X3. Here we go.
I brag that I made wholewheat blueberry pancakes this morning and rocked some kiddie world. I really am the best mama, ever.
I brag that a searingly hot Seattle dude called me last night, all hot n’ bothered and wanting a piece of sweet Kelly-pie, and I said, “I’m not doing this with you. I don’t want to be the chick you call when you’re horny.” And it was no sacrifice because I’m firm about honouring my authentic self – and she’s a hot bitch who wants love or nothing.
I brag that next Sunday’s Sunday School for Sentences is going to be fucking fantastic.
I am grateful that yesterday, while I was pumping gas, Sophie rolled down the window and said, “Mommy, we just wanted to tell you something…We love you”.
I am grateful that I am unrelentingly loved by Julie Roads and Dave Doolin.
I am grateful that I found the right apartment for my family, and that our new living arrangement means I will be able to save money to take us to Africa next summer.
I desire that my Church boy goes away, sorts out his religious commitments, and finds a way to stand stronger and firmer in them. And while he’s doing that, I desire that he is unable to forget me. A little torment is good for the soul.
I desire the ben-wa’s to start writing query letters to national magazines. Because, dammit, I should be writing for them.
I desire sexy, juicy, love-every-day, committed-with-babies marriage. (To commence in the next 15 months.)
Now you. Three of each, in the comments, right now. xoxoxo.
PS title of this piece inspired by “All the Anxious Girls on Earth” by Zsuzsi Gartner