Sharing a Room

My sister's Facebook status tonight was: "she might look like her father but she is so my daughter- only my sister can understand this... last night Syd is in bed and I hear her talking thinking it was to me but no, it was to Ruby, her doll!"

I have blogged before about the joys of having a sister. Someone who gets you. Someone who understands why you laughed at that moment. A sister is also someone who keeps your secrets. No one knows you like your sister. And that can be good and bad.

My sister, Laura, and I are two and a half years apart. She is the younger one. Growing up, most of our friends had to share a room with a sibling or two. Our friends either had smaller houses, or more siblings. Laura and I were envious that they got to share a room, while we slept in separate rooms across the hall from each other. Mom and Dad's 1000 square foot house has three bedrooms. One is connected to Mom & Dad's by a door, so that was the nursery. As the oldest, I was kicked out when Laura came along, and put in the third room. Laura and I begged our parents to let us room together. Finally, when I was about 7 or 8, they gave in.

Laura and I spent the summer in Florida with our Grandparents. While we were there, Mom and Dad redid the nursery (aka Laura's room). They put down new pink carpet and painted the walls a cheery pink. Dad moved my bed into Laura's room. We had our twin beds, and between them was a nightstand. Our dressers were moved into my old room, which became our play room. Mom topped off the renovation with new bedding- matching vertical rainbow striped comforters and shams. It wasn't a bold rainbow, more of a muted pastel. Mom picked them out. She thought they looked grown up and still girlish.

We came home from Florida, super excited to be sharing a room. It did not take long before I found out what it was really like to share a room with my sister. My sister would wake up in the middle of the night and play with her dolls. She lined them up on the edge of her bed that was against the wall and played house. She talked to her dolls: full blown conversations.

It didn't take long- maybe only a couple of months- before I begged Mom and Dad to let me have my own room back. They said no. They had put a lot of work into the rooms, and I had to stay put. I tried to tell them about the dolls. It didn't matter. So I stayed, and night after night listened to my sister talk to Annie and Thomas and the others (I forget their names). Finally, my parents agreed to redo my room for my tenth birthday. New bedding, new carpet, fresh paint, and even better- no one talking to their dolls at night.

I laughed when I read Laura's status. Sydney is her mother's daughter. Laura said she couldn't tell what Sydney was saying, so she muted the television, and heard Sydney say 'Stop laughing, Ruby!' She has such a great imagination. It's a shame she doesn't have a sister to share this experience with her. After all, who will remind her about it years from now?