• The ladies of my small group had a girls night last night, and I didn’t get home until… wait for it… 11:30pm. I’m going to lose some major cool points when I admit that I honestly don’t remember the last time I was out that late. Truth be told, I’m usually passed out on the couch long before that and awake a few hours thereafter. Ahh, motherhood. Needless to say, I felt as though I was really living on the edge last night.
  • This week was N.U.T.S. at work. On Thursday, I was powering through a packed schedule while precepting my grad student when I got The Dreaded Call. “Mrs. Allison, this is so-and-so from your kids’ daycare, and we just wanted you to know that Mary Grace has a temp of 100.4. She’ll need to be picked up if it reaches 101.” My first response? “Umm, you’re not going to keep monitoring that are you?” (Translated: “I know she has a cold, and her temp could very well reach 101. But she’s really fine! I promise! Will you please stop being a good caregiver and quit checking her temp?) I know, I know. I might win the Worst Mom of the Year award for this, but I knew she would be fine there with a low-grade fever for another two hours. I prayed that it wouldn’t reach 101…. and by the time I picked her up, it was 100.8 and she was as happy as a (slightly warm) clam.
  • I got legitimately angry with Matt yesterday because he refused to to reveal to me what he will be giving me for Christmas. I hate surprises. Hatehatehate. I was the kid who would search the attic for my Christmas presents, peel the tape, and stealthily unwrap and rewrap each gift weeks prior to Santa’s descent down the chimney. This went on my entire childhood (sorry, mom and dad), but Matt continues to outsmart (and annoy) me year after year with how tight lipped and proficient at hiding he is.
  • Robbers beware. I have been sleeping with a wooden, blunt Dominican machete by my bed at night. This just so happens to be the gift that Matt recently brought home from the Dominican Republic for Carson, but I have adopted it as my own as a form of self-protection. Ha. Without having a big dog at home anymore, I have become increasingly afraid of the Boogeyman when Matt’s away, so I have convinced myself that this child’s toy would provide peace of mind. And, pitifully, it has. But when Matt caught wind of the faux machete lodged between my nightstand and bed frame, he was (okay, maybe understandably) amused.

1 Comment on confessions

  1. catherine. say it isn't so. you, the perfect child, unwrapped your gifts? whatever. you sure faked the thrill and surprise really, really well. and the machete thing. obviously you need some more girlfriend nights out. motherhood does make a girl deranged sometimes.

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