Sibling rivalry is nothing new, and my family is no exception. On the other hand, aside from my daughter, my sister is easily my best friend. Her opinion is the one that matters most to me, even when I don't want it to. We do nearly every fad diet and fad skin care phenomenon together...often. She was even in the delivery room when I had my daughter (so was my brother, but that is an entirely different story).
So mostly we are able to put our differences aside and live peaceably with one another - despite never having resolved who stole who's Benetton logo rugby shirt, or who stole who's mother.
But one area we will never be able to reconcile is over temperature. My sister can never be warm enough. In 105 degree weather she can still wear pants and a thermal and be perfectly content. She is a volcano and despises nothing more that to be tempered. Which is not really a problem anymore until we find ourselves back at our childhood home visiting for the summer. It is here where old battle lines are redrawn. Scars of yore resurface. Treaties and pacts fall to the wayside.
Last night, after a day of nearly melting in the east coast wave of humidity I took it as a personal affront when I crawled to bedroom only to find the air conditioning had been turned off - not lowered, but entirely removed - and we were expected to sleep in our own heated filth and sweat.
My sister scoffed at my inability to handle "a little warm" as I negotiated an evening temperature of 78 (down from 85). But at 4:00am, as I crept into the pitch black hallway and over to the LED thermostat, I felt no guilt...
75...this was war after all!
72...I was on the side of the right!
70...She has blankets!
68...Dare I?! Yes I do!
But as I smugly made my way back to bed, assured in my victory in this battle, my daughter, in long sleeves and pant pajamas, nestled inside flannel sheets and a down comforter looked up at me and groggily said "Momma, I'm cold." It was then, I feared my sister had somehow won this war.