it's {just me} and my marie...

Why hello. It’s {just me} again. Care to hear a little story? Once upon a time {as every good story starts} I was twelve. And I was as sassy as a twelve-year-old could be. {Seriously, ask my parents. Or don’t. I don’t want you to think less of me.} You see, this was a hard year for me. My parents sold our home and drove us and all of our belongings to the middle of Nowheresville. Really, the population sign says the number 174 for goodness sake! Nowheresville, I tell you! Talk about ending a 12-year-old’s social life right in her prime! What were they thinking? I cried for days. I can distinctively remember my dad prying my fingers from the car door in the driveway of our new house as I yelled and kicked and screamed that there was no way I was moving to Malta and there was no way he could make me. {Boy, I was desperately wrong…Dads are much tougher than 12-year-olds}. So obviously, this year was rough for me.

But that’s not the story I wanted to tell you. This year - along with moving our family to Malta - my parents decided {I use this word extremely lightly as it was not much of a decision but more of an “incident”} to have a baby. Now why was this hard for me, you ask? Because this baby was stealing my hard earned spot as the youngest in our family of seven - soon to be eight. How totally unfair. Not to mention the major dent in my social status this caused me. You see, at this point my parents were no spring chickens {Just kidding Ma. You were young. Very, very young} and the fact that they were having a child was just…totally embarrassing to my 12-year-old self.

But my anxiety about no longer claiming the spot as the youngest quickly disappeared when Marie was born. I immediately took ownership of her. She was my dress up doll. She was my personal shadow. She was my little sister. She was mine.

You see, we have always had kind of a special bond. As the {previous} youngest member of our family, I always felt a little left out {poor me, I know}. Jessica had Kim. Then Kim had Jami. Then Jami had Alan. Then Alan had…well, me and Alan never really saw eye to eye. {Don’t worry. We get along much better now}. But then Marie came along. And I finally had my own someone! I love my all of my siblings; but my Marie really does have her own little place in my heart. Just for her.

Tonight I saw a picture of my Marie all "prettied" up for her dance performance. It made me cry. She is no longer a little girl. She is all grown up. Well, as grown up as a nine-year-old {almost ten} can be. But still. Let me show you. Prepare yourselves. It might make you cry too.

Melts your heart, doesn't she?

She is too stinking cute. And so talented. Really. Don’t believe me? I will prove it.

My Marie loves to read. Just like me.
My Marie plays the piano. Better than me.
My Marie is spiritual. Like I want to be.

She is a dancer. She is a writer. A sewer. A baker. A singer. A joker. A teaser. A creator. A thinker.

She makes me so, so proud.

So Marie {Marieski, Rieski-roo, Rie}, do me a favor and stop growing up, k? I don’t know how many more pictures I want to cry over. I love you Sis.

You make your big sis smile!


♥Kate