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Dear wonderful children, OF COURSE you both suddenly had to pee REALLY, REALLY, REALLY badly the moment we got out of the car at the community garage sale we had just spent the last forty minutes searching for. Dear self, I’m not sure if I should be proud or horrified for allowing yourself to return to your Alaskan roots by having your kids use the side of the road as the restroom. Especially since it was in a ritzy (but secluded!) neighborhood. I’m leaning a lot more towards horrified, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Dear rich people who live on that road, if you decide to take a stroll down your pretty country lane, you may want to avoid any large puddles. Dear Susannah, you amaze me sometimes. I don’t know of any other four-year olds who could manage to not puke for the last ten miles we were in the car, be collected enough to almost make it in the house, and then be able to get every single bit of it in a plastic Wal-Mart bag. I knew Wal-Mart was good for something. Now I know what. Dear pants zipper, thank you for waiting to break until I was out in public doing my grocery shopping. No really, I appreciate it. Especially since I have no idea how long I walked around like that. Wonderful. Just wonderful.

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