Confession Thursday: It’s Back

July 17, 2008

Were any of you around long ago, when back in the first few months of my blog I started something I called Confession Thursday?  It was my chance to be brutally honest about myself, a quality I quickly became known for.  It didn’t take long for every day to look like a Confession Thursday, so I quit doing it.

I’ve decided to resurrect it today, quite possibly only for today, as a way to lighten the mood here.  Counterintuitive?  Probably.  But that’s what makes it work.

So in no particular order, here are the silly things I’m typically too embarrassed to admit to anyone:

–I watch too much TV, although not nearly as much now as I used to.

–I don’t cook.  I wish I was any good at it, or even that I liked it, but it’s not happening.  An impressive meal from me is one that requires the oven at all, even if it came out of a box.

–In the evenings, M and I spend quality time together over a computer game.  Oh, but that’s not all; it gets way nerdier.  The game is World of Warcraft, quite possibly one of the nerdiest games of all.  And I love every second of it.

–I didn’t skip classes much at all in college.  If I did, I had a good reason to do so.  In fact, I actually enjoyed chapel, the most skipped part of the day for the majority of the campus.  Sometimes I still miss that part of college.

–Even through my single days I sometimes slept with the blankie I had as a comfort object as a child.  I still have the blanket (what’s left of it), but it sits high on a closet shelf where nobody will discover it.

–I’ve got whiskers, chin hairs, whatever you want to call them.  They’ve gotten much worse since popping kids out, and I now have to pluck nearly every day.  I’m going to be one of those old women, whose grandkids don’t want to kiss her because her whiskers tickle their cheeks.

–I have at least one book on my shelf simply because I feel like any good English teacher (even former English teacher) should have a copy for appearance’s sake, even though I’ve never read all the way through it and don’t intend to.

–I hate veggies.  Every so often I choke down a few to be a good example for my kids (or to let my mother think I eat them because she watches me do so), but my diet and that of my whole family is generally greatly lacking in veggies.  Lettuce and tomato on a hamburger don’t count, do they?  Or tomato sauce on a pizza?  (Oh, wait, that’s a fruit anyway, I think.)

–Ever since the last trimester of the pregnancy with BabyN, I’ve gotten lazy about shaving my legs.  At first it was logistics; how exactly was I supposed to keep them smooth when I couldn’t reach them around the belly?  Now I just don’t care enough to take care of that more than once a week, and sometimes less often.  Back before kids, I usually shaved every two-three days during the summer (but you couldn’t hold me accountable for them during winter when they stayed covered all day every day).

I think that’s enough for today.  I’ll be thinking of more for another go at Confession Thursday in my future.  But what about you?  What’s the most embarrassing thing you don’t usually tell other people?

Confession Thursday–Hopefully the Last Gender Debate Post

May 3, 2007

In response to all of your comments, I have already embraced the idea of gender-neutral shopping.  We already have lots (and lots and lots) of boy stuff, so adding a few more yellow or green things aren’t any big deal.  In fact, we already have the nursery theme mostly planned out, and it makes the most sense to decorate Baby’s side yellow–even if we find out the sex before we decorate.  We may just alter our color scheme a smidge to incorporate pink or blue on that side if we find anything out ahead of time.

And yes, thanks for suggesting a 3D ultrasound.  We’d mentioned it on the way home from the u/s the other day and then completely forgot we had the option.  We might be able to splurge a bit on it, if we can find a place that will do one for a reasonable price.  At the very least, I bet we can manipulate M’s mom into helping out with it since she’s so adamant about finding out for sure.  If my doctor doesn’t send us for another regular u/s, I will ask her if she has any recommendations on getting a 3D one.

On the bright side, I may have successfully psychoanalyzed myself as to why I’m so eager for this little one to be a girl, even more so than when I was pregnant with PJ.  It all started with Emily’s comment on yesterday’s post about how brothers tend to be closer than brothers with sisters.  In my experience, that simply isn’t true.  In my family, we had an opportunity for all combinations of sibling relationships.  My brothers seemed to connect the least of any pair of us.  On the other hand, both my sister and I have had outstanding relationships with each brother.  They were always so protective of us (when we weren’t fighting like cats and dogs, that is).  My older brother took it upon himself to play go-between with me and one of his friends to hook me up on my first date; he was the only one who recognized we liked each other.  My little brother–I’ll never forget this–told me when we danced at my sister’s wedding that now that his baby sister was going under someone else’s protection that the protection he’d been providing for her was transferring to me; that’s why he was dubious about M’s and my fast relationship.  Both my brothers wanted nothing more than to protect me.

