Happy Happy 21st Elise.

Today, my baby sister is 21 years old.  I am not sure where the time went, but it seems like yesterday my 15 year old self was throwing an epic fit about the fact that there would be a new brother or sister to share our family with. 

Or something. 

I mean, I’d like to say that I was all ecstatic that she was coming, but that would be a total and utter lie.

 

And then she got here.  I’ve been pretty much a goner ever since.

 

Lyndsey used to pay her a penny to drink pickle juice.  We bought her first pair of itsy bitsy Guess jeans at Lion Store.  We taught her bad stuff.  We were her champions and made fun of my dad when he gave her the ‘delicate flower’ cringe-worthy talk about puberty that no one wants to get from their dad.  Then we told her how it really was.  We tease her constantly about almost getting arrested, the time that she got her shoe stolen in the library, and are there for an honest {or too honest} opinion when she needs it.  We’ve laughed with her, cried with her, and tried to be the best big sisters we can be.

 

She is lovely.  And fucking hilarious.  She is a leader.  {And I never thought I’d be able to say that.}  She has come into her own being away at school.  She is unbelievably gorgeous.  And just as nice on the inside as the out.  Mostly.

She is 21.

21.

Twenty-freaking-one.

Happy Birthday Lisey.  We love you.

Oh… and her gifts?  This.

   

 

{Ann Marie, you are a rockstar!}