Trying to decide what to write about next in my “autobiography” project. Should I stick with my young childhood? we have choices:

My kindergarten exploits when my boyfriends, the redheaded twins, Garry and Larry would chase round the playground trying to steal a kiss. And I would regularly let them catch me.

Riding the neighbors pigs down at Gramma’s farm, along with the talking sunflowers and crabby old Mr. Kramer chasing us out of the sawdust pile. And how the oranges from Mr. Kramer’s trees always tasted better than ours. (He really hated us…)

Or perhaps jumping from the barn loft into the bin of chickenfeed?

Then if we skip ahead to the teen years, you get the repetitve telling of the agonies of suffering teenageness, but mixed in with being totally devoted to my skating, and totally not in the right crowd at school. (hmm, maybe I WAS a geeky fangirl of sorts)

Then young adulthood, which in my case was married life…edited for public comsumption. Met my husband in the same roller rink in which my own parents met. They weren’t regular skaters though, so that’s weird.

Ready or not it’s parenthood! Most of this was fun–and if I think about it there’s probably lots of good stories. Like the that Em had a “pet” chicken. And one day I looked out the window to see her in her swing with a chick in her lap. (I wasn’t aware that any of our chickens were pets. But she says otherwise.)

Or that Missy started drawing horses at age three. And she consistenly put lipstick on them for a number of years!

D-I-V-O-R-C-E and well that is interesting I guess. But not for the world read about.

Single parenthood of preteens oh boy!

Yikes, she’s dating again.

Dating sucks. Married once more. (wow that was fast).

Career moves, career moves, career moves, then just moves, moves, moves.


Now what?