Not Proud

I am not proud to admit that last week, instead of spending quality time with my children on our "mommy day" Monday, I instead put them in the bath to play so I could read the Stephanie Meyer unpublished draft of Edward's version of Twilight. My 17 year old cousin told me I had to read it. Just HAD to read it. I, of course, LOVED it. And I am 37. Oh, shame.

I am not proud to admit that I have made up a game that allows me to lie in bed and rest while the boys pretend the bed is a spaceship and we are on voyages to seek out the bad guys. The bed spaceship game usually guarantees me at least fifteen minutes of peace. In bed. Under covers. I just have to yell out "I see a bad guy!" ever few minutes or so. If it works, don't question it.

I am not proud to admit that I am horrifically and totally addicted to this season of the Bachelor. I can not stop watching this train wreck of a show where women declare their undying love for a man they met all of two days ago. I have to hide my face because I am often so embarrassed by their antics and the kissing. Oh, the kissing. I am like a shy 13 year old blushing and red faced, watching this man kiss woman after woman, as if they were his harem. I shouldn't watch it. I know I shouldn't. But I can't stop. It's a problem. I need serious help.

I am not proud to admit that I told Brennan and Griffin that the library was closed this past Friday because the very thought of going out into the cold and snow was too much for me to bear. We stayed inside in our pajamas all day long and played Gassy Gus instead. (There is nothing funnier to five year old and three year old boys than a game involving passing gas. Not a thing.)

I am not proud to admit that I made it through an ENTIRE HALF DAY AT WORK with the bottom of my pant leg tucked into my knee high. Yes, I did. Seriously. And not one of the guys I work with thought to mention it to me. I am amazed it took me almost four hours to notice myself. I am a style maven, me. Oh yes, I am.

I am horrified to admit that Aidan has lost at least three points off his math grade because neither Chris nor I can freakin' remember to sign his math homework sheet. I mean, really. What is wrong with us? This is sending my perfection obsessed child into a frenzy. I also threw out his homework by accident last month and had to email the teacher to apologize because Aidan was flipped out that he would drop a grade. I am a liability to my child's academic success. A serious, absent minded liability. It's shameful parenting.

I am not proud to admit that I finally, after hearing about it here, there and everywhere, watched an episode of Jersey Shore. Hey - I was born in Jersey. I can totally relate. (Yes, not so much.) I was, therefore, quite surprised to find out that my newest client is also a cast member on the show. Yes, I am almost like a lawyer to the stars. Almost. Maybe. Sure.