Me: the cute years.

I broke my arm when I was whatever age I am in that photo. Cracked my head open, too. The Husband would say that explains a lot. He’s a jerk.

In five days I will have been married to a jerk for five years.

I have always been a good big sister. With a filthy mouth, apparently. Seriously, what is that? Did I vomit just a little bit or something?

I think someone must have slapped me while I had that look on my face. ‘Cause it stuck. (God, I loved that dress.) (And my blond, older sister? She was the worst!! Don’t let the sweet smile fool you!)

Okay, she was nice sometimes. Rarely. My mom probably doctored this photo.

(Note the baby bump. Mom was knocked up with my P.I.T.A. little brother who, just a couple months ago, turned twenty-one and OH MY GOD, WE’RE ALL GETTING OLD.)

(P.I.T.A. = Pain In The Ass)

(I have six P.I.T.A. siblings.)

P.I.T.A. little brother #2. He made his appearance when I was old enough to babysit. (Good planning mom and dad!) He was the cutest, fattest, drooliest baby ever.

Except, this one? Totally gives him a run for his money. (And thirty-two years later, I married him.) (My husband, not my brother.) (This is so not coming to a close the way I thought it would.)

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