Today is your birthday.
You are turning 26.
I'm not sure how that's possible, as I'm pretty sure it was yesterday that we shared a room in our house on 93rd Avenue.
Playing flood, tornado and motorhome on the bunkbeds
with our humongous collection of Cabbage Patch dolls,
all of yours different ethnicities, and mine with names like Brett-Alan & Mary-Rose.
wearing matching Hanna Andersson dresses,
and coordinating pajamas mom made,
and then years later, in a different house,
no longer sharing a room,
but wearing matching swimsuits just the same.
... But it's true. We've gotten older.
I met Josh.
You met Blake.
I had the the twins.
You had Ferris.
I had Wyatt.
You had Milo.
Little sister, we've grown up.
And now together with our families,
we're creating the memories that our kids will treasure forever.
Camping at Cougar, zoo trips, walking to Burgerville from your house (btw, I'd kill for a cheeseburger from there right about now) and playing in Nanny's backyard with our five (count 'em five!) rugrats.
It's hard being apart. I hated not being at your birthday party last night. I could almost taste the lemon bars, including the whole choking-on-the-powdered-sugar part, and I hate that I miss so many moments living so far away.
But then I think of every Christmas growing up. Do you remember? We'd put on all the things Uncle Steve had sent us over the year (tourist t-shirts, fancy bangles and jewelry) and we'd march through PDX to his gate to await his arrival. For me, it was the most exciting night, and it marked the beginning of real Christmas break.
My hope is that even though nine months of the year we are apart, and our kids are separated, our arrival marks the real beginning of summer. The real beginning of good times, family get togethers, Sundays at the Washougal and making timeless memories with our brood.
I love you,
I miss you.