A Letter to My Sister

yeah, yeah

Nikki,

I hope this letter brings back memories of the sloppy handwritten document I gave to you before you left for college. The one where I tried to tell you how to keep it classy, yet still have fun. The letter that was completely over the top and written in older child panic mode. Unlike our parents who wanted you to experience something for yourself, I felt a desperate need to swoop in and tell you all about. To tell you how to have the ultimate college experience. Essentially, let's be honest, to mold you into me.

I've been trying that for your entire life, haven't I? Telling you want to do and how to do it. Bossing you around, even through slammed doors and in between screams of "Leave Me Alone!" And poor you, no matter how hard you tried try I never fully let you do it all on your own. How could I? I potty-trained you for God's sake. When someone learns how powerful their influence can be, it's really hard to let it go. I blame you for following me around all the time in our childhood years; you did this to yourself. (I mean, who moved to Nashville first? Right. Exactly.)

But we've come to a crossroads. A place I've never been before. An adventure and a lifestyle change that I haven't even come remotely close to experiencing. In just two days, you're getting married. What am I supposed to do with that information? I can't sit you down with an entire binder full of color coded pages and magazine articles on how to do it exactly right. I have no experience to tell you how to pull of the perfect marriage while driving a really cool car with perfectly behaved children smiling in the backseat. I just can't. I'd like to, trust me. I'd love to tell you how exactly this whole marriage thing is going to go down.

But I can't.  I guess for once and maybe the first time ever (deep breath) I'm going to have to let you do it completely on your own. I'm scared. No, not for you. For me. I might just have a melt down behind closed doors. Or, who am I kidding, right in front of everyone. The control freak in me wants to pull up articles and send you mp3's on how it's all done. Something, anything, so that you're prepared.

So I'll end it all with this: to my little sis I would curl up next to for protection in dark hotels on family road trips, the co-writer of the hit song "Kumbayah Pick My Boogers", my partner in rollerblading routines and synchronized swimming shoes, fellow Sandlot fanatic, my cohort in all jokes created at our parents expense, my former roommate and lower bunk buddy, Mississippi-spelling kid sister, soccer teammate, much faster running partner, Mac and Manco's fan, NY fashionista, the daughter who can actually do math, the funny one, the driven one and the most beautiful  --- give it all you've got, love 100%, laugh always and I look forward to the day that you can tell me how this whole thing is done.

And on the off chance that you may have a rough day or not really know what to do, give me a call.
I am sure I can come up with something to say.

I love you.
Ash