My middle daughter spent a good portion of a recent weekend using her iPad to film a movie starring her little sister. There were costumes, singing, dancing and best of all, lots of fun and laughter between the two of them.

Later that Sunday evening in a more serene setting, my youngest sat nestled in my oldest daughter’s arms as they read a library book together.

“You are adorable,” my eldest whispered in a sweet voice to her, out of the blue.

Whenever my two older daughters, 12 and 11, dote on my youngest, 7, it melts my mommy heart. My tweens often vie for the little one’s time and attention — to play with her, do arts and crafts with her, teach her a song on the piano or ukulele, or just shower her with kisses.

I see how they look at her with such deep adoration and it’s very familiar to me; it’s the same look my older sister gave me when we were growing up.

I am the youngest of three siblings. While I love and cherish the relationship I have with my big brother, the oldest of the three of us, there’s something more to my connection with my sister, who is two years older than me.

My sister has always been a very nurturing and caring person, and I benefited from that growing up with her. She was a patient playmate when we were children and a gentle guide when we were teens.

Like normal siblings there were arguments and fights, of course — same with my own three girls — but sisterhood means fighting and tears one second, then playing and laughter the next.

As adults, I continue to turn to her for help and advice. She is an amazing stay-at-home mom and I was so fortunate — and am forever indebted to her — for her help with caring for my daughters when they were younger while my husband and I worked.

I love my sister.

I was at her house the other day for a root touch- up. Every six weeks or so, she colors away my white hairs and helps erase at least five years from my face — yet another reason I love her and perhaps a future column topic — and the time we spend together during these coloring sessions, as usual, goes by too fast.

For two hours, we just caught up on everyday life and relived fun memories; we laughed when we recalled the time she asked our mom if she could adopt me.

I make sure to tell my girls often how grateful I am for my own sister. They know that I want for them the kind of sisterhood I share with her.

My two older ones, I should add, also have their special moments with each other when they talk about “tweenage” things and giggle at inside jokes; I suspect some of those may be about me. But I don’t mind, so I don’t meddle in their own secret world.

On that recent Sunday as my oldest daughter finished the book she was reading to my youngest — it was a story about the heart and an ode to love, appropriately enough — she caressed her sister’s little face.

“You are my heart,” she said, then kissed her cheek.

As I watched them, mine filled with warmth and a hope that my three daughters continue to strengthen that bond only sisters know.

“She Speaks” is a column by women writers of the Honolulu Star-Advertiser. Reach Zenaida Serrano at zserrano@staradvertiser.com.