The story of a can of corn, a plugged toilet, and a desperate mission.

It takes a fall down the stairs, to come to terms with a mysterious injury.

Somehow, you're floating off to the side of those conversations, almost nostalgic for them. Even though they're happening right now.

A wise person once told me, don't believe everything you think.

This lady, with shoulder-length hair, blue jeans, a button-up blouse, and a huge mean grin plastered to her face, found her way to us - and went off like a pistol.

Then he gave me a long serious look that seemed to say: "Hmm. I'm not so sure about this."

I smiled even bigger, with the drycleaning bag stuck to my messy bun hair and responded like a Valley Girl: "Popsicle please!"

He flew out of bed and immediately got two timers - I didn't even know we had two timers - and started documenting everything in a coil notebook.

I'm definitely not ready now and I have a 3-year old.

After 39 years of being told to shut up - it's starting to add up.