I came across one of my yearbooks the other day. I enjoyed going through it, recalling how things used to be. Our daughter Addie glanced at it and seemed impressed with all the signatures. Then she read, “To a nice kid, …”
“Kid?” and she began laughing hysterically.
I guess a twenty-something has a hard time imagining Mom as “kid.”
Funny thing, sometimes I feel like a kid. I just don’t tell anybody.
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