When I was a kid, I can remember being a little strange, and when I was eight, I filled up my first diary. So I’m going to read you a little bit;
Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday dear Mommy! Happy Birthday to you! I collected more rocks after Mom’s Birthday dinner.
I don’t remember being that weird. But I must have been. It is in writing, after all. I have been looking for my old diary for a while now, and yesterday I finally found it in a box of old stationary, ‘I rode the pink pig’ stickers, pens, and drawings, thanks to my wonderful organizational skills. I was terrible at cleaning my room at eight, it drove my mom crazy.