Confession #1

I love this picture. B.B. Loves to flop down on the deck on his belly to watch the ducks. The prone position (as my brother-in-law calls it) is perfect for toddlers near water. He's less likely to tip over and drop in!

I'm going to confess something now, but if ever confronted with it outside of this blog I may be forced to lie and deny I ever said any such thing. Since it's against my principals to lie, so let's not discuss it further. Here goes: I talk to myself. Now if you know me in the "real" world, you can stop laughing now. I know... I talk constantly... Incessantly... Loudly. It's a nervous habit. Can't help it. But I also talk when there's no one around (at least I hope there's no one around!). I talk aloud on occasion, but mostly there's just a running monologue in my head.

Once upon a time it was to my own private Jane Pauley (that tells you how long this has been going on). I was constantly in a state of interview. Then along came the reality TV movement and a whole new audience opened up to me. Now I could talk to the nation! Just think MTV's Cribs, TLC's A Baby Story, heck, any show with a "confessional."

Now I talk to you. I blog in my mind all day long. You're just fortunate you don't have a live feed. You'd never get anything done. I'd never get anything done. They could use me to torture prisoners of war!

Now just to be clear, I don't think that what I have to say is all that profound. I just feel the need to say it. Somehow the things I think about all day never seem to find their way here. I've even taken a few notes for ideas to post. They've been on my dry-erase board all week. Instead I sit down and just spill out whatever needs to come out at the time. Today, this is it!

Now, my secret is out and I'm trusting you to keep it. And not laugh too loudly. And admit I'm not the only one out here that does this. At least I hope I'm not the only one. I may need to find a good counselor.

Just to distract you from everything I just wrote, here's an update from the farm. Wednesday night I was very ill. I had a "bad, bad fever" and "something interesting going on" in my ears. At least that's what my "doctors" said. Dr. #1 Son and Dr.Baby Girl opened their practice in their bed rooms that night. I was the only patient (B.B. was unwilling) and after that prognosis I was overly medicated. I think they gave me 10-15 doses of "pink medicine" in assorted kitchen toys. My favorite being the little blue wine glasses.

That same night I was cleaning something and #1 Son was in the livingroom screaming at me like someone was ripping his arm off. I could see him and knew nothing was really wrong and told him I'd be there in a minute. He continued screaming, "MOMMY! MOMMY! MOMMY!" until I lost what little cool I had left and screamed back, "WHAT?!?!" "Me love you."

I'm waiting for pictures of a Great Dane puppy to be e-mailed. We may go look at him this weekend. I'm not sure we'll get him, but before the year is out I think we'll have another Dane. I'll keep you posted.

Oh, and my mother has forbid me to tell the story about my cousin, my uncle, and squirrel hunting. Sorry, it's a good one. Isn't that hateful?