I Am The Chief, So Everybody Hail Like Crazy

We enjoyed a glorious visit from Nina and Pa this weekend. Things got a little crazy, as they are wont to do when Nina's around.

My playgroup met yesterday at the playground of a local Catholic church, and on my way I noticed a sign listing times to go for confession. I've been thinking about it ever since. To me going to confession sounds like something only done in movies or books, but people go in real life. Apparently.

I'm going to have to chat with my Catholic friends since, for the life of me, I can't figure out what it's supposed to accomplish (unless I'd, say, previously thrown a stink bomb into the little box with the priest in it, then I admit it would be quite appropriate for me to be in attendance). But until I can locate Brooke and Dave's e-mail address, I thought I'd try out some confession here to see if it enlightens me. This is just an experiment and thus I declare that none of this information can be used against me in any form or fashion.

1. I hate women's retreats. There, I've said it. Whew! You know, I DO feel better.

I'm basing this vast judgement of all women's retreats everywhere on my personal experience of having attended, hmmmm, maybe 2 retreats in my whole life, and those many years ago. And if you're reading this and you actually attended one of these conferences with me, please be assured that it wasn't your company that sent me to the dark side. It's the toxic levels of estrogen in the air.

Cutesy gift baskets in the hotel rooms are nice. Bow-bedecked tables laden with books like "Quieting the Demons in My Ovaries" and "Pray Away Your Cellulite" I can deal with. The manicured snipers positioned and ready to take you out if they sense you might not cry while listening to the speaker ... that's when I run away. Maybe you could get a pass if you teared up during the music. I don't know. But I think for it to be considered a truly successful event, clumps of women clutching mascara-laden tissues have to hug each other all the way to the parking lot, promise to hold each other accountable, then make plans to stop by the outlet mall on their way home to shop for Capri pants.

I don't think I'm manly ... am I? I mean, I can chat it up about childbirth and crock pot recipes with the best of them. I love Jane Austin and perfumed lotion and am currently crocheting a baby blanket. The whole thing might benefit from a couple of dudes on the panel - that's all I'm sayin'.

2. I once fixed a cup of tea for Phil and used breast milk instead of cream to see if he'd notice. He didn't.

Nina was determined Elsbeth had to have a turn on a slide. She loved it.

3. For a time while I was in high school, I kept a framed picture of Jonathon Brandis (torn from a magazine) on my desk. I know, your first thought is, "Hey, I did that, too! In THIRD GRADE." Yes, you see, that's why this is a confession and not just a bit of random information about me. Your second thought, "Who the heck is Jonathon Brandis?" I thought he was cute, so sue me. And it wasn't like I was dating a whole lot through high school (and by "a whole lot" I mean "ever"), so the day dreams had to suffice. Aren't y'all glad Phil took pity on me?

Els forgiving Nina for the whole slide incident.

4. I have named my baby fat tummy flap "Kat Von D" after the tattoo artist on the show "LA Ink." I have this compulsion to name everything, I think Kat Von D is a super cool name, and it's nice to imagine the fat flap is something separate from myself. I think Phil is a little disturbed by how often conversation includes her, as in, "Kat Von D is starving and really needs a big bowl of ice cream" or "Kat Von D hates those pants 'cause they pinch her face." He asked the other day how long Kat Von D would be staying with us. I think she was a little hurt.

5. Yesterday I poured myself a glass of milk, then a while later when I went to pour some for Andrew, I couldn't find the carton. This morning I discovered it neatly tucked away inside one of my kitchen cabinets. I'm pretty sure this is the kind of thing people find themselves doing just before they're diagnosed with a bad case of dementia.

6. I currently have a mild-to-moderate crush on Zac Efron. This means that though I do not have a photo of him framed anywhere in the house, I would most certainly make a gigantic fool of myself if I happened upon him in real life. Phil had made big fun of me and cruelly intimated that I could be his mother (which I couldn't ... I don't think), and really I don't think he can talk since he has had a mild-to-moderate crush on Katie Couric for years, and she could totally be his mother.

Cozy with her Pa

7. I once accidentally took a naked picture of Phil and didn't realize it until after I had it developed. It was during our first year of marriage and I was trying to take some daily life photos of us around our first apartment. There was a strategically placed mirror that I hadn't considered .... This was pre-digital, so I actually had to go to CVS and drop the film off, and when I went to pick it up, I was assisted by a girl who had recently begun attending our college group at church. She was very chatty (and smiley) when handing over my pictures and made sure to mention details about several of them as she had done the developing herself. It was quite a moment for me, standing it the kitchen alone sifting through my cute newlywed snapshots when I saw it. I clung to the hope that it wasn't too obvious, that perhaps no one but me would have ever noticed, so I left it out on the counter. My hopes were dashed when Phil got in from class, picked up the print, and said with a horror-tinged voice, "You took a naked picture of me?!"

That's all I've got for now. How cleansing! Gotta go now - Kat Von D has requested some peach cobbler before she hits the sack.