My sisters. Oh, my sweet, sweet sisters.
(Don't be fooled by their innocent looks here. We can get into some trouble when we're together!)
Let me share with you one of my life's most embarassing moments:
I think it was the year 1998. My brother was leaving for an LDS mission and wanted his sisters, his four older, MATURE sisters, to sing at his farewell.
(Uggh. O.K., I'll do it. I'll do it because you're my little brother and I love you so much.)
I don't sing. I never professed to have a good singing voice. (Maybe I could just lip sync this one.)
For some awful, uninspired reason I was assigned to sing soprano with Amy. (Not my forte)
As we came onstage and gathered around the microphone, I put my arm around my sister Amy's waist. My hand literally clenched her tiny frame...and it froze there. It's what kept me standing.
Amanda was setting up the music and right smack into the microphone she said, in a panicked voice, "We're missing a page!"
Great. This was not a promising start.
We began. My aunt Liz, the PROFESSIONAL musician, was accompanying us. (Please don't ever remind her of this incident. I'm sure she was horrified by her immature nieces!)
My voice squeaked.
I felt Amy slump with a giggle. She was laughing. At me. In front of all these people.
(Don't even get me started on how many people were there. Friends, family, past teachers and church leaders. The thought still makes me cringe.)
So guess what?
I started laughing too. In my freaked-out, nervous state, I started laughing.
We both bowed our heads, giggling, trying with all our might to STOP. Amanda and Anna were totally carrying the tune...without us.
"O.K., I can compose myself and come in at the next verse. It will look planned. Maybe everyone will think we are just crying because we are sad our brother is leaving."
But before we could start singing again, Amanda hit my shoulder. It wasn't a subtle hit. It was this flick of her wrist scuff for all the world to see. Her eyes said it all, "Sing, you brat!"
I held onto Amy even tighter. She kept trying to pry my hand off of her waist. No luck. It was stuck there.
We ended the song and walked the long walk down to our seats.
All's well that ends well.
Humiliation set in and I really just wanted to walk out the door.
My brother got up to speak.
He's so clever and witty, this little brother of mine.
The first thing out of his mouth was, "Well, it's the thought that counts."
I teared up.
"Nice, little bro. I will never do this for you again," I thought to myself.
But he has never asked again.
My 3 things:
1. Arizona winters.
2. Brock made it through his accutane treatment. So did I.
3. Family night.