me and bugs me constantly when I'm away, but if I text our Austrian exchange sister, Hannah, she will text me no more than 30 seconds later in a fit of jealousy asking why I didn't text her. And I like that. I love when the girls need me.
If I am home with her, yes, it's a constant thing. She has to be touching me every second. If I sit, she sits next to me. Or lies her head on my lap. Or spoons me like a body pillow. She must always have a hand or a foot on me at all times. She is constantly touching my face or winding her fingers into my hair.
She's not even a little girl, she's 14. And I hope she never ever grows out of it. I love having little sisters.
I moved to California 2 weeks after she was born. I held her exactly one time and then didn't see her again until she was a year and a half old. A very different situation than I had with her 2 other sisters who I spent time with almost daily. When I did see her, I think, at first, she didn't feel the same bond that a little girl feels with you when you take care of her as a baby. A Baby knows your smell, your voice, they have a very deep sense of you. When she was 5, I moved back to Michigan briefly and I took care of her all the time so she started to develop that attachment. I think she also saw the bond between the other 2 girls and I so she just trusted deep down that we were obviously family even though she didn't see me all the time. Very much the same way I felt about her father when I was her age. He was older, he was out of the house, but there were pictures of him and when he did come around, he was my brother. I didn't know him as anything else.
Sometimes I wonder if she's making up for that lost time now when she hangs on to me so tightly. She's also a very different personality than her other sisters, she's very much like me. Very bouncy, very sassy, very giggly and pouty all at the same time. Even her father says he can't believe we're not actually related because she's a clone of me when I was her age. Maybe when I'm around, she feels that similar connection and clings to it. She loves her other sisters fiercely, more than she loves me, but you just have a slightly different feeling when a kindred spirit is around.
Its very difficult to watch her get older and talk about boys and ask me for advice on things I don't think she's mature enough to handle. It's hard to know that she's probably one day not going to want to curl up next to me and sleep with her head on my shoulder. And what will be the worst is if she really doesn't grow out of it naturally; knowing that one day the best thing for her will be to pry her arms from around my waste and encourage her to use them as wings to go to other parts of the world and love me from a far distance, just the way I loved her when she was born.
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