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This keepsake book is how I'm telling my mom that I love her for Mother's Day
I'll spend a week filling in every page of this book.
Anastacia Uriegas
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I am not a perfect daughter. In elementary school, I had “behavioral issues” that landed me in the principal’s office to be paddled regularly. This was Texas, in the '80s. My discipline report read like a rap sheet with violations that included “screaming in the bathroom," “kept repeating ‘did I do that?’,' and “she bit a girl.” In hindsight, I’d say that this behavior combined with my good grades and inability to sit still indicates that my adult ADD was likely prefaced by childhood ADHD. I attribute doing well in school with the fact that my mom stayed at home and taught me to read and count before I was three years old. When I was five, my parents divorced. I remember that money was tight and that my grandma regularly brought us giant bags of secondhand clothes from Goodwill. My mom’s blue Ford Thunderbird would rattle and hack for a full 20 seconds after the engine was turned off, and sometimes we paid with rolled pennies at the gas station. But we were happy.