Forgive me, everyone, for I have sinned.
I have given cookies with dinner,
I have given cookies for
dinner.
I have popped bottoms,
I have shouted shitty words,
I have occasionally ignored cries for help both figurative and literal.
I have indolently idolized my iPhone and poured too-hot
gossip into little pitchers’ big ears.
I have snapped thousands of pictures of my cherubs in adorably
embarrassing situations and stored them in the cloud for future humiliation.
And lastly, I have led my children and myself to believe we
are the most amazing, intelligent, important persons on the planet, when deep within,
I know this to be thoroughly unprovable and highly unlikely, and when they discover
the truth, they will begin to descend the timeworn spiral staircase of I Hate My
Mom.
For these and all the sins I can’t remember, because I am always
somewhat sleep deprived, I am sorry. I have forgiven myself, and I cling like a
baby sock to a chenille blankie to the hope that you truly are too young and
loving to remember any of this.