The Girls

The oldest one has her father's hands. We noticed it roughly four minutes after her delivery. Wide palms, short fingers. I suspect she's cursed them over the years, maybe when her sister was taking piano lessons or while she was a catcher on the softball team. But they were the first sign that she truly belonged to us. Those hands and her blue eyes. Later, she would develop a keen sense of humor that we would delight in.

The younger one has always had a love of fashion and everything "pretty". While her sister delighted in sweat shorts and t-shirts this one was Suri Cruise long before Suri Cruise hit the headlines of Us Magazine with her rompers and Mary Janes. This one donned a different dress everyday, no matter what the plans. Whether she was riding bike, driving tractors in the dirt or off to preschool she wore dresses, tights, skirts and jumpers. Sometimes she would lay them carefully out the night before, from the hair ribbon down to her shoes. She was a dress and hair do girl -from the moment she could point in her closet, make her own decisions, and retaliate with a tantrum if you didn't comply.

They were so very different. Yet they delighted in no company more than one one anothers. They often held hands for no reason at all. Just because they liked to. Sometimes they would watch television side-by-side on their belly's on the floor with one chubby little arm tightly around the other's neck. They shared bedrooms as toddlers and, as a result, years of stern warnings about going to sleep, cooling the giggling, and keeping the lights out.

Seventeen months separated their entry into our lives and cemented a friendship I hope and pray will always last. Having no sisters of my own I have been a faithful voyeur into the shared secrets and inside laughs of their sisterhood.

They were 'the girls' from the second the oldest held the youngest. "What are the girls doing?" "Where are the girls?" "Are the girls excited for Christmas?"

And now...because they have gone off to college for the second and third years, people ask, "Are the girls back at school?" "Do the girls like the university?" "Are the girls coming home for Christmas?"

The girls have also decided, no surprise toanyone, to be roommates for the second year. It works for the most part but I'd be lying if I said they didn't scrap a bit too. Just like roommates.

Just like sisters.

And now that summer has ended and I've hauled home boxes from the grocery store for them to repack their belongings and they've returned to their own galaxy far-far away (Fine. It's an hour by car.) It seems farther if you're their mother and you used to spend afternoons singing Schoolhouse Rock along with a cassette and were familiar with every episode of Full House. If you were used to at least one faithful companion you could bribe with a cereal of their choice that would tag along to the grocery store and tell you if the waist band of your jeans was too close to your belly button. If you longed for someone to sit in the dark and watch Steel Magnolias one more time with you. If you were their mom then you would think the gap in the house was pretty noticeable too.

They were sure pretty handy to have around.

I really miss the girls.