you are my sunshine

I remember when I was nine years old, my parents announcing to us five kids that they were going to have another baby. Her name was to be Paige Elise (quickly changed to Paige Christine). My mom wasn’t even pregnant yet, but we were certain we would have a little sister. We went to the beach and wrote her name in the sand where the waves would wash it away and make her come true. I could think of nothing better that to have a little sister.

The day Paige was born, Tasha and Jessica Vogel, a neighbor friend, and I walked home from school, and looking down the street discovered Grandma’s car where Mom’s should have been. We knew our little Paige was on her way. Tasha and I squealed (as 10 and 11 year olds do) and raced home. I remember it as one of the longest days of my little life. We waited and agonized by the phone, waiting for the news.

When Paige was a baby, we all loved her. I would sneak into her room—despite Mother’s orders to not go near it—and look at her perfect face through the crib bars. I would wait outside the door, wanting for her to wake up so I could get her and hold her. To me, she was the most perfect baby I had ever seen.

When we moved to the house my parents now live in, Paige and Tasha and I continued to share a room. Tasha and I had the bunkbed and Paige the little girl bed adjacent. I have always slept on the bottom bunk—with Paige’s bed just at my feet. I don’t remember how or when it started, but Paige would often get in bed with me. Even when she graduated to a big-girl bed (still adjacent to mine)she would sneak in next to me. We would read bed-time stories and she would just stay. Or I would be up studying and sometime in the night she would show up. I usually made her sleep on the inside—where she (poor thing) practically fell down the side. I would often find her wedged between the wall and the bed in the morning. If I didn’t make her take the inside, I inevitably would be wedged in the crack. She sure does know how to move around in her sleep!

Paige has never liked being the youngest—although we all love her for it. She hated most of all that it meant losing her sisters to college and growing up. She was only seven when I first moved out of the house. She cried hysterically. She still cries when I leave (even if I am only home for a day). I can understand why, however. We just have so much fun together! I remember summers and vacations home reading aloud to her—The BFG, with accent of course, countless fairy tales, The Twits. I would always sing to her You are my Sunshine or dance with her in the middle of our bedroom. When she was little I loved to carry her. She would come running and jump into my arms and wrap her gangly legs around my waist and we would spin in circles.

Our new tradition is slumber parties. When I went on my mission the bedroom officially became Paige’s. She opted to get rid of the top bunk (she never liked it anyway) and spice the room up with posters and pictures and Chinese lanterns. The only problem is that when I go home, I don’t exactly have a bed any more. The solution? Slumber parties on the floor. We have it down to an art: one big thick blanket on the bottom, lots of pillows, four or five blankets on top, the portable DVD player or my laptop, a stack of movies (BYU Pride and Prejudice being a repeated classic), and a book or two. I love coming home and slumber-partying with Paige. We have, on occasion, attempted to reenact our share-the-bed stage—but it wasn’t as comfortable as when she was five and didn’t last beyond a night.

Paige has, since she was a little thing, been my “little twin.” We share red hair, green eyes, and freckles on our lips. We are now almost the same height (she’s outgrown me by an inch!) and can share shoes and shirts. People honestly can’t always tell us apart. I love that I have a twin—especially one as fantastic as she is. I love her spunky and feisty personality. We always joked that I was the saucy little redhead (from Grandpa Snowball’s song)—and that she’s the sassy one. She has always had so much more personality than I ever had. She is wild and energetic and fun. And yet, she loves to read and is thoughtful. She has great taste. I love coming home because I love being with my Paige Christinie (you are a little beanie… I want to put you in my pocket, or wear you like a locket…). Despite my inability to cry at our partings, I miss her between visits. And I am always reminded of just how fantastic she is when I come home.

And today is her birthday. Happy Birthday! I love you, Paige Christine.