Super Sisters

Playing "bunk bed"

"Introducing....the Suuuuper Sisters!!!!!!"

Charge!!

Lately I realize that when I see families of mixed gender kids, I am sometimes a little jealous of the parents. But when I see families with single gender kids, I am almost always jealous of the kids. Recently I met a family who had three year old identical girls and a newborn girl. I caught them looking at me and we started chatting. They asked me what it was like, and I found myself gushing. In theory, 3 girls sounds like a recipe for disastrous family dynamics. In reality so far, it is a like a Hallmark commercial 90% of the time (assuming Hallmark commercials show kids being really nice to each other amidst a chaotic house and generally exhausted parents).

D coined our crew the "Super Sisters," and I think the name fits. They sing and perform together, bike and scooter together, do art projects together, and play all sorts of imaginative games together such as "swim meet" or "dentist office" or "t-ball" or "store." They very rarely exclude each other. And they truly think their sisters rock.

I often think about how awful it would be to have kids only to have them fight and be mean to each other all the time. My mom used to say to my sister and me when we were little "All I ever wanted was a sister...stop fighting !!!" And I get it now. Watching us fight more than we played together must have been terrible for her. I just hope my girls are building a foundation that will get them through those ugly tweens and teens when the easiest person to take out your troubles on is usually the person sitting right next to you (your sister).

And just because I want to have this in writing someday...

Tina Fey's Prayer for a Daughter.

First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels.

What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.

“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

Amen.