In recent weeks I’ve noticed a slew of posts from moms undergoing to growing pains of adolescence. Some even snooping on their teens’ poetry accidentally left out. Reading about the angst-ridden heartbreak had me wondering a bit about my own daughter. Although she is still about 10 years shy of eyeliner, bedroom hibernation, and tying up the phone line, I couldn’t help but notice a slight uneasiness in the pit of my stomach. A premonition if you will. My motherly intuition foresaw with grim fear, a boy crazy drama queen, far too concerned about her hair. I mean there’s a chance it could happen. It is in her genes.

I am posting late today because my mother and grandmother arrived from out of town to stay with us for 3 weeks (someone give me strength and patience). Every time she visits, she brings a relic from my past. Now that we have a house, she is slowly transferring items I left behind in my old bedroom. Today she brought this gem with her, a note written to my B.F.F. in fifth grade (I think).

*Disclaimer* Please refrain from consuming any food or beverages while reading the note below. I was a total loser. There’s no need to spit food at the screen on my behalf.

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