don't cut barbie's hair, and other important life lessons

Friday, October 3, 2014

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.

Talk soon,
Heather


1 comment:

  1. Adorably adoring. :)

    I cut my Barbie's hair too. But in my defense, I didn't have a Ken doll and was improvising.

    ReplyDelete

Friday, October 3, 2014

don't cut barbie's hair, and other important life lessons

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.

Talk soon,
Heather


 
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