To Hannah Rose On Her (Almost) Birthday.

This girl is pretty rad.

This is not one of Michael Jackson's children.

(Obviously)

She just so happens to be my little sister.  Tomorrow she turns 23.

Blossom called.  She wants her hats back.

You can call her Hannah, Hannah Banana, Miss Hannah, or Nina but she prefers Hannah Rose.

She does lots of things.  Like sending me pictures of our dog claiming she died.

Good news.  Cheechers did not die.

She's also a college student and Sunday school teacher.

She wore Toms before anyone thought they were cool.  Fact.

She can do a dance that will make you blush. 

Then she'll go on to teach you something fierce about Jesus.  That's just how she rolls.

 

 

She knows how to party.

Root Brewski.

But keeps it straight edge.

She encourages my love of Ariel, Reba, and whales.

 

 

She makes good decisions.

Except for that time she ate the rat candy.

 

 

She's got a mad amount of craft supplies and once painted a picture and titled it "Dog Poop."

This photo has nothing to do with crafts or dog poop.  Just roll with it.

In her defense, she was five.

 

 

We are wildly opposite yet insanely alike.

 

 

She may very well be the only person on this entire planet who understands what makes me laugh. 

 

 

She's incredibly witty and does not find me charming.  Which only makes me love her more.

 

 

She's smart.  She's pretty.  She's wise.

 

 

And when I grow up, I want to be just like her.

 

 

I love you Nina.

Love, Sadie.