I feel like this prompt is going to take us to places such as the birth of a child, weddings, graduations, promotions, etc. I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to make this into something corny, cringey, campy or cheugy (I learned that word from my daughter).
When it comes to the birth of your children, you can never pick just one that stands out above the others. That would be playing favourites and kids hate that apparently. My wedding, although a great time, ended in divorce so I can’t pick that to write about.
I scroll through the over one thousand pictures on my camera roll and not one thing jumps out at me. I scroll through the memories in my brain, little flashes of my life here and there and still nothing of consequence. And so I pick a random photo from my phone. It’s of my older sister and I in her minivan with all of our kids, five in total. It’s about eight years ago and we are on our way to the rodeo in town.
Even though every cell in each of our bodies exists on opposite ends of the spectrum and we are nothing alike, we get along well. As do our kids. Her daughter is eleven months younger than my oldest daughter and her son is not quite two years younger than my oldest son. I have four kids, she has two. The millionaire family. Which I didn’t want. I could have stopped with a girl and a boy, like her, but that’s just not me. I don’t like things too perfect, she does.
Anyway the day that’s in the photo was a happy time. None of our kids were grown up and moved out yet at that point. Everyone loved being around each other. The kids had fun and so did I. Hopefully she did too. Guaranteed, the first thing she did when we arrived was pull out the six different types of sunscreen she carries on her always, and slathered her kids in it. But that’s just her.

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