When I left for college Jilli was 10. Needless to say, we didn’t share clothes all that much. I mean, sure, I stole her socks all the time, but that was because Dad did her laundry so she always had more clean ones than I did.
Me and Jill, Senior Prom 2004
Now, Jillian is 16. With tons of clothes. I don’t even really pack when I go home for the weekends anymore. I just bring underwear and…maybe some jeans. And figure I will cobble together the rest out of Jill’s and Mom’s closets. It works well. Especially when you have your husband do all the packing on the way back and you end up with all new clothes that you didn’t technically steal. It was a mistake! A mistake I sure am going to wear until I see you next.
She has grown several inches, become much more top heavy (the hours I have spent bra shopping with this kid…), and somehow managed to tame her wild hair (mostly). At some point she got her braces off, broke her foot, and finally, pierced her ears this winter
I love being back. She is practicing her makeup and hair skills on me, which is no mean feat considering our hair is as different as night and day.
Perhaps cosmotology in the future?
We have conversations about boys and jewelry and nail polish choices, but we also talk about what she wants to do after high school. I confide in her when I feel like I am drowning in law school and she assures me that I am one of the smartest people she knows. We talk about friend problems – which surprisingly enough for me, goes both ways. I walk a fine line between the super cool older sister and the responsible adult. All cool and we would both end up with nose rings and black hair. All responsibility and she would be like, We could hang out… but I’m gonna go pet the cat instead. I send her inappropriate texts, annoy her on facebook, and let her drive my car when no one is looking. I judiciously share my college experiences with her, hoping that she gets to have the same experiences some day.
I missed her terribly when I was gone, but I am amazed to return to California to find a lovely young woman where a child had been.
When I was about 14 the number one thing I got in trouble for? Rolling my eyes. Number two? Popping my gum. I was an eye rolling, sarcastic teenager with exceptional gum popping capabilities . I preferred to think of it as wit. I got in trouble for being sarcastic in youth group all the time. Jesus doesn’t love sarcasm. It cuts people down. Wait. Was that sarcasm?
That sarcasm has never really left. I love it. Perhaps this is why I love British television?
So. I have an interview. And since this is law school they take this very seriously. I had interview prep yesterday. I may be sending the head of the career department my outfit options. I am wearing my hair in a bun. Pearls. Pantyhose. Pumps. Understated makeup. I have joined corporate America. No red lipstick. My purse made of hemp? Definitely not an option.
The person who prepped me said I did great but I need to work on the sarcasm. I said something about the British health care system being super awesome. Because it so is. The most negative thing I am allowed to say is that something was “challenging.” So… the British health care system was super challenging. Right. That sounds absurd. I am just cutting it out all together. Along with my personality. You don’t get to have one of those until you get the job.