"Mom, you just don't know what it's like to be 10 and have people not like you."

True. I was 12 when girls started shoving me into lockers, throwing spitballs into my hair, and working their hardest to make me want to kill myself. Ah, misty water-color memories. Good times.



The restaurant where my husband works that shall otherwise remain nameless in this post is apparently hosting some type of Republican senatorial retreat this weekend. Kenny asked me if I wanted to come hang out at the bar, but after a few minutes of discussion, we both acknowledged that it would be very awkward when he had to call security on me after I asked every senator in sight about the magical pill you can swallow that ends up in your vagina.



Selfie by the TEN-year-old. Happy Birthday, Emmeline. You survived our early parenting missteps, like the time your dad accidentally bathed you with dog wipes instead of baby wipes (and the resultant full body rash), and made it to the double digits!