I see PJ’s personality as that of a big brother to a little sister, not a little brother.  That’s most likely because of what I experienced growing up.  I always looked at my mother’s family and saw the direct parallels to my own: four kids, with each of us kids incredibly similar to the corresponding member of her family (my older brother with my oldest aunt, me with my mother, my little brother with my uncle, and my baby sister with the baby of that family).  I was proud of those parallels and that I was so much like my mother.  I always expected to be the one to carry on the pattern, with four children that corresponded perfectly with me and my siblings.  PJ would be like my older brother, which is quite likely to happen, which would make this second kid a little me.

So a part of me expects the baby I’m carrying to be just like me.  First and foremost, Baby has to be a girl for that to happen.  I’m nervous about having a boy at all like me because I’m scared of just what that would look like.  I think I could handle a girl like me because I’d know pretty much what to expect, but I worry about messing up a little boy like me because I either expect him to be like his big brother or too girly like a little me.

I know it’s silly to base my expectations about this baby on some stupid coincidence I noticed years ago.  I know how unlikely it is that I will wind up with a family that parallels the one I grew up in.  I also know that I need to work on my expectations about this baby because they are what is most likely to screw this baby up, not his or her gender.  That alone is probably the best reason I don’t know what to expect about this baby’s gender yet; it gives me more time to erase all my other expectations for him or her.

Confession Thursday: From Glee to Guilt

March 22, 2007

Last night, I got an e-mail from my mom with my brother’s flickr account address because he had posted new pictures on it at last. They were pictures of my SIL’s growing belly (the one I don’t particularly love). At first glance, I didn’t know what to think. Although I’m somewhat jealous of how big her belly is, it’s really not a full six weeks bigger than mine, as it should be. Then I scrolled down to her older belly pictures and figured out what it was about the new pictures that struck me. J’s belly isn’t the only thing that’s grown. She looked like she’d had an allergic reaction to something and had swelled up everywhere. It was particularly noticeable in her chipmunk cheeks and J-Lo butt.

I took much pleasure in scrutinizing the pictures, noting the stress lines etched on her plump face and the utter shapelessness of her new body. I carried PJ all in the front, hardly gaining weight anywhere but my belly, so it shocked me a little to see the all-over weight gain my SIL was experiencing. She is not a pretty woman with extra weight on her.

As I scrutinized the picture, though, I realized that a photo on the wall in the background of the photo looked vaguely familiar. Could it be a copy of the photo of us four kids from my brother’s wedding that he sent to each of us? No…the blurry colors in the photo don’t match with what we were wearing at the wedding. Then it struck me like a blow. It was a photo of M and me and my brother and SIL at my brother’s graduation last August. That was the super-sweet sentimental gift M and I gave them at Christmas. Knowing my SIL’s tendencies to exchange any gifts she gets, I’d searched high and low for a gift she couldn’t easily exchange. I assumed her saccharine reaction to the framed photo was a good show and that she’d chuck the picture out of the frame as soon as they got home. I never expected she would actually put the photo up in her house. And in a place of prominence, as the belly picture indicated. I would have guessed it was a ploy to get family sympathies if the picture had been intended only for my family, but their flickr account is for all family, even hers. And the framed picture in the background was blurry, barely discernible for what it was. They would have brought it to our attention more if that was the point. I think they actually have our picture displayed openly in their home.

I will never again make another comment about those chipmunk cheeks while she’s pregnant, even if I can’t help but smile a little when I think about them. I’ve obviously underestimated her opinion of us, and it may just change my opinion of her a bit.

Confession, um, Friday

February 23, 2007

Nope, Grey’s last night was not worthy of a full blog post. They did what I figured they would, and it was actually disappointing. When it ended, all I could think was, “Is that all?” Why couldn’t she have had some brain damage at least, possibly affecting her speech for a few episodes. She’s a much better actress when she doesn’t have any lines. Sigh. Oh, well.

