The One with the Confession(s)

Tonight's the night.

The BIG night.

Well, it's big for us anyway.

Tonight is the 2nd Annual Pastors' Christmas Open House.

At our place.

Hosted by Pastor & his family and Kevin & I.

It's a ton of fun.

And little work too.

But totally worth it.

I just have to stop eating all the cookies.

This is not the end of the world for cookies, Mel.

You don't have to eat them all before they become extinct.

Seriously.

(And now, just updated at 9:55pm Monday night more than 12 hours after it's original posting is the confessional-turned-not-me-Sunday-Monday. Just believe me when I say every account that follows certainly has nothing to do with moi. Bon Appetite, MckMama.)

The week of preparing for this party brought many interesting happenings.

And by "interesting" I mean "epic Mel failures."

Yes, I am a bit hard on myself.

But still.

So far I have:

Lost my diamond earring.

(It can't be gone forever can it be?)

Lost my lipstick.

Found my lipstick.

Lost the lid to my lipstick.

Undercooked a tray of cookies.

Burnt that same tray of cookies after trying to finish baking them.

Completely completely failed at peanut brittle.

Washed off the peanuts from the peanut brittle catastrophe.

(Plan on using those recycled peanuts in "Peanut Brittle: Take Two" soon.)

Spilled granulated sugar all over the place.

Snapped at my husband within 2 seconds of arriving home after 3 days away.

Burnt a bag of microwave popcorn.

MICROWAVE popcorn, people!

yeah.

All that and I'm pretty sure I'm forgetting some things.

Oh yes.

The time I failed to hold my temper in check.

Completely.

I blew it.

Actually, I blew up.

But let's not argue semantics.

It all started like this.

We were going to wake up early Saturday morning.

To go running.

Or so I thought.

(Assumed, really.)

But we decided to sleep in.

It was glorious.

I love morning snuggles.

(And no that's not code for anything.)

I got up to use the restroom at 8 and noticed the light streaming in the windows.

It looked different.

It was "snow light."

Our first SNOW!

We jumped up and enjoyed the sight.

Once we were out of bed I assumed we would get ready for a late morning run.

Since, after all, he had said he would run on the weekends.

I assumed that meant every day that is not a week day.

I was wrong.

I had been asking him if he was going to go running with me Saturday morning since Friday night.

He never responded so I assumed he was still arguing with himself and trying to decide whether or not he should/wanted to go.

Apparently that was him trying to tell me "no" without throwing me into the tizzy that audibly saying "no" has done to me in the past.

Three (yes THREE) hours later we were still arguing.

I was heated.

Very heated.

Angry.

It was quite terrible on my part.

I have been known (by only those "privileged" to be closest to me) to have a temper.

And boy I haven't let it roar in a long while.

I'm sorry, darling.

It was totally inappropriate.

Uncalled for.

I left the house at noon after showering and having been too angry to focus on a workout.

(That just made me MORE angry.)

I went to run the bazillion errands I had on my list.

I came back 3 hours later.

I was still ticked.

But I couldn't remember why.

So I chose to get over it.

We hugged.

All was well.

The worst part is, the point of the fight wasn't even that "good."

There really was no point.

At least not that a calm, ten minute conversation couldn't have handled.

Geez, Mel.

PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER, WOMAN!

It's after moments (or hours) like this that make me truly wonder at my husband's love for me.

That love is utterly unconditional.

He lives out Jesus to me.