my sister's visit

The week before Easter my sister, Jessica, and her family came down to visit us. Her kids are so sweet with mine. Her two older girls fight over holding Jane and entertain Matthew. The two younger boys play endlessly with Chrissie. Ahhh, how I love family.

Sarah swinging in the irrigation. Every two weeks our yard gets flooded with canal water (quite dirty), but, I love it, it's so good for our garden (I get giddy on irrigation day). And the kids love it. I put them in the bath immediately following because that's some dirty water.
William and Matthew after their post-irrigation bath.
Notice William's hair is brushed and Matthew's isn't (Matthew perpetually has a "rat's nest," due to my lack of brushing, which doesn't come to my attention until we are in public and I find myself frantically combing it with my fingers).
The subtle difference between my sister and I. Our houses' reflect the same difference.

Sarah and Jane

Jane and Jessica.
My family loves to hold babies (especially newborns). When I was nine years old, my sister and I used to fight over holding the only grandchild of the family.
So, the moment my sister walks in the door she says, "Where is she. I want to hold her." This could partly be due to the fact that she's done having children and has no babies of her own to hold. However, even my brothers volunteer to hold my babies for me.
Even my nieces beg to hold her.
I've often thought this has to do with the fact my parents lost their two year old son, their oldest child. And somehow passed on this inner desire to hold and cherish these little beings. To never let them go.
Also, I'm sure it's partly personality. I'm the worst of the bunch. I demanded to be held by my family until I was at least eight years old.
I never put Chrissie down for the first four months of her life. I felt sad to see her lying in her crib all alone (okay, that's a bit extreme...and crazy) Since having two more children I've gotten over that bit....kind of.


Matthew singing, "Happy Birthday," to my brother-in-law, was hilarious.
Matthew sung in a sort of low-intense-speaking voice. He was so intense about it that his face turned red. His eyes didn't flutter while he sang; it was all business.Post-singing. Flush faced.
I didn't know singing "happy birthday" could be such hard work.

Each night ended with a roaring game of pinochle. And my sister yelling at her husband because of his "lame jokes," which made them all the more funny.
Boys against girls (naturally). However, the boys won this time.
No worries.
We'll get 'em next time.