Shoe Porn, and some thoughts for my sister

 

We leave Tuesday afternoon for my sister-in-law’s wedding in upstate New York. I have many many many things to do before departure, including rescuing my bridesmaid’s dress from the dry cleaner and cleaning the house (which, you know, I recognize is not a must but I can’t stand returning from vacation to a messy home, although I don’t mind it the rest of the time so go figure), buying favors for the shower and, of course, etcetera etcetera etcetera. This wedding has been relatively smooth sailing although it certainly has had its bumps in the road, but today I don’t want to talk about those bumps. Today I want to talk about M, my sister-in-law who this time next week will be waking up  on the day of her rehearsal dinner. And then show you my fabulous shoes.

I grew up only having a brother. A great brother, the perfect brother for me, certainly, and I never really wanted a sister. I watched some of my friends and their relationships with their sisters and they so often seemed fraught and competitive – D and I always had different activities and different friends and so the competition was pretty limited. I knew S.’s sisters well before we became engaged, and we were always friends, but we all began regarding one another differently once I was part of the family. No getting rid of one another now.

M. could have been circumspect. She could have criticized, or maintained her distance, or settled into a comfortable, see-you-once-a-year relationship with me. She could have thought I wasn’t good enough for her big brother, or any manner of things. Instead, she immediately began writing me emails and signing them, Love, Your sister. At family gatherings, when S. and his dad would spend time together, she took me shopping or to the movies or out to eat. She, and his other sister (also M, but we’ll call her V for her middle name), who is ten years younger than I, have never once made me feel like a third wheel in their home, or unwelcome. A couple of times I haven’t attended family events, usually for work purposes but also because I grew up believing that it’s nice, sometimes, to just spend time with your nuclear family. My mom pointed out once that daughters always make a special effort to come home alone, but sons always bring their wives, so I have tried to encourage S. to see his family alone occasionally, so they can fall into themselves without an interloper around.

What I learned is, his family isn’t like mine.  At all. When I don’t attend, nobody is ever angry with me, but M and V call me, tell me they miss me, they say how much better it would be if I were there. When I share my reasoning with them, they pooh-pooh it, they say, you are family now. Shut up. Don’t ever punk out again.

M is mostly responsible for this simply because V is so much younger than the rest of us. Don’t get me wrong, V. is  an amazing, talented young woman, but M is the one who taught me how to be a good sister-in-law, who, in fact, taught me to take the in-law part right of my thinking.

It has been pointed out to me that I am about two-thirds truthful on this blog from friends who know me in real life and that is certainly true. I write what I am comfortable believing anyone might read. To be fair, I think my comfort level is pretty significant, but I don’t tend to air things like family arguments or struggles with certain relationships or anything like that.  And so I don’t want to pretend my relationship with my in-laws, sisters and parents included, has been an emotional shangra-la because it certainly hasn’t. It has taken me eight years of marriage and twelve years of knowing them to finally feel like we all fit together. Growing into a new family is hard, painful at times. And quite frankly, I can be a lot to absorb. I think it’s a very good thing S.’s family had eight years to adjust to me – M.’s fiancee should have a cakewalk.

Anyway. On Tuesday S. and I leave for several days of festivities honoring M. and her man, and I wanted to write something that could do her justice. Something that could capture what I know about M, but it’s proving enormously difficult. She’s the kind of person hard to capture in a blog description, I guess, so instead I’ll just say, thank you, M, for staying up late and watching movies, for lending me books you never ask if I liked or not, for hosting me in your home even when S. couldn’t come, for letting me into your family and your life so easily, for always sending a birthday present on time, for flying from Houston for S.’s graduation even when you could have used the vacation time towards your honeymoon, for emailing me every week and most of all for teaching me how to be a good sister and even more than that, thank you for giving me the excuse to buy the below shoes that go with my bridesmaid dress,  and which I have been wearing around my apartment all week long, practicing the charleston and the shag in preparation for your party. And I wish you a long and happy marriage full of music and good food and wild adventures, but on the off off chance that doesn’t happen know, too, that I am here, regardless.