the day the tower fell over

I wrote this a few months ago and it's been sitting in my "Drafts" box ever since.  I was afraid to publish it, not because of embarrassment, but because I didn't want to get - as weird as this might sound - encouraging comments.  I purposely waited until months after the day passed to even think about posting it.  I've always been a very dependent person, and while I do ask for help when I need it, I didn't want this to sound like a desperate plea.  I'd rather it sound like "I have bad days, too."  It's also a little more personal than I sometimes post, and that was another reason I held back.  But the idea of being authentic keeps showing up in what I've been reading and listening to lately, so now's the time.  There are wonderful, wonderful things about my life.  There are also intensely difficult things.  My life is a beautiful mix of both, and my blog's pretty representative of how I really am.  But here's a taste of the harder side of my authentic.

#happyconfession time!

I don't heed most expiration dates.  Last time I made pumpkin waffles, I prayed that our three-year-expired pumpkin wouldn't give us botulism.  (Note: This is NOT true if I'm cooking for someone outside our family.)

The last couple times sour cream went on sale, I thought we were out.  I now have five pounds of sour cream in my fridge.

The day after we watched Space Jam, Little Girl called a black woman in our ward Michael Jordan.  I was equal parts embarrassed and proud.

A couple weeks before I got my hair cut, Little Boy asked if a ponytail was the only way I knew how to do my hair.  The day after I got my hair cut, Little Girl almost started crying because she didn't want the same haircut for herself.  Whatever, Little Kids.  MY HAIR IS AWESOME.  

I really like a lot of music from young boy bands.  One Direction, Five Seconds of Summer, R5, Ross Lynch (ok, he's just one person), MKTO, Before You Exit... They all have some pretty good ones.  

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“I know that evil hides here, but I cannot be the one to uncover it.  Neither can any of you.  Time will do that for us.  And how I fear that day, for I know that when I look into my betrayer’s face, I will see someone I thought I knew.  And I will still love them.”

Icefall

#happyconfession

I don't know what to do!  I'm so conflicted!

I dislike hashtags outside of Twitter, as a general rule.  But after my non-depressing confessions post, I've had people use the tag!  So doesn't that mean I should use it, too?  Part of me wants to.  The other part wants to say no forever, on principle.

I'll probably use it.

But what about on Facebook, where I especially don't want to use them??

I don't have a Twitter account, so Facebook and here are the only place I'd ever use it.



These are the kinds of inner conflicts I have on a daily basis.

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The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years.  All was well.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

confessional

I was looking at a blog the other night.  On the right sidebar, there was a little "about the blogger" box.  I started reading it and then thought, "No way could all this be about one person.  And why would she include that in her 'about me'?"  Scrolled to the top of the box, and it was labeled "The Confessional."

Ahh.  People can write in their secrets.

I was intrigued, so I started reading... for about 30 seconds.

YOU GUYS.  As I closed out the tab, my mind was full of the thought, "Man, everyone in the world is living a really crappy life."  The fact that my mind chose the word "crappy" is how you know how intense I was feeling - I never use that word.

My mind stayed that way for a full minute before I thought, "HELLO.  Not everyone has a crappy life, obviously.  You don't.  It's just that the people with happy confessionals aren't confessing them here.  This confessional is full of people who have created crazy problems with their own bad choices."

So, please.  I'm opening this up to the whole world.  Let's show the world that there are happy  (or at least non-depressing) confessions, too!  What are some of yours?

I felt like denying Cocoa Pebbles to my daughter at breakfast time yesterday because there was only enough for one more person and I wanted them.  But I was the bigger person and let her have them.

I don't care for Alex Boyé or Lindsey Stirling.  I feel like, as a Mormon, I'm supposed to love them?  but I don't really.

I have a week overdue library book sitting on my computer desk.  I think I just don't want to give it back?  I should buy a copy.  (It's called Savvy, for those of you looking for a good one.)

When I'm sick or my husband's out of town, I sleep with the teddy bear I received as a baby.  When I'm feeling particularly crummy, I wind up the lullaby in its back.

I have - in the past - gone months without cleaning the master bathroom.  My justification is that only two people use it, and then only once each in the morning/evening.

I have way too many under-my-jaw hairs.  Did my hormones get a jump when I turned 25 or does plucking make more grow?  [I know the answer.]

My toenail polish is usually all worn off except on the big toes.

My brain releases a TON of endorphins when I'm buying organizational boxes / drawers and first using them.

My favorite part of sending my missionary sister letters is including "Psych" quotes at the end.

I usually think I'm right.  I HATE when people try to convince me out of my obviously correct opinions.

I can't get an eyelash curler to work right.

but I rock at liquid eyeliner.  Except then it's itchy and I usually end up rubbing it off by accident.

I hate 80% of my husband's taste in music.

I'm [not purposely] really bad at borrowing stuff.  As in, if you're missing anything, maybe you loaned it to me two years ago.

I judge your grammar.

I hate hashtags, but I thought about suggesting #happyconfession if you chose to post something like this on social media.  You have no idea how embarrassed I am to admit that.  Plus, they're not all happy, so is #happyconfession really the best?  But #non-depressingconfession is so long.  #ndc?  But it's not self-explanatory.  This is why I'm embarrassed, people.

I don't take off my makeup at night.  I know, I know, my eyelashes hate me for it.

I'm more obsessed with Harry Potter and High School Musical than you even know.

Also, Oprah.

Was that too many?

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And Percy was shaking his brother, and Ron was kneeling beside them, and Fred’s eyes stared without seeing,

the ghost of his last laugh still etched upon his face.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows