My daughter, Rebekah,
wanted to be a guest blogger for a day.
As we talked about her closing and the need for something positive,
she agreed and said,
“You write from your heart,
not from your brain.”
I am the baby of the family.
I hate being called that. I am eight years old, which I think is very old to me.
I don’t mean very, very old, just in-between. But my brothers and sisters think
I am still very young to them.
Like I said, I think I am very old to me. Sometimes my dad will tell a friend my age and say that I am six or three, if he’s joking.
But in a way, I like being the baby of the family, because I get to be with my mom each day.
I also get to dress-up for school if I want to.
As you see my nice family is smiling. My brothers and sisters are happy to be together.
But sometimes my family goofs off and messes up the picture.
I like being the baby of the family. Because I get to see my mom everyday.
And I get to play at home. And I get to see my three siblings that live at home.
My two other ones are moved away.
And there’s me, Rebekah.