Ten years ago, I was living in Ohio.

Ten years ago, I was a stay-at-home mother of two daughters. One, almost 3 years old and the other barely eight months old.

Ten years ago, I wrote occassional articles for a parenting magazine about the challenges of multiples, the sleep patterns of infants, the difficulties of breastfeeding and the odds of gender selection.

Ten years ago, our house was much smaller but our yard was a little bigger.

Ten years ago, I had a different circle of friends. This core group now spans multiple states but we still try to keep in touch.

Ten years ago, I was learning about the joys of having a child in preschool.

Ten years ago, I was certain I would never catch up on my sleep.

Ten years ago, my day consisted of library story time, tons of laundry, carpools to preschool, playdates and sippy cups.

Ten years later and a lot has changed.

Our family has grown.

Our home is now in PA.

I no longer go to storytime but every now and again I get to read books like Lunch Bunnies to oh-so-cute kindergarteners.

The sippy cups are gone but the laundry has grown.

It's time to compose a frequently asked questions list for the handful of you who read this blog.

Q. ARE YOU REALLY A LUNCHLADY?

A. Unfortunately, I really am. Sometimes I think back to when I was at an age when all things seemed possible and remember that I too thought I could be both a backup dancer for Paula Abdul and an eye doctor. Then I realized that I can't dance and they don't let people who suck at science and math become medical doctors. That being said, as a lunchlady, I have danced backup at many an iRoar assembly and I have been first on the scene when random eyelashes land in random eyes. So I guess you could say that I am sort of a backup dancer/eye doctor/lunchlady, which sounds kind of cool.

Q. DO YOU REALLY WRITE ABOUT SPEED HUMPS?

A. Again, an unfortunate truth. Along with touring with Paula, I had great plans for writing a book. Turns out that unless you sort of know someone who knows someone getting a book published ain't all that easy. The newspaper, however, seems to go through "stringers" like most people go through tissues. A stringer is a fancy term for someone who strings the story together. In other words, you write it, they edit it, you okay it and then, if you are lucky, it runs in the paper. Stringers freelance for the paper and are not staff. Instead of writing fiction, I get to write about things like speed humps, press boxes, driver's ed costs and superintendent raises. The topics might be a little unusual, but my name is in the byline. Published.

Q. ARE YOU REALLY THE SIZE OF AN AVERAGE 7th GRADER?

A. This is false. In fact, most 7th graders are significantly bigger than me. I am the size of an average 5th grader. I am 5'2 and sadly that is all the taller I am going to get. My grandma never broke 5 foot and managed just fine. Of course, height is one of the contributing factors in my failure as a back up dancer. That and the fact that I don't have any rythm.

Q. BECAUSE OF THE ABOVE, DO YOU NEED A BOOSTER SEAT TO DRIVE?

A. Technically, this is likely true, but since I meet the weight requirements it seems like overkill.

Q. DO YOU EXPECT A LOT OF PEOPLE TO READ AND COMMENT ON THIS POST?

A. Of course. Every day, I continue to expect Paula Abdul to call and offer me work. I expect that at any given moment I will be given an honorary doctorate for something--what I'm not sure. I expect that someday a library book will have my name on it next to written by. I expect, but am not hopeful that I will be taller than one of my children. I expect one of you to send me a booster seat as a joke and I expect all 5 of you to leave me some comment love.

Of course, I have been wrong in the past.

This post was brought to you by writing prompt genius Mama Kat whom I am certain has a lot more comment love than I do and I blame it all on the fact that she is significantly taller than me.

Imagine, if you will, that you are given a magic slip of paper and told that you can write down your worst memory and it will be erased...forgotten...deleted.

Would you do it?

Would you write about the day your mother left and you saw your father fall to pieces?

Would you write about the time you had to coax your cousin away from her dead baby's casket?

Would you try to erase the pain of your grandfather's death from your grandmother's face?

Would you make sure the boy you loved like brother didn't get in that car?

No lie, I would be tempted. But I would throw the paper away because no good can come from forgetting.

All of our memories, the good ones and the bad ones, make us who we are.

Wishing away the day my mother left wouldn't make anyone happier. It would have stopped the end of the beginning of better things.

Erasing the pain I saw my cousin endure, well that would, in turn erase Baby Izack and I would never want anyone to forget him.

Shielding my grandmother from the pain of losing someone she spent most of her life with would deny her the gift of mourning, for we can only mourn those that we truly love. When the process is complete your pain fades (a little) and your smile returns when you remember them.

Would I make sure my "brother" didn't get in that car? Oh...how I would want to, but doing so would change everything.

Our experiences are what shape us and we must continue to believe that, the good ones and the bad ones, all happen for a reason.

Even if that reason is often very unclear.

Inspired by a writing prompt at Write on the Edge