I don't know how I survived my childhood.
My dad was always somewhere singing.
An aunt came over a lot.
She would give me some of the cookies that Mom hid back where I couldn't reach them like I would eat too many.
But if she was scared I'd get into something, why did the door under the sink open so easy. I'd get the pots and pans out and beat on them and sing.
There was all kinds of old paint and draino and stuff. If it hadn't stunk or had those crossbones on it that scared me, I might have drank it.
Maybe those were her favorite cookies too.