I've been thinking about confessions--how Catholics, to my understanding, are supposed to confess individual sins to a priest, who them absolves them; how Protestants confess their sins directly to God (usually as just one big block o'sin, to save both time and guilt).....you get the idea. Being a nice BaptiPresbyMethodist girl (raised Baptist, baptized Presbyterian, now attending a United Methodist Church) I figured it would do me good to do a little confessing. And lucky, lucky you--you have a front row seat.
HALEY'S LONG OVERDUE CONFESSION FOR APPROXIMATELY THE PAST TWO DAYS:
Forgive me, Father (Cosmos, Fates, Allah, Karmic Ruler, etc.) for I have sinned. First of all, I stole a US Weekly from the YMCA yesterday. Now, I would like to say it was an accident, O Lord. But it wasn't. It really wasn't. I was tired and sweaty and needed to get the kids from the childcare area and the pull of learning how Julianne Hough consumes no carbs but orange juice was just too great for me to withstand so I TOOK IT. I just took it and walked out. WHY MUST THEY ADVERTISE SUCH ENTICING THINGS ON THE FRONT, DEAR LORD???? WHY?? If they had put Nancy Pelosi on the cover instead of the Dancing With the Stars chicks I would have never been tempted. But, no. It HAD to be pseudo celebrities, which will get you every time.
Also, Saturday night when I was stuck alone with the kids all night while Blaker went to the March Madness Extravaganza, I didn't just have those two glasses of Chardonnay I had allotted myself. You know my children, Dear Lord, and I really don't feel as though you can really fault me on this one. They were fighting over whether or not Sutton smelled like a cookie (he said no, she said yes) for over an HOUR. AN HOUR, LORD! A fight which culminated in them rolling around the floor whacking each other screaming, "No sisser, I DO NOT smell like a cookie! I smell like a big boy!" (Sutton) and "Yes, you do, Little Man! You smell like a big, stinky, chocolate chip cookie!" (Bellamy). Which is what led to those two glasses becoming four (oh, let's be truthful, five) and a Cosmopolitan. I was still drunk when I woke up at 4am to use the bathroom. But, once again, I don't really feel that you can take issue with this one.
Let's see....what else? Oh, yeah. While grocery shopping at Wal-Mart yesterday I harbored serious thoughts of violence and ill will. Wal-Mart on Sunday--I shouldn't have to elaborate.
Last night I blackmailed my little brother to call me. He's been avoiding my phone calls for a while now because he gets tired of listening to me bitch or be sad (re: Mom, Dad) so despite over two weeks worth of phone messages and emails, I had heard nary a word. I had to resort to pulling out the big guns, Sweet Lord. I told his wife if he didn't call me I was drinking the nice bottle of wine I had bought and put aside for his upcoming birthday. And I would have, too. You know I'm half a millimeter from being an alcoholic, Lord, and you also know it's because I'm trapped with two small children and approximately seven loads of laundry a day. I don't think you condemn me for that. My liver, perhaps, but not me, myself. But it worked. Oh, yes, how it worked. The thought of losing an excellent Merlot was more than enough incentive for him to begrudgingly call me and, correct me if I'm wrong, he freakin' enjoyed it. I'm fun to talk to.
That may be all....wait, nope. Please forgive me for secretly laughing so hard that I lose my breath every time I start praying for the paranoid man and his dwarf protector from the prayer list. I know it's wrong. But, dude. REALLY.
Oh. Please forgive me for just calling you, "Dude."
I'll try to be better in the future, if you can just cut me a little slack for now.