{I asked my beautiful sister to help me out with a post this week to allow more time for family bonding while Willy has off work. He goes back today, by the way, so wish me luck. These few weeks spent with our boys have been some of the best. With no further adieu, here’s some memories from our shared childhood…}

I was right about Hooper’s age when Ashley was born. I have no memories of this trauma but, according to family story, I was so pissed off with this new arrival monopolizing my mother’s time and boobs that I threw fruit at my sister. Namely, bananas. Granted, Hooper has a much sweeter disposition than I will ever have, but I still worry for little Van’s safety.

There’s also a family story that says I despised Ash so much that I called her “beast,” but I couldn’t say beast—it came out as “Beeze.” To this day, that’s what I call her—my Beeze.

We didn’t get along for the first 15-20 years of our lives. There wasn’t all-out fighting (though, don’t be fooled, Ash is vicious), but there was bickering, accompanied by a few sweet moments that revealed the true love beneath—my favorite “trick” was to tell her, “Give me a french fry and I’ll be your best friend.” And she would do it, every time. I’m not sure if you understand how much Ash loves french fries.

It’s only in the last decade or so that I’ve come to truly appreciate the bond siblings have. It’s like no other. There are memories, experiences, and feelings only my sister and I share. There are ways she knows me that no one else will. Ever. Here’s proof:

Ash will remember when:

• We drove the Maui rental car (aka Monsta) all the way around the island
• We smoked that weed before we got on the plane
• We drove by her crush’s house, repeatedly
• We ran around Grandma Helen’s living room while she played the fast piano song, usually after a meal of mac-and-cheese and grape juice
• We pretended our Barbie dolls were Olympic gymnasts, complete with those custom leotards we spent hours sewing
• We caught mom and dad having sex (It happened, mom, stop denying it)
• We thought mom and dad might get a divorce after that Tahoe trip
• We jumped on trampoline until the sun went down
• We busted dad as Santa Claus
• We watched “Price is Right” and ate Eggo waffles with towers of whipped cream every summer morning
• We said, “Don’t tell mom and dad, but…”
• We went to dad’s basketball games, drinking orange soda in the back of his van with those twins whose names I’ll never remember
• We romped with Kasey
• We each flirted with Dan Benson and cruise ship Joe
• We memorized “Nadia”
• We memorized “Grease”
• We rollerskated in the garage to Janet Jackson
• We made dad cry with that picture of us in our softball uniforms
• We almost got away with you having that party while mom and dad were out of town (until dad found the beer bottle in the rose bush)
• We named our goldfish after McDonald’s food
• We begged our parents to have another kid
• We complained about our parents, cried about boys, disagreed about everything, dreamt about gymnastics, shared way too much information about…well, I’ll spare your readers, laughed about everything

One of my most meaningful memories is being there for the birth of Van. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be there with all the pain and grunting and bodily fluids. I thought I’d feel helpless, just standing there, but I could tell in her eyes that my presence meant something, even if all I could do was finger-comb her hair and kiss her forehead and tell her, “you’re amazing” (because, fucking hell, labor is no joke).

And now I’m not just her sister; I’m an Aunt to her two little boys. That’s probably my most important title to date.

I wonder what memories Van and Hooper will build together, probably without any of our knowledge. They’ll have stories together known only to them. I can only hope they’ll throw their aunt a bone every once in a while.