Hi! Hello! Nice to see you there!
My first confession I guess should be is that at nighttime, when all is quiet and the time for productivity has arrived, I usually watch Downton Abbey instead of writing to you kind people. My second confession is that this is actually the third time I’ve watched Downton Abbey, so it’s not like I’m dying to know what happens, because I do. And for the record, I’m not over Matthew Crawley and I never will be.
In other confessional news, I had grand plans to write to
sweet baby sweet toddler Emerson for his first birthday, but alas, the days turn into weeks and here we are with a 13-month-old ball of fire.
We’ve also been busy doing genetic testing on him because HE DIDN’T LIKE THE CAKE and we were concerned he’s not really my child. But based on what I was doing on his actual birth day, we’ve determined that he is and he can stay.
The other thing I should probably tell you is that I lie to my children. Perhaps this will send them straight to the therapist’s couch and perhaps not; only time will tell. For example, I had to tell Gabby that the Google Maps GPS Lady called and told me Gabby was going to get in big trouble if she kept talking while Google Maps Lady was trying to tell me where to go. When Gabby would hear GPS Lady’s voice, she’d just pipe UP to be heard OVER her and I would miss our turn/turn the wrong way/almost wreck us trying to look and see where to turn, etc. Finally I told her GPS Lady was really upset and that I wasn’t sure what would happen if Gabby kept talking but she probably didn’t want to find out.
“But will I still get to live with you?”
“Probably. But she sounds pretty mad.”
“I’ll just be quiet then.”
“Are Piper [her best friend from preschool] and I ever going to live together?”
“No, probably not.”
“But I love Piper and I want to live with her and be her best friend forever! Can I? CAN I? CAN I? WILL YOU CALL HER MOM?”
“You guys can be college roommates, which means you’ll live together in a really long time. So go get in the bath.”
There were fist pumps…you can’t tell me I’m doing the wrong thing here. You can, however, pray for my soul.
Also, this is not exactly a confession because he knows I do it, BUT I create strife in my marriage. I do this in many ways (#workinprogress), but I’m not ready to admit to most on the World Wide Web. I would like to tell you, though, and perhaps get your opinions on who’s right (me!!!). My husband–cute as pie, he is–is adamant that our nice stainless steel pots and pans shouldn’t go in the dishwasher. Instead, he thinks we should do as our ancestors did and hand wash them all. I, on the other hand, am quite fond of the dishwasher and frequently try to sneak them in there…I mean, he spends 47,000 hours a week at the hospital, so HOW WILL HE KNOW? The problem is that sometimes he comes home for lunch unannounced and finds last night’s rice pot in the dishwasher and then he–wait for it–takes it out and puts it in the sink. Doesn’t wash it…just puts it in there. (I should note that if I left it in there until he got home, he’d wash it. But I can’t leave dirty dishes in my sink that long because I have anxiety about dirty dishes.) So then I have to go and hand wash it, while mumbling under my breath about how stainless steel pots are super durable and made to be cleaned in the dishwasher. The beautiful, beautiful dishwasher.*
I’m right, right?
*This does not cause real strife and we are actually a happy family, as evidenced by the photo below. But I’m right, right?