The trouble with trouble is I never got in trouble for doing something wrong with my sister. When we were little we always got in trouble for having too much fun together. We would drive our parents insane because we would not stop laughing and playing, we would never just sit down and be quiet. They would make us sit in “Time out” or start up a round of the quiet game, just so they could have a break from the sounds of us pretending to be princesses or fighting off the bad guys.

Even when my parents thought we finally settled down and went to sleep, there I was, sneaking into my sisters’ room late at night. There was a code for getting into her room, three taps on the door and she would let me in. After I was granted entrance the fun continued, we would grab our huge Winnie the Poo stuffed animals, a blanket, and a deck of cards. We made forts and castles out of our pillows and stayed up late at night playing “Go Fish” by flashlight.

Of course the most trouble with trouble was when we were actually in trouble. I remember one morning when we were very little, my sister, Andrea, came into my room and woke me up. She told me she wanted to take a walk around the neighborhood and I shouldn’t worry because we would be back before mom even wakes up. Me, being the curious type, quickly agreed and we headed to the door in our bright pink Barbie pajamas to begin our little adventure.

Once we opened that wide door that led into the cul-de-sac, we realized our problem, we couldn’t cross the street. Soon we decided that we would walk on the sidewalk as far as it would go, and then change directions once we hit the street. Andrea wanted to protect me and make sure I was out of harms way, so she held my hand and made sure I didn’t go anywhere near the road. Since we didn’t dare cross the street, we ended up going in a square around the block and eventually returned back home. Boy, the house was a sight to see.

In the short amount of time we were gone, my mother had realized our absence and was, at this point, running frantically outside the house with a huge phone in her hand. She was on the top of the hill, which regrettably led to the busy road, looking for us and praying we weren’t in the street. My mom turned around to see us walking hand-in-hand casually back into the house. She then ran down the hill and showered us with hugs and kisses, promptly followed by a proper lecture and bolts on the door well above out heads.

There are worse kinds of trouble than when you are not actually in trouble, but it’s trouble nonetheless. Of course, the trouble between sisters is that sometimes we fight, and sometimes we try to annoy each other for no reason other than to irritate one another, but in the end we’ll always be there for each other in the worst of times. So the trouble with trouble, is that it’ll always find you.