Ode to an Aunt

My mother is the middle of 3 girls.  Three girly girls.  Three oddly dim-witted, hysterically funny, sincere, pear-shaped sisters. 

Growing up it was like having 3 mothers instead of one.  And even though we never all lived in the same town (even the same country at times) every summer the sisters would don matching outfits -- picture terry cloth tanks and too-short shorts -- and perform a kickline.  Poolside.  With 1980s 'dos.

And every time they were together one of them would spontaneously break out into Irving Berlin's "Sisters" from White Christmas.  At this point, I'm really hoping ALL of you know that song.  If not, I'm disappointed in you.  Very.  But I'll throw in some lyrics for you, just in case:  "Sisters, sisters.  There were never such devoted sisters."

And that pretty much sums up my mother and her sisters.  Actually, no it doesn't.  But for this post, it sums them up.  They're a complex group with the skills of the quintessential 1950s housewife, with passions for missions, mixed with the smarts of a gaggle of blondes, with unwaivering love for their Daddy who they lost way too soon, and the uncanny ability for getting into Lucy-and-Ethel types of situations.

The youngest sister of the group, my precious Aunt Janis, died in a car wreck nine years ago today.  I have many, MANY memories of my aunt.  Most of them from childhood.  Like her standing in my grandmother's driveway yelling at my cousins and me to get along and quit leaving out my younger cousin Jennifer.  Three is always a crowd.  I was smack in the middle of her two oldest of five.  Yes, five.  Which she homeschooled.  Five. 

OR of her slim shoulders that could never quite keep her bra in place.  So she'd twitch until those straps were right where she wanted them.

OR of her greeting whenever she walked into a door, "Hedoh, honey!"

OR of her inability to pronounce Ls.  I could never keep a straight face when she was telling me about how "code" it was outside.  Or how she loved the "gode" color in so-and-so's wallpaper.  Or how one time she was telling my SIL all about "mode" that was growing in the "ode gode" eaves at my grandmother's house.

But I have other memories of her as well.  Memories of a patient woman who loved her Lord.  In fact, the officers who worked the scene of the accident looked around at the scattered items from her car and said, "This was a Godly woman."  They told that to my uncle.  Wow.

I also remember a woman at their church telling us about how Aunt Janis (a pastor's wife) had a group of woman she taught about using a prayer journal and how to have a prayer life.  The woman told my mother how Janis would hug her huge binder of a prayer journal and prove her devotion to prayer.

She was an amazing woman.  There are other stories...some too precious to share.  And some, especially of her selfless devotion to her family, that remind me all too often of what a great example she was.

So in memory of my Aunt Janis I've posted this rambling about an amazing woman who was evidently needed by her Savior.  She was taken from us all too soon, but what a legacy she left behind.  And her children really do rise up and call her blessed.

But since we all have these little quirky senses of humor, I'll pose a blog question for you to ponder.  All thanks to Aunt Janis.  When I was a kid, and old enough to do pretty much everything on my own, we would visit my cousins and at dinnertime Aunt Janis would hand me my drink...in a sippy cup.  A sippy cup.  SIPPY CUP.  Now granted, she had 5 kids.  Who wants to clean up that many messes all day long?  But seriously, at 10 or even older, sippy cups were not even a memory of mine anymore.  I would pleadingly search my mother's face for permission to ditch the sippy...but to no avail.

So my question, since I've thought of this situation so often lately with Bubba turning 6 and Bruiser, 4.  At what age do you ditch the sippy?  We've ditched it with Bubba.  But I'm not brave enough yet with Bruiser.  (We only do sippy cups of milk.  All other beverages they drink out of glasses.  But I really am not one who wants soured milk lurking about in my carpet, clothing, and pillows.)

Thank you, Aunt Janis.  Thanks for giving me laughs, lessons, and love.