Today is Sally’s 19th birthday. Tatum has done a lovely collage of photos for you to celebrate the Sal-ster, but where Tatum believes that pictures are worth a thousand words, I believe that pictures may need a thousand words to explain them.
Fear not, I’m really too tired to give you 1000 words for each of these, but I am pleased to give you a glimpse into the childhood that created this insanity that is me.
Let’s start here. I’m the one rockin’ the hot pink/black combo leotard. (I’ve always been ahead of the fashion trends- I knew pink and black was going to be huge.) There’s Doe, our nanny/maid lady, who to this day I cry every time I talk to her. Would you believe that Sally actually still sits on Mom’s lap like that every now and then?
Tatum wanted to be a model. Can you tell. Nice jeans. The wind is blowing. They are actually standing on a rock in our backyard. This one makes me laugh out loud every time.


I have a mullet. There is little to no shame in that. And let me tell you about Tatum’s pink boots. She loved them. One time, I convinced her that it was cool to swim in those boots. They died that day. And I’m pretty sure I got a spanking for that.
After I left for college, my family became Amish. A hard loss will do that to folks.
I came home, they recovered; if this is what “recovered” looks like. Can you even imagine what the Sears people thought when Tatum said, “Can I wear that raincoat?” and I said, “Can I be a fireman?”
In all seriousness, I’m pretty lucky when it comes to family. Strike that, I’m really lucky. And I do love my sisters. Especially for moments like this last picture. It’s rare, but it is sweet.
Happy birthday, Sally. I love you.
Tatum, sorry about the boots. Sorta.