Friday, April 29, 2011
When my sister was little, we called her Jodie Bear. I'm not entirely certain why. She had a lot of Winnie the Pooh stuff, which was highly cute. Whenever I hear a Winnie the Pooh song, I have flashbacks to her childhood bedroom.
When I got older and loved Garfield comics, I started calling her Pookie, like Garfield's teddy bear. Now I just call her Pooks. I don't think she likes it, but I figure Pooks is actually not a terrible nickname. Especially when you consider that she has called me all of the following at one point or another:
Princess Yellie von Poopiepants (this was written on my Christmas gifts one year)
The worst part is that I will answer at any given time to ANY of these -- but only when uttered by my sister (which is a warning to you, out there -- if I see you in public and you call me Princess Yellie von Poopiepants? Yer askin' for it, buddy). True story: I went to visit her in college and we were sitting around with a bunch of her friends when she said, "Dink, pass me the chips."
I passed her the chips.
Her friend Johnny said, startled, "Did you just call her DINK?"
"Yes," Pooks said, "but you don't get to."
My sister and I don't always get along -- there have been epic arguments and battles -- but I can tell you this: I love her to pieces. I love that she has a big, open heart. I love that she takes zero shit from anyone. I love that she's funny and brave and willing to stand up forwhatever she believes is the right thing to do and I love that no matter where we go in life, we are tied together with the silken threads of shared history.
At some point in the next week, my sassypants Pooks is going to be a Mama Bear. A ferocious, gentle, awesome, rockstar Mama Bear.
I couldn't be more excited or proud of you, Pooks.
Just do me a favour, if you will.
Don't teach the baby to call me Auntie Pooperella. I'm begging.