confessions

I could eat chips and salsa for every meal, with every meal, and after every meal. I could probably bathe in salsa, if it really came down to it. In fact, I am eating chips and salsa as we speak. 

This is what blogging looks like to me. Baby monitor, caffeine, and who needs a bowl for chips? Not this girl. 

I bought a tripod, so I could be a real blogger and take awkward photos of myself without subjecting my husband to the horror of being my photographer. It makes me feel like a big fat phony. I am not fashionable, and I can't see why anyone would want to copy my style, but it's what we bloggers do. Jeans, t-shirt, flats. Done.

Awkward outfit photo. 

I make at least one parenting decision every day that I swore to myself I would never do. For instance, while in the grocery store or some other public forum, if D makes the slightest little peep, I shove that binky in his mouth faster than you can say bribery. I swore I would not bribe my child with a pacifier, but hey. Anything that keeps him quiet long enough for me to get to the car is a-ok by me. 

Whst the heck, mom? You've failed as a parent.

I enjoy the company of my dog more than that of 99.9% of the human population. The fact that he has a serious slobber problem and insists on drinking water out of the faucet is irrelevant. If you can't handle dog hair, slobber, and getting jumped up on, then we can't be friends.

He's a champion.

I am an extremely low maintenance chick. Just ask my husband. I like understated jewelry (no huge diamonds here, thanks), I think flowers are a waste of money, and when I say don't get me anything for Valentine's Day, I truly mean it. All I need in a relationship is for you to spend time with me, make me laugh, and pay our bills, cause if that's my job, we're gonna be broke.

In my heart, I am a gypsy. A year in one place, two years in another, and then the open road is calling my name. I'm a serial mover. I'm trying to reform, because I really want to raise my kids in one town, where they know everyone and everyone knows them, and they have the same friends from kindergarten to high school. My parents are moving to Montana in a few months, so obviously, there's a little voice in my head going, "Montana could be cool...." But NO! I will stand firm. I hope.

I cut about 2 feet of hair off a couple of weeks before I went into labor, and I have regretted it every. single. day. For one thing, no one should ever make permanent hair decisions at 9 months pregnant and 30 pounds heavier than usual. For another, short hair is not easier to maintain, or faster to style. At least not for me. I spend just as much time trying to get this stupid hair straight now as I did when it was super long. And so, the growing-out process begins again.

 

WHAT was I thinking?!?

Nothing makes me feel more like a rockstar than the fact that when I sing, D stops crying and looks at me like I'm the best thing since sliced bread. Even though it's probably not that great, he loves it, and it makes me feel like Adele :)

My feet are always cold, but I hate wearing socks. I think I own maybe 2 pairs.

I don't understand Twitter. I just don't grasp the concept. I try, but it just seems pointless. Like Instagram, but without cool pictures? Lame sauce.

I like to eat cookies when I feel fat. Makes sense.

And now that you know all my deepest, darkest secrets, we can be best friends.