For the most part, I make pretty good decisions. I’m in my 30’s, own a home and a business, and am raising four kids. That resume pretty much lends itself to needing to make mature, wise decisions. It’s important that I play my role in ensuring my kids have a mother…and while I know I am not at all in control of that, gone (for now) are my days of sky diving, sleeping til noon, and saying yes to pretty much any questionable (yet legal-ish) idea someone proposes.
Well, that’s not entirely true. A few weeks ago, my BFF and I found ourselves in a couples massage together (don’t ask) in a place that was so seedy that I actually prayed we would make it safely home to our children that night. Because it was questionable. I really can’t go into details for two reasons:
1. There is no possible way for me to adequately describe it.
2. I die laughing every time I think about it. Should I attempt to recount the event, I would not be able to finish writing this.
It’s only funny because we are, indeed, alive.
I am not kidding. Part way during the massage, when the therapist ANSWERED HER PHONE for the THIRD time, all I could think of was, “I cannot go down like this. There is no way to positively spin being murdered in
This is a overly dramatic way to tell you that I made an equally questionable decision yesterday.
I took my four children to Hobby Lobby.
As in the place with the most breakable items per square foot of any store in America.
All because I wanted coloring pencils for the adult coloring book I just bought.
I can’t even write those words without judging myself. I know they’re all the rage, but I’m sorry. I still cannot not judge myself.
I had a near death experience earlier this month, and now I am coloring. Typically, when people cheat death, they take up a cause, vow to always say “I love you”, and “embrace every moment.”
I take my kids to Hobby Lobby to buy coloring pencils for my coloring book.
Death in a
brothel spa may have been a more dignified way to go.
When I started writing this, I actually meant to tell you about a sweet woman in Hobby Lobby. I meant to write a cute little blog about how much kindness matters. One of my children (who shall remain nameless but is spoiled and inadequately parented due to his position in the family) was running around the store screaming and laughing. And this lady sweetly said, “Oh that sound brings me so much joy. My children are older now, and I miss those giggles.”
That was the sweet story I meant to tell. Because her kind words changed my day.
But, no, instead I am basically telling you all of the reasons I am actually not qualified to raise my four children, as previously stated.
You guys, I’ve been traveling with my kids for a week to visit my parents. They’ve watched approximately 8,592 hours of TV. And I’ve eaten as many calories (per meal). I think the trans fats I’ve consumed are clouding my judgement. That part of your brain that says “maybe don’t write this stuff for the internet to read” is too busy digesting donuts and can’t be bothered with tact.
(I think you can agree consuming these donuts was worth whatever repercussions I may face.)
I apologize that I’ve wasted minutes of your day with this blog post, but while we are on the subject of questionable life choices…why not confess yours?!?!
Because the only way I can recover from my (self-inflicted) humiliation is to know you are worse than me.