It’s a funny thing…reading old blog posts. And seeing what things happened in my life that were “blog worthy”. I dedicated a lot of time to the writing and upkeep of Life In Beverly Hills. It was my baby. Before I had two babies…
It’s hard to believe that this, what I used as the outlet for the funny and not-so-funny hair pulling, blood pressure rising moments in my life, has fallen to the wayside. For a couple years there I was averaging 1 post a year.
Things have changed. A lot.
CSM has officially retired. The new ruler is Hockey Mom. She’s a hoot. You’d probably like her.
There’s the PTA Mom in me too. Yet another humorous part of Life In Beverly Hills.
The peeps are now 10 and 6.
My Best Girl is on the verge of tween-ness. I don’t recall this age of transition…but as I recount endless stories to my Mom, she assures me that I was just as bad. If not worse. Selective memory isn’t necessarily a bad thing. The pit that I call Avery’s room…the fact that I can’t see her floor and 9 out of 10 drawers are hanging open at any given moment … well it seems the apple doesn’t fall far the tree.
Carson is a maniac. We survived Kindergarten. Without one single call from the Principal’s office. On June 12th I breathed a sigh of relief. We made it. Could be that he is growing. Or it could be the dimple that pops when he gives a killer smile. Not sure. And I don’t care to know. Only 12 more school years to go.
I have sprouted
a few many gray hairs over the past couple of years. And so duly noted by the gentleman at Home Depot who asked me if Avery was my granddaughter. Um. No. Thanks, Jackass. (That Home Depot trip was immediately followed by a trip to the salon for a color).
I survived a One Direction concert sitting on the main floor. Without earplugs. Even live every one of their songs sound the same. Not that I could hear one lyric over the squealing of teen girls.
I sat for countless hours in an ice arena watching my daughter come into her own on the ice. And watching Carson not listen to the coaches.
My life is full. But that doesn’t mean I don’t need this place…and that I don’t need to be heard (read) by the three people who still, after all of this time, come around to see what is happening in Beverly Hills.