Instead I’m forced to find words for what I’ve been feeling lately, which isn’t easy when I’m having a rough, nauseous, super-emotional day. I’ll give it a shot anyway since I kind of promised.

I’m finding that this pregnancy is much more scary than the first. I was plagued by problems with PJ, certain that I’d miscarried him twice, yet still I’m more worried about this so-far perfect pregnancy. Every day that passes without any emergency only increases my worry. I figure I’ve pushed my luck already and that the worst must be coming soon.

When the nausea goes away for a little while, I am relieved that I can feel halfway normal for a little while, but there’s a nagging worry in the back of my mind that the symptoms are going away because there’s something wrong with the baby. There’s something kind of nice about feeling the familiar nausea when it returns. I can’t make myself talk about the baby like it’s actually going to make it; I always have to amend my statements about the future with something like “if everything goes as planned…”

The problem is not that I’m struggling with the reality of the situation. Once I saw the heartbeat in that first sonogram, I’ve been in love with this little one. In fact, it’s more real to me than PJ was at this point. I’m in love with an actual little baby, not just my romanticized idea of one. That means that if I start counting my chickens now, I’ll be so much more devastated if something happens. This is my way of protecting myself from possible pain, I think.

I read somewhere recently that as many as one in five pregnancies ends in a miscarriage. I can count five more people I know personally who are also pregnant right now. According to those odds, at least one of us should miscarry, right? And all but my SIL (the good one, whose baby I want almost as much as my own) and I have made it to the safer second trimester already. I feel like that means my odds for miscarrying this one have greatly increased. (Don’t worry; I fully understand the nature of statistics like that, and that they don’t imply at all that my chances have really increased in this situation.)

I had heard or read when I was pregnant with PJ that second-time moms do typically worry more. At the time, that made no logical sense to me. They’d already been through it once safely, so why should they need to worry as much the second time? I also couldn’t believe that anybody could possibly worry more than I was already. Now I get it. Now that I know all the things that could possibly go wrong and have experienced several of them, the dangers of pregnancy are as much more real to me as the love is.

I wish I had a great conclusion to this. I wish I could say I know not to worry so much (I do), or that I just need to think positively. None of this actually helps. The worry is just something I need to get used to, another part of this pregnancy that will probably extend into the baby’s life.

Confession Thursday: The Symptom I Don’t Discuss with Mom

January 25, 2007

We blamed it on being newlyweds at the time. As we became less newly wed, though, we found perhaps that wasn’t the best explanation. It turns out it was my pregnant hormones that made me so keenly interested in sex.

Even from the start last time, puky and all, I couldn’t get enough. I would force myself not to think about the nausea long enough to, uh, get the job done, then fight it for hours afterwards, a result of all the jostling.

We thought maybe it was a first trimester thing, but no. We still wonder if our little romp the night before PJ was born is what set off the contractions. That was still some of the best sex I’ve ever had, although quite possibly because it was the last sex I had for over six weeks.

Since then, any time I showed an increased interest in sex, M would comment that I must be pregnant. We’d laugh and then move on. It’s not that I haven’t been interested since then–just not as much. I assumed that since every pregnancy is different that I most likely wouldn’t be as horny with the next one. I also assumed that being newlyweds didn’t exactly help that symptom and that being an old married couple for the next baby would keep it in check.

After yesterday morning, my assumptions were way off. All he has to do is touch me gently, and I want to push him into bed and rip his clothes off. And let me tell you, the sex is WAY better now than it ever has been before. If it weren’t for the nausea and the baby itself, I’d probably stay pregnant until menopause.

On a completely unrelated side note, has anybody else stumbled across the recent drama in blogland? I didn’t even want to comment on it because it’s all so juvenile, but I can’t help myself. I want to tell both sides to just get over it. You’re an idiotic commenter who wants to hurt the blogger…seriously, do you have nothing better to do with your time? You’re the blogger with hurt feelings because of said idiot…as mentioned, they’re an idiot with nothing better to do; just ignore them altogether. You’re the reader of the blog who is upset because you think the same could happen to you…it can. If that bothers you, then it probably is best not to blog. But none of the parties needs to blow this out of proportion. Unless you’ve given out enough information that Crazy Commenter can track you down, you don’t need to go to extremes and quit your blog or go private with it. The same goes if it’s not even your blog and you’re worried about it happening to you.

