Monday Morning Dirty Secret Spill—Um, Wednesday Edition.

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Yep, it’s Wednesday, and I’m still calling this my Monday morning dirty secret spill.

For one, it still kind of feels like Monday since this week has flown by and, for another, it’s my website so I can do that if I want to.

Okay, are you ready? Because here…we…go!

I love rinsing my sinuses out with saline water.

I’m ecstatic that it’s snowed two days in a row and that it’s cold again (and I’m not kidding in the slightest).

I don’t like Instagram pictures of food—but I’m guilty of putting a few up myself.


(That’s (stellar) whole wheat pizza dough made from scratch and homemade sauce and, no, I’m not ashamed.)

I don’t like Instagram pictures of yoga postures, but—you guessed it—I’ve put up some of my own.

Oh, and while I’m not even at 100 Instagram followers yet, I’m doing better than my previous tally of 8.

I like the word tally.

And sandbar.

And I strongly dislike the word lunch (even though I adore lunch itself).

I like the word Legos, though, and I’m still digging playing with them. Actually, I got my husband a set for his Valentine’s Day gift. (That gorgeous creation above is his and that teensy hand is my daughter’s, who’s impatiently wanting to play with it.)

I’m still watching Glee and—although the Glee club is called “New Directions” (please say this over and over again until you get it) and despite my husband insisting that it’s making him dumber—I’m still having fun watching.

I haven’t seen Downton Abbey since my previous announcement of our break-up (but I’m not saying that I’ll never watch it again either).

Because I don’t believe in saying never.

Also, I don’t understand writers who think their writing stinks or who fish for compliments. If you stink—or if you think you stink—why are you writing? There’s nothing wrong with owning your strengths. We are so afraid of being perceived as arrogant that we sometimes can’t even embrace our confidence. Let’s reclaim confidence.

Okay, off my soapbox now.

Speaking of soap, I loathe laundry and mine tends to pile up because I wait and do it all in one day in a few large loads. I tell my husband (and myself) that it’s because I have a small child and the laundry room is downstairs and that if, someday, we have a washing machine up near the kitchen (where they should be), that the laundry will always be done. However, this doesn’t completely take into account that the part about laundry I dislike is the folding.

I know how to fold a fitted sheet…wait for it…two different ways! (But I still bundle it up in a kind-of-neat ball and put it in the linen closet.)

My daughter is snoring next to me. She’s only napping because she’s home sick. While I don’t want her to feel unwell, her little body sleeping soundly next to my furiously typing one is like a tiny piece of heaven that I’ll keep stored away in my heart forever.

I’m using Mr. Brown Can Moo! Can You? as a mousepad, and I’m leaning forward at an awkward, uncomfortable angle to reach the mouse because the book is wedged between my slumbering child’s leg and my own.

I refuse to use my laptop’s lame attempt at a “mouse”—and I insist on using a real one instead.


Finally, I hope my little girl sleeps for awhile, because, frankly, I need the break.

Over and out.


Photos: Author’s own.

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