Confessions

I'm pretty sure my husband doesn't read this blog, so I'll take a chance here.

Also, it's Sunday - I'm not Catholic or anything  - but any Christian worth their salt will admit that we need confessionals in every denomination. Especially the Baptist ones. Just sayin'

Back to the confessions:

I have, on more than one occasion, let my son stay in that dirty diaper just an extra 3 or 4 minutes until dad could get home. At which point I tell the little stinker to go give daddy a big hug, and then feign surprise and horror that he has produced yet another doody. It usually goes along the lines of "What?! He's stinky? He must have JUST done it!"
What can I say? It's lame, and it works, so there you go.

Here's another one. Yesterday in the car my aforementioned son called his sister a butt munch. Butt. Munch. COMPLETELY inappropriate, I know. And yes, I bit back the smile and told him that we don't say such things. To which he replied, "Daddy taught me".  All of which I should have been perturbed about, except that his comedic timing was impeccable, so I went ahead and felt a little proud of him.

One more thing and then I have to go to church before the guilt swallows me whole:

I really do know how to plug the dvr into the t.v., work the remote, clean up the dog poo and wait for it...change a tire.
I just don't want to, ok? And as long as the husband is buying that I'm too pitiful and dainty (choke) to do any of the above, what am I going to do, ruin it for him?

Negative.

So...about 4 Hail Mary's and I'm good, right?