Remember When?

Have you ever spent a half an hour writing a huge post, gotten to the end of your "story," and then decided it wasn't the best idea to post, JUST IN CASE a certain someone might possibly happen upon your blog? I just did. Now logically, chances are probably like one in a million this person would come across my blog and read that post. And it wasn't even anything bad, I promise. But it could easily have been misconstrued, and somehow, with my "good fortune" I wouldn't be shocked if she clicked on a link of a friend's blog that took her to another friend's blog that took her to another friend's blog that took her to her sister's blog and then to her friend's sister's blog, and that blog took her to mine. So just to be safe, that post is now in the garbage. And don't worry, if you're a regular reader, no, it wasn't about you.

So instead I'll leave you with a story that I've been debating about putting on my blog for quite some time. It's something that I don't want to forget, and seeing as this is my only journal for now - shameful, I know - I figure I'd better get it down in writing before it's long gone from my mind.

Miss Priss was around three years old at the time, and was just about the funniest little thing ever. I could have written a book with all the things she'd come up with. I've always been comfortable leaving my room open when I'm showering. I don't mind the girls coming in and out. In fact, it's quite a rare occassion when I have a shower with no one bugging me the entire 10 minutes. But like I said, I don't mind. I'd rather know what's going on than worry the whole time I'm in there that someone is getting hurt or in trouble.

So this one morning I was feeling sick (it was that wonderful time of the month), and after I got out of the shower I felt like I was seriously going to pass out. Miss Priss had wandered into my bedroom to find me lying down on the bathroom floor ... naked. She first asked if I was okay, and I said I wasn't feeling very good, but that I was fine, hoping she would just leave me there. But as she looked at me, she got a strange look on her face and aksed, "Mom? You got a rope in your bum?" I immediately started waving my hands to shoo her away and told her to leave the room. Nice.

A few weeks later I was on the couch in the middle of the afternoon, just resting. She woke up from her nap and came out to find me. She asked, "Mom? You not feeling good?" I said, "No, I'm fine. I'm just tired so I was resting." She squeezed in next to me and very sympathetically asked, "oh, you got a rope in your bum?"