Watching them rummage through second hand treasures was like getting a glimpse into their relationship seventy years from now, as eccentric old ladies, and endearing (sometimes cranky) sisters. I could see their distinct, predictable posture, I could almost hear their silly banter. But I tried not to daydream of all those years sandwiched between. I tried to come right back here. And stay. Until Bijou started screaming, and Octave starting whining, and I started dropping things, and everyone was looking at me to get it together. Then I decided it was okay to day dream about quieter, cleaner, more collected times. I dreamed of the day Octave was finally bored with pushing every last button (or maybe it was just me who finally learned to stay centered) and Bijou had learned how to beautifully express herself through words rather than blood curdling, demeaning screams. I dreamed of all three of us thrift shopping, and going out for fancy cocktails. We laughed about this day, and all the crazy days prior and it all made for some really good stories. I love good stories, so I'm chalking all these years up to just that. Funny stories, messy stories, beautiful, gut wrenching, honest stories.