Sisters

Raise your hand if you have more than one daughter. Now, pat yourself on the back if you have solved the “she’s wearing my clothes” argument. If your hand is still raised, don’t worry, so is mine. In fact, both my hand and my method of handling such situations are up in the air.
I’ve tried the “only wear your own clothes” rule, which never works. Sooner than later they are granting permission for certain objects to be borrowed, but I can never keep up with the list.
I once glanced out of the kitchen window and said to Monique, “Look at Lauren out there. Did you know that she’s wearing your shirt? I’ll take care of this.”
“Ssshhh,” was the urgent response from Monique, “Don’t say anything. I’m wearing her shoes.”
Not long after, Victoria called Elise. “I’m missing two pairs of shorts.”
“Oh, yeah,” Elise said, “I took them to Thibodaux.”
“Great,” said Victoria, “My shorts went to college before I did.”
To further rub it in, Elise sent a text message to Victoria, “I need some advice.”
Thinking this was serious sister stuff, Victoria scrolled down to find a photo of Elise wearing one pair of the missing shorts and holding the other pair in her hand. The caption read, “Which should I wear tomorrow?” Victoria just laughed.
Our latest episode involved a pair of jeans. Elise was ready to return to college when she realized that Victoria and I were at a baseball game, and Victoria was wearing her jeans. Elise called to say that she was headed to the game to reclaim her clothes. Victoria calmly said that she wasn’t changing, I kept insisting she do so, and Elise searched for us at a ballpark five miles from where we were.
When she finally arrived, Victoria met her at the car for the big showdown. They looked at each other, burst into laughter, swapped clothes, and each happily went on their way as though nothing had happened.
That afternoon, around the fifth inning of the game, I realized that my little girls have grown up. They’ve discovered ways to resolve their conflicts, and it’s usually with heavy doses of laughter. They still borrow clothes, replace what they ruin, and hopefully realize that relationships are worth more than even the best fitting pair of jeans.
One day they will probably quit borrowing from each other, but until then, I should let them know how proud I am of the way they get along. I’ll tell them as soon as I get back from my sister’s house. She’s lending me her black shoes.