My earliest memory of my sister remains a true testament as to why we had an extremely volatile relationship for the first three fourths of my life. My parents, in an effort to save money and conserve water, would make us take baths together. One evening, I apparently decided to poop in the the tub. My sister happened to be sitting on the other side. I do not specifically recall the actual act of pooping, but I do remember my sister's blood curdling scream when she realized that I had passed an unholy third party directly into the tub.
Time heals all wounds, though - even that one - and my sister and I eventually grew into semi-well adjusted young women and, one day, Jennifer genetically passed on our weirdness in the form of a child. (I tried to appease my mother in a similar fashion by adopting two ferrets, but she never took to them the same way she took to the actual grandchildren.) She and my niece, last seen here, live in Colorado and enjoy extreme crossfit, hot yoga, and Wii Bolt.
"You are going to visit them on your way to California, right?" my father asked.
"I was thinking about it."
"Because you're awful if you don't."
"I guess we're stopping there, then."
In order to stop in Colorado, though, you have to drive there. Since the drive is miles and miles of grass and fields, I spiced up the picture a little bit with my favorite iPhone app of all time, Cat Paint.
Despite the fact that I wish that, "Good God, No," were an option on those quizzes that ask if you ever plan to bear children, I am remarkably great with kids. My significant other, though?
"My idea of relating to children," they told me one day, "is taking the trouble maker aside and giving him a lecture on how listening to Jimi Hendrix will one day make him cool."
As we drove to Colorado, they turned to me and asked, "Do you think your niece will like me?"
"Mia likes anyone who pays attention to her," I replied, "So yeah. Just be prepared for her to sit on you."
Then, after noticing that this comment failed to satisfy, I added,
"Mia is like us. She talks to herself, imagines elaborate imaginary scenarios into the car window, and sometimes pretends that she is a dog."
I wasn't lying. Like her auntie, Mia is a delightfully strange little bird. Check out this incredible keychain that she immediately gravitated toward in a Manitou Springs shop:
|This photo explains everything ever.|
"Wonderful. Now be sure to take some pictures of the two of you together or don't come home. Good ones, too. I mean this."
So Jennifer took us to Garden of the Gods and we snapped some photographs for our mom. We have come a long way from that moment where I unceremoniously polluted the bathwater.
|The Sams Girls.|
To show you just how dank my niece is, check out what she does - on command, I would like to add - when you say, "MIA. Metal face."
Our stop in Colorado ended way too soon. We had to prepare for a long, long drive across Kansas. I will return, though! The Mia Bird and I will reunite once again!