ber

There is a picture in one of my baby books, taken of my little sister and I, and it is probably my favorite one taken during our childhood. We are in my sister's crib, she was probably less than a year old. My mom had placed me in there next to her and what happened next was apparently great enough to take a picture of.

In the picture is me, smiling, my brown hair and teeth coming in. I think I have my baby blanket next to me and I just look really content with life. My sister, on the other hand, is laying next to me, rolls on her arms and neck, bright red; screaming.

Story of my life.

We have been hanging out a lot the last few days. Our relationship is great, now that we don't live with each other. I love her and she makes me smile, makes me do things that are good for me, but I may not necessarily want to do. We rode Splash Mountain, and Am drug me on and sat in front of me. We giggle together and laugh and she pretends like she's taller than I am. I love her and I am so glad that she loves me back.

Sometimes though, we go back to that day in the crib; me, content with life, pushing her buttons, and her, just pissed at me.