Confession Thursdays

The weather this week has addled my brain just a little bit, so today you get bullet points.

*I confess that this confessional was originally going to be an entry about how my two oldest are polar opposites but really best friends. I was going to artfully tie that to examples of my own childhood, where my little brother and I grew to love and appreciate each other but were completely dissimilar during our formative years. It was brilliant. Then they started arguing, woke the baby, and my brain is oatmeal. So there you go. Maybe someday.

*I confess that Mary's dance recital is this Sunday and while I am excited to see my little girl on stage doing her thing, I have a new appreciation for every play and concert my mother sat through, as this recital promises to be at least two and a half hours long and I will be there for the. entire. thing. Watching four year olds twirl in the wrong direction and wave enthusiastically at the audience is adorable only when it's your four year old.

*I confess that unless there's immediate danger to one or both parties, I refuse to intervene in or break up arguments between siblings anymore. I keep hoping this new policy will mean fewer fights if they know I won't make an executive decision ([Daughter], please stop chewing on [other daughter's] favorite toy), but so far, no luck.

*Five years ago, if you asked me what my ultimate fantasy would be for a weekend all to myself with unlimited funds and opportunities, my answer would involve Caribbean beaches, frozen drinks and possibly cabana boys. Today, that answer would be "Sleep! Precious sleep!" It doesn't have to be on the beach. It doesn't even have to be in a bed. I'd catch zzzs on a RIPTA bus if it meant making up what is turning into an alarming five year sleep deficit.

*I confess that my husband has told me he's sick of having chili as often as I have it on the dinner menu, but I'm holding out until Anna, the human goat, starts refusing. It's just too easy to make.

*I confess that every time my husband gallantly offers to mow the yard in my stead, I refuse, because that is 40 minutes where I am wielding a heavy, dangerous instrument and no one can jump in front of me, or ask for more juice, or yell that their sister is eating bugs. In those 40 minutes, I escape into the fantasy outlined in bullet point four. No, not the first one, the second.

*I confess I just saw Mary slouched by the playroom door and broke my confession in bullet point number three. "What's the matter, Mary?" I asked tiredly. "ANNA IS RUINING MY HAPPINESS!" she wailed. Oh. Well. If that's all.

*I confess that as annoyed as I get with them sometimes during the day, tonight I'll look in on them and they'll be in one bed, piled up like a couple of puppies, and I'll smile and forget why I maybe wanted to put them on the lawn with "FREE" signs hung about their adorable little necks. Right. This is why I'm doing this.