I feel the need to be better at blogging. Shall I tell you a story?
I grew up telling "stories" is how I like to describe it. Obviously it was lies......to most.
Here is a true story...maybe a little fabricated, but mostly the truth ;)
It was some sort of break in school. I was on track 5! Best track ever and we had the majority of the summer off.
One day it was early and I feel like there is a chance my brothers and sister were not friends this day. Usually we played banker with our battleship accessories or Cowboys and Indians on our bikes, but today was my day.
I started off on my bike with my backpack fastened tightly to my super skinny and cute back. I road up and down our neighborhood and all around the streets stopping at every house.
What was I doing you ask? Picking flowers.
I would get a load full in my backpack, peddle back to the house, unload it in my room and trek back out for my next batch.
After an hour or so the streets were barren. No more pretty flowers.
My mom found me later that day when she got home in my flower field of a room. I was laying in them and throwing them in the air like they were my treasures.
I feel this stories ends with me being grounded, but before that happened she told me to take them all back. She is ridiculous! How can I put back all these flowers? Crazy lady!
I feel my mom should have had a nanny strapped to my side at allllll times. I was a hot mess.
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