They say you understand your mother a little better as you become one. In my case, I'm going to go with "Um...no."

My mom was a young mom. At my age she was a few years past delivering her last baby. There are five of us and five years between myself and my youngest sister. When I look back at the pictures there we are in matching handmade dresses. There were Halloween costumes, whole wheat bread, and school projects, and crafts, and toole painted puzzles, and cookie jar lids, and...and...and...

And at 11:20 p.m. I looked at the bits of shredded paper and glitter strewn across my kitchen and I did not understand my mother at all. I don't know how she did it. I really don't. But I'm glad she did.

Happy Birthday Mom, Grami, and Head Toucan!

I know you asked for pictures. Even baited me with a contest with Goose, but it took us like six hours to make the Valentine's. So, I do have fifty pictures. They are just fifty pictures of practically the same thing- only a different colored crayon or change in scissor position. And not even that different. Light pink alternating with dark pink and pink glitter. Your other grandaughter stayed in pretty much the same position the whole time.