Once upon a time, I was a snoopy little sister who read her big sister's diary. I was about 10 years old, which would have made her about 17 years old.
I thought her diary was full of VERY SHOCKING THINGS. (Side note: I was ten. Cutting your Barbie's hair was VERY SHOCKING. Context, people.)
I was smart enough not to tell anyone. Because I knew that I would hate life if my sister knew that I had read her diary, and I also knew that I shouldn't have read it in the first place. I think every kid is instinctively has the "fruit of the poisonous tree" concept hard-wired into them. I certainly did.
So, I did what any smart-ass ten year old with a shred of self-preservation instinct would have done: I went to my OWN diary and recounted what I had read. I reacted to it, and I'm sure there were a lot of exclamation points. I wasn't ever one for puffy hearts.
A few days later, I went to write in my diary again (replete with the "lock" for your secretive 1980's self) and found a note from my big sister. I don't remember exactly what it said, but it was the emotional equivalent of a horse's head in my bed.
Message received. "Hey kid. Don't read my diary again. You got it?"
I got it.
* * * * *
The other morning, Sawyer and I went to wake up Jack. And this look happened.
Message received. "Hey Sawyer. I think you're amazing."
He got it.
* * * * *
For the record, I don't read other people's diaries anymore. And my sister has long since forgiven me. And I did cut my Barbie's hair, and it was shocking. And it does not grow back.
I'll do what I can to pass on what I know to my amazing boys. Clearly, we're all learning here.
Hope your sibling dazzles you today.