On my own (other) blog, I had a series of anonymous comments for a time that essentially criticized my ability as a mother. I ignored them until one day, in a weak moment, I replied to them in my blog. I’ve regretted stooping to their level ever since. The comments may have stopped when I addressed them, but it’s just so petty. Anybody worried about what people think about them shouldn’t blog publicly in the first place. And I think I’ll just leave it at that. Go ahead…make rude comments about me all you want. I’ll delete them and move on, like the non-pre-teen girl that I am.

Confession Thursday: And They Come Out of the Woodwork

January 18, 2007

I’m sorry I keep forgetting about Confession Thursdays until Thursday has long since come and gone. As you can imagine, my mind has been elsewhere lately.

Yesterday I made the big announcement on my blog. (By the way, if you read both or just figured out who I was based on that comment, please be very careful not to mention this blog if you comment over there.) It seems like all of a sudden, I’m hearing lots of friends announce their pregnancies too. I told you yesterday about the friend who mentioned on her blog two days ago that she was going into her second trimester already. Today I got an e-mail from my college roommate; she’s finally pregnant, due in August. That makes one college friend due in June (I think), another due in July, another due in August, my SIL due in August, and then me in September. That’s a lot of babies!

And with each new announcement, the green-eyed monster in me comes out just a bit more. It made sense with the first college friend and my SIL, who announced first, before I got pregnant. I wanted to be pregnant; they had what I wanted; of course I would get jealous.

So why am I still jealous of L and S, the two newest friends to “come out” about being pregnant? I appreciate the comments on yesterday’s post that I’m not the only one who has felt this way. But that doesn’t help me figure out why, and sometimes the only way I can get past a feeling is to analyze it until I know why I’m feeling it.

I’m afraid it all has to do with attention. With the last pregnancy, I was the only person I knew who was pregnant for most of the pregnancy. I finally found one more college friend who was about three weeks farther along than I was, and I welcomed sharing the experience with her. I wasn’t the only one going through that. Also, nobody else I was currently friends with, or my family, knew her. I was able to segment my preggie friend from the rest of my life; I still got all the preggie attention I craved.

This time I’m forced to share the attention. In the family, J is getting more attention since it is her first baby and it’s not really a great situation for her to be pregnant right now. She’s also much sicker than I am with this pregnancy. My group of friends mostly includes these college friends (who are now mostly friends through blogging), and they’re getting a lot more attention about their babies now because they’re farther along and have different situations with the pregnancies. H is having a surprise third baby, whom she just found out is a girl, and L has been having awful morning sickness with this one. (She claims to have had NO morning sickness with her first.)

It doesn’t help anything that their kids will be born before mine; they will hit all the pregnancy milestones, and then baby milestones, first. I will be trailing behind all of them.

And eventually a friend or family member will announce a pregnancy due after mine. And I’ll hate them just as much for it. Even though I’ll beat them to all the milestones, it will feel like they are trying to steal attention away from me. Apparently no situation would please me. I don’t want to have to go through this pregnancy alone, with no other preggie to share it with, but it fuels my jealousy to have people around who can share it with me.

What about this? Can we blame this on pregnancy hormones? Somehow I doubt it.

**Side note: The whole morning sickness thing bugs me too. L complained on her blog of such awful morning sickness this time, yet she said she never once lost her lunch. My mom said something similar when I was pregnant last time. My SIL has had to leave early from work once or twice because of her awful morning sickness. Part of me wants to yell at them that they have absolutely nothing to complain about. Try being on super expensive anti-nausea medicine and still fighting to keep any meals in your system. Try being on self-imposed bedrest because even getting out of bed means you’re rushing to the bathroom. And what if that morning sickness didn’t go away after the first trimester but continued in some form up until the day the baby is born (at least it got significantly better at 20-22 weeks). I hate it when other people feel they have the right to complain over a little bit of nausea or one or two vomits. Most people didn’t really believe me when I tried to explain how bad things were last time, and now they try to say they get it after experiencing morning sickness of their own. And it drives me crazy because they still really don’t get it. Very few people understand how bad things can get. While I understand their complaints are valid, I kind of want to tell them to shut up about it unless it gets as bad or worse than I had it.

What’s That Word When You Start to Lose Your Memory?

