I recently realized that a blog site I have been reading also has a “confessional” section. Anyone can post their “confessions” anonymously as a way to vent. Others can offer their support with “like,” “hug,” or “me too!” I can see the value in that….for commiserating about the hard parts of life. For getting things off our chest. It’s also a pretty dark place, with people telling secrets that are heart-wrenching, or scary, or even dangerous. And there’s no way to reach out to those people, due to the anonymity. More on that another day…..
Today, I thought I’d share some of my own “confessions.” Nothing serious, or heavy….just for the fun of it.
My bathroom floor is absolutely filthy. My kids rotate bathroom duty, so the essentials (toilet, sink, garbage, etc.) are taken care of. I always intend to get in there and tackle the floor….but I don’t. Between the painted tiles that everything sticks to, necessitating a scrub-by-hand-on-your-knees approach, and the claw foot tub that is impossible to clean under, it’s the worst job in the house.
I fake-nursed in order to sit on the couch longer and not feel lazy. When I had nurslings, and they fell asleep at the breast, I would often just pretend they were still eating so I could rest some more. I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who used that tactic.
I like mayonnaise on my cooked spinach. Just a little bit, mixed right in. Creamy, vinegary…yum! My husband thinks it’s very weird and gross, but I’m the only one in my family who eats cooked spinach, so whatevs. All for me.
My kids are not allowed to say the “f” word. No, not that one! I mean, obviously that one, too. But also the one for gas. I hate that word. It makes me gag. Sometimes I really can’t believe that anyone says it. If you say it, I might judge you a little bit.
Of all the changes in my body after having children, I mourn my feet the most. Stretch marks, loose skin, and other unmentionable things, are permanent evidence that I’m a mother. And I’m fine with that, really and truly. But my feet. They are more or less the same length, but the ligaments seem to be permanently relaxed, so they spread when I’m standing. I can’t buy strappy sandals anymore, or cheap sneakers, because they usually don’t come in a wide width. I didn’t know how much I loved cute shoes until I couldn’t wear them anymore.
I served my family leftovers for dinner four nights in a row. I always plan my menu with a leftover night in mind. But this week, my mother-in-law brought me a bounty of Easter dinner leftovers. With the weekend leftovers already in my fridge, we were set for the week! I added a couple of frozen pizzas one night to break up the monotony, although monotony wasn’t really a problem with the number of choices we had. Last night I served it up on platters and called it a “smorgasbord”. I call that a total win.
I made up a song about corn bags, and now I’m forced to sing it every night. My mom made my kids each their own corn bag for Christmas. The first time my little girls used them for bedtime, I sang an impromptu song as I delivered the warmed-up bags. It’s to the tune of “We Got a Dollar” from The Little Rascals. “I got a corn bag, I got a corn bag, I got a corn bag with zebra stripes (or princess crowns, or sock monkeys)! I got a corn bag, a warm corn bag, a warm corn bag with zebra stripes!” If my husband or older kids try to sing the song and deliver the corn bags, they protest loudly. I’m stuck for life.
So what about you? Leave your confessions in the comments!