Time for Tuesday's True Confession, and I'm having trouble choosing what to confess.
I could confess that this beautiful baby
is starting kindergarten in two days, and I am feeling a bit achy inside.
I could confess that I'm having serious hair issues that make me feel ugly.
I could confess someone - a person that I don't even know - did something that made me doubt myself today and that made me angry.
But instead of all that serious baggage, I'm going to confess this:
I don't make my bed . . . AND . . . I don't make my five year old make her bed either. I know . . . shocking, isn't it? I just tucked her into bed for the night. The covers were all bunched up at the bottom of the bed, and it didn't bother me one bit!
When I was growing up, my mom used to force me to make my bed every morning. This chore totally confused me, and I had very logical little-kid reasons for why it was silly to make my bed:
1) I'm just going to get back in it when it was time for bed again.
2) Making a bed wasted valuable time I could have used for a variety of other things.
3) . . .
Okay, I only had two reasons, but I was six so give me a break.
I also said things like, "I will never force my kids to make their beds."
There's something you should know about me . . . when I say I am or I am not going to do something, I pretty much stick to that just to prove a point. I'm stubborn . . . but that's for a different confession.
I'm now thirty-three, and I feel the exact same way about making beds as I did when I was six. I don't do it, and I don't make my kids do it. And I probably never will. There I said it!
What about you? Are you a bed-maker or a bed-leaver?
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