Since my family is currently confined to the house (Chris has contracted h1n1 and is quarantined to our bedroom for 5-7 days – or maybe a little longer if he gives me any “lip”), I have been trying to get some things cleaned out around the house. I’ve been doing this between setting off Lysol bombs, playing a bazillion hands of Uno with the girls, and pretending to be the most awesome female gunslinger EVER as I duel with various household surfaces using a spray-bottle of bleach solution.
I came across a box of some of my old things. One of the most interesting items was my diary when I was 10 through 13-years-old. I really didn’t have that many entries, but I got a quick snapshot of how my girls will be during those ages.
OH – Mercy!
One entry that stood out was the one below. It literally made me cringe thinking of the future mother-daughter, door slamming blow-outs that will inevitably occur with my girls.
First, let me defend myself in saying the dances at the Ramada were “THE BOMB” in my hometown, so the fact that they wouldn’t let me go was MAJOR social suicide and totally grounds for my overly-emotional-and-highly-hormonally-charged words.
Second, let me sincerely apologize to my Mother (and Dad too) for this horrible diary entry and for what a pain I must have been at the age of 13. Yes, Mom – I can practically hear you laughing now thinking of how you can’t wait til I call you telling you of the sagas that will abound when my two are 13.
Laugh it up, Grandma! (you greatly deserve it)
