If I could turn back time...

I’m actually singing that Cher song in my head, as terrible as it is.

My little sister Laura got engaged this past weekend.  Yay! Cause for celebration! Whooohooo!  Seriously—I am truly happy that she and David are going to tie the knot. He’s a wonderful guy and he’s so good for her and to her.  I’m always thrilled when I get another brother from another mother.

But…

It really got me thinking that time is just moving too stinkin fast.  We’re all growing up, getting married, moving, figuring out that IKEA is SO cool and getting dogs.  Eventually we’ll all have kids and husbands and be living 4 hours apart in different directions.  There is a part of me that just can’t bear that thought. A part of me that is terrified that we won't have our chaotic, random game nights, or be able to meet for every single birthday.

If you know me—REALLY know me, you know that my sisters are my heart.  I am not complete without them. Period.  We may fuss and fight sometimes.  We may be a little too laissez faire with our opinions and assessments of each other but at the end of the day I cannot live without them.  I would be lost.

A piece of me wants to rewind about 16 years.  I would be 13, Meredith would be 9, Laura would be 7 and Kathryn would be 5.

 I want to go back to the days where we stayed home with each other all summer playing with bubbles, fighting about who’s turn it was to vacuum and dust and clean the bathroom and do the dishes, etc, and figuring out who’s arm was long enough and skinny enough to get into “The Box.” (My Mom had a box with a padlock on it because having 4 girls at home all day could put a hurtin on a Sam’s Club sized box of NutriGrain bars.) I want to jump on the trampoline, climb into our tree house, and watch Chitty Chitty Bang Bang for the 1 millionth time.

Sometimes I want to go back to the days when the “Original 6” (as my Husband and Brother-In-Law refer to my family) sat around the kitchen table and talked about our day or created rules about singing or farting at the dinner table,  piled into the Volvo station wagon for a trip to Bergey's, or went on a family vacation where Dad would always say that he knew where he was going and then we would inevitably end up on an “adventure.” (Aka: we got lost or in some other slightly life threatening situation--Note: We never died. Obviously.)

I wish I could go back so that I would have a chance to get sufficiently excited when Meredith started to write her first novel, or when Laura lost her first tooth, or when Kathryn ran cross country. 

Sometimes I feel like I just didn’t cherish those moments like I should have.  I was too wrapped up in myself and my teenage angst to notice that all of those little moments were the things that make up life. My life.

That’s why I don’t miss anything now.  I’m paying attention.  I’m PRESENT when Laura is moving out or stressed out because Anatomy is a horrible beast that must be conquered, I’m OVERJOYED when Meredith gets the job she deserves or perfects a recipe for Butternut Squash soup (even if I don’t eat it Mere—I’m happy for you), and I am PROUD when Kathryn gets straight A’s or insists on her independence by taking my old coffeemaker and buying her own tables from IKEA in preparation for her new apartment.

Life is too short to miss the good stuff.

I hold out blind hope that one day life will actually listen to me and...Slow.The.Heck.Down.