Ewwwww, I think I Love My Sister

I don’t know when, or how it happened, but I think my baby sister is my best friend. I know, I know, it makes me nauseous, too.

When I was little, and maybe not so little, my mom would often have to break up my younger sister and I rolling on the floor, pulling hair, screaming and basically trying to kill each other. When I would try to rationally explain to my family exactly why she was evil incarnate and deserved to die, I would often be met with, " One day she’ll be your best friend." Let’s just say I was pretty convinced otherwise. We had way more than the usual dose of sibling rivalry, and although we aren’t wrestling over the turkey at the Thanksgiving table anymore (well except for that one time), we still feel the aftershocks of those early explosions.

Our journey from sisters to friends is a bumpy and cautious ride. We tread carefully.

My baby sister, on the other hand, didn’t really register on the sibling rivalry scale with me. We are 14 years apart, so she seems more like background scenery than a player in all the childhood/teenage angst that my other sister and I share. I think that is probably why our friendship works. We share just enough of that familial bond to say, “remember when Mommy said insert-insanely-funny-thing-here?" without any of the resentment or jealousy issues that come along with it.

To see us together on the street, you wouldn’t think we were friends much less sisters. Where I am lean and angular, she’s all voluptuous curves. My ponytail, oxford shirt and pleated skirts look almost alien next to her cheetah printed Mohawk, ripped jeans and combat boots. Although we both have multiple tattoos, mine are discreet and easily hidden, while you’ be hard pressed to find more than a few inches of my baby sister not covered with ink.

It seems like we have nothing in common, but we do have certain similarities. We are both moms, we are both artists (although in very different ways), we both love reality TV and are confessed and unrepentant shopaholics. For all our differences, we have become inseparable.

We have ridiculous nicknames for each other. She calls me “G’vner” complete with a British accent and I call her “Bunni.” We see each other at least once a week, and our daily phone call average seems to be about seven. This is not an exaggeration – I checked my call log.

My sister and I discuss every detail of our lives: the essential and the inane. Our phone calls range from “I just had an argument with my boyfriend/husband/mother and now I’m crying” to " What is the origin of Beef Stroganoff?" Seriously, this was our real conversation at 1:00 AM this morning.

Somewhere along the way, this quiet toddler with a constant Kool-Aid mustache has become my shopping partner, life coach and confidante. She’s become my best friend. I would go on with how great I think she is but I’ve just seen the funniest sh&t on Maury and I gotta call her…..

Shavon Brown-Robinson is a contradiction. She is a cursing, swearing, god-loving,ballet dancing, hip-hop bopping, Anais Nin reading, reality TV addicted, tattooed, Prada and Puma wearing, PTA mom of four amazing, insane kids and devoted wife to an infinitely patient husband. Read more of her work at I Just Want to Be Superwoman