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I have been spending most of my early mornings sitting on the freezing leather couch with a babe in arms. A babe that is particular about his covers, and refuses to let them touch his arms, requiring me to freeze or contort my body in unseemly ways to get my arms covered. If I could just remember to put a robe on before I pick him up!
While I have been enjoying these early mornings, wishing for sleep, and waiting for the sun to rise with my almost 2 year old, I have pondered the following things (and found myself guilty):

* I really don't care that my children make race car tracks up and down the hall with (unused) toilet paper. Sure, it is wasteful, and when I run out and am in dire need, I am positive my mind will reflect upon their creations. Until then, I will scold them, but really, it's much easier to pick up than legos. And if they shred it? Bonus! I can vacuum it up!

* I have never really learned how to accept disappointments. Like not buying the dishes I wanted from Target 2 years ago, that they obviously no longer carry now that I have money to buy them, or the time I got written up in the 6th grade for mouthing an obscenity at a jerk-kid who just yelled one at me (he didn't get written up and I did and it ruined my perfect record).
And I don't know how to let other people be disappointed either.

* It is shameful how much housework I do not do. Please do not look at my bathroom or behind the couch. My kids know they aren't allowed to eat in the living room. I know that my kids aren't allowed to eat in the living room, but alas! I still find candy wrappers and occasionally a juice box behind the couch, in their own personal land fill. I think I always get the point in my pregnancy when I realistically cannot keep up with all of the shenanigans around me, and not be more exhausted than I am now. It does seem that it would be easier take a torch to the bathroom than clean it.

* I make lots of excuses. I realized this as I was giving my mom a list of bogus reasons that I do not regularly take my vitamins. This was called the "Dear Liza" syndrome when I was a teenager. My sister would always start singing "There's a hole in my bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza..." when I wouldn't accept anyone's solution to my problem, or their suggestions of what to wear.

* I have a lot more gray hair than I thought, and I hate coloring it. I find it to be an evil trap. And every time I begin the viscous cycle, I end up with black hair. Unflattering, unbelievably black hair. Maybe I will stick with highlights.

* I like reading sad books. Edith Wharton really didn't write any heart warmers. And apparently I like to cry. Collin still states that I have a heart of stone, and is sure my tears are residue of hormones gone wild.

* I currently see that my child is potentially making a huge mess, doing the dishes and all, however, I don't really care. It's more energy efficient to clean the mess up when he is done. However, he is taking some of the dishes in to the living room, and that is where I draw the line!