My first day was amazing! So much so that I can’t wait to go back today. Crazy, right? But despite all the excitement of my first day, and the home inspection of the first house my sister is preparing to buy, the day’s actual highlight was when my baby sister, Janine, went to her eighth grade semi-formal.

Can you figure out which girl is her? That’s OK, she doesn’t look much like me so I’ll help you out. Second from the right in the white dress.

My little teeny sister is going to be a high schooler in the fall. And she may not look like me but she is so much like me it’s scary. You should have heard her yesterday afternoon, throwing a fit about getting to her friend’s house on time, complaining about her shoes, ultimately screaming at another girl walking in the street as we drove to meet her friends. It was classic Angela flip-out and I loved every minute of it. *tear*

I’m proud to announce that an essay I wrote for my little sister garnered her an “A” in class… an essay that took me all of 15 minutes to research and write. I’m so awesome, it’s sickening.

Of course, my celebration over my latest “A” was met with judgment by my boyfriend. “Oh, look at little Miss Goody Goody doing something bad!” Is it really that bad though? I mean, my sister and I worked on it together, sort of. I was explaining to her what I was writing. She learned something, in between text messages, I’m sure. And you’re telling me millions of parents don’t do their kids’ homework in a jam?

My dad did a book report for me when I was in the fifth grade (his first “A” ever, actually). He was psyched when he learned that I had to write a book report on a science fiction book, my least favorite genre. The Sunday before it was due, we decided I should “read” Battlestar Galactica since it was his favorite TV show (the Lorne Greene version with its campy special effects, not the new, stylized, politico version).

My mom, of all people, even got into the homework biz when she made me a diorama on Native Americans that I had to do for class (I think that was fifth grade, too).

I don’t have kids so my 14-year-old sister is the closest I get (well, not counting the boyfriend’s kid. I’m super step mommy). And if she would rather socialize over the weekend than write an essay, who am I to judge? At that age I was doing far worse things. *shiver* So boyfriend can shut his judgmental mouth.