Sunday Night Confessions

I own yoga pants.  In fact, I am wearing said yoga pants right now.  They are black and forgiving and mask cellulite in the most appropriate manner (because they’re from the Gap, and not from, ahem, the other place).  Have I ever attended a yoga class? No.  Ever attempted a yoga video in the privacy of my own home? Never.  Can I name a yoga position, other than downward dog? Not on your life.  I am a yoga fraud, albeit, a comfortable one.  Why is an athletic pair of pants so perfectly suited to lounging on the couch with a pint of Steve’s Bourbon Pecan Pie Ice Cream ? Why? I’m afraid it’s just a simple case of mistaken identity.  The poor things have been marketed to be something they’re not.   I’m just redeeming their true nature. You have to stand for something.

I have been watching Hart of Dixie on Netflix.  It may be the most poorly crafted, terribly casted show on television.   And yet, when El’s in bed and all is quiet save the scamper of the little mouse I’ve been trying to kill with my shoe, and traps and rat poison, I find it mysteriously playing itself on the ipad.  There’s something soothing about fake southern accents, poor lighting and mediocre talent.

I have been watching my daughter all week with this strange mixture of empathy, awe, terror and emotion.  She is a big girl.  She is a challenge.  She is insane.  She is brilliant.  She is exhausting.  She is inspiring.  We had to graduate to a larger sock size and I may or may not have cried.  She’s not a baby anymore.  I want another one.  What?!?!??!?!?! Change of subject.

My heart’s pretty swollen with love for our friends and family this week who told us how it was, who came over and poured out wine and budgets and spreadsheets to help us get our shit together.  Who cooked fantastic meals and asked difficult questions and babysat without question.  Who ordered pizza, jumped on couches with our kid, who sang How Great Thou Art and reminded us of our history and our future and the greatness of our God who encompasses both.

I am thankful to be just where I am tonight.  Fraudulent yoga pants wearer that I am.

 

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