Age one: I finally get my first tooth.
Age two: I put a rubber band up my nose. Just as my mom has it almost out, I sniff it up again.
Age three: I'm a late talker but once I finally talk, one can't shut me up.
Age four: I love to sing at the top of my lungs with the handle of my jump rope as my microphone and the fireplace mantle is my stage. I also dress my cat, Tom, up in baby clothes and push him around in my doll stroller. He lets me.
Age five: I pee in my pants during kindergarten at math time because Ms. George wouldn't look in my direction no matter how many times I hopped, wiggled, tapped her arm or changed her shoulder sides begging for permission to use the bathroom.
Age six: My parents divorce. We move into an apartment with stairs. I had always wanted stairs. My mom smuggles in a puppy against the lease and we name him Maynard.
Age seven: I spend many days and nights with my best friend, Sandra Adams, and her family of 6. Her father is the grounds keeper for a Jewish camp and we play around the many cabins, explore the vast property, and swim/boat in the small lake. Childhood bliss!
Age eight: I have a pet rabbit I name Genius. I reach my arms into her cage every morning and wrap them around her as she snuggles up under my chin for warmth before catching the bus. My mom and I rescue a baby duckling from the feed store and nurse him back to health. We name him Lucky and give him to my Grandma Donna to live.
Age nine: We move into a camper trailer behind my aunt's house and I change schools mid fifth grade year.
Age ten: I break my arm so high up that it was useless to put a cast on. I wear a sling. The kids at school don't believe my arm is broken and I'm forced to hit a bratty schoolmate in the head with a tether ball because she won't stop punching me in my shoulder.