January 7, 2007

No, seriously. I have been so forgetful lately. Did anyone realize that Thursday came and went without a Confession Thursday post? I even blogged, completely forgetting it was Thursday. Then I forgot to blog at all Friday (I was distracted yesterday, but at least noticed I wasn’t blogging).

Okay, the truth is that I’ve been forgetful for a reason. I feel really stupid admitting this, but I agreed to myself when I started blogging here that I’d be as honest as possible, sometimes painfully so. So here it is, the real truth: I’m addicted to a stupid computer game, World of Warcraft.

I never thought of myself as the type to like computer games, especially such nerdy ones as this one. WoW players are notoriously geeky and obsessive, with no lives outside the game. Well, I’m already pretty close to that, so why not take the final step? Every free minute I’ve had the past week or so has been spent on the computer. I’m worried I’m starting to neglect everything important to me: my husband, my son, my dog, my blogs…

Fortunately M is addicted too. He’s the one that got me hooked. We can now play together, so it’s really not hurting our relationship when we’re both playing. And when it’s after PJ goes to bed, as it usually is, that’s also not a big deal. I’m just afraid the desire to play is going to take over my life and compromise PJ’s care during the day too.

But I’m not about to stop playing anytime soon, and I’m not about to ask M to either. You see, it has another interesting aspect to the playing. M’s older brother, the black sheep of the family, is also addicted to the game. M hasn’t had anything resembling a relationship with him for years as the whole family all but shunned him. Suddenly, he’s playing games online with his big brother. His big brother is being the big brother to him online that he never was growing up. I’m also starting to be able to develop a brother relationship with him through the game. It’s totally worth the money each month and the fear of neglecting my son (as long as I don’t actually neglect him) to help foster this relationship.

The other day, the first day the brothers played together, as M was signing off, his big brother told him he loved him for the first time either can remember. I almost cried. Yeah, we’re not giving up this game any time soon.

Confession Thursday (A Little Late): How We Met

December 29, 2006

The story everyone knows:
We’d met online in the middle of December. Having hit it off through e-mail, we decided to start talking on the phone during our Christmas breaks. M asked me out on our first date just before the holiday, and we planned to start the year off together, at a New Year’s Eve party with his church group.

On New Year’s Eve, I drove across town where I met him at his house, although reluctantly. He drove me from there to a nearby restaurant for a pre-party dinner, and the place became our restaurant quickly. The party itself had a black-and-white theme, so I was wearing my brand-new black pants, a wonderful gift from Santa; they made me look tall (as hard to believe as that is) and made my butt look awesome. I looked great, and I knew it.

Neither M nor I is great in social situations, so after meeting his friends and pushing myself to my social limits, M and I decided to leave early. We were definitely hitting it off, and we were anxious for time alone anyway. We headed back to his house, a little less reluctantly on my part than earlier, where we rung in the new year alone. We toasted with goblets of milk–since neither of us drinks–and chocolate chip cookies. We had our first kiss at the stroke of midnight, the only time I’ve ever kissed on a first date. From there, the rest is history.

What really happened:
We did meet online and went through the usual route of e-mailing and then talking on the phone over Christmas break. Our first date was supposed to be the black-and-white church group New Year’s Eve party. Unfortunately, we hit it off over the phone much more quickly than we expected when we set the first date. M flew back from his parents’ house over Christmas break on Wednesday, December 29, and neither of us could wait a minute longer to meet.

On his way home from the airport, M called me. I was somewhat nervous about the idea, but I gave him directions to my apartment. That could have been incredibly stupid, especially since nobody but one friend knew I even might meet him earlier than the publicized first date, but everything worked out well, obviously.

I’ll never forget that moment when I opened the door and saw him for the first time. M looked exactly like he did in his pictures, but there was an electricity about him that no picture could contain. I remember standing in front of that open door, with one hand still on the doorknob, for what felt like an eternity. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I knew in that moment that I would love him, the closest I’ll come to admitting such thing as love at first sight.

Finally–really probably about two seconds later–I remembered my manners and invited him in. We decided to go eat at my favorite restaurant, but when we got there it was closed, probably for the holiday. Instead we went to the one across the street, the one that we supposedly went to on New Year’s Eve, our place.

After dinner, we went back to my apartment where we chatted for hours. Finally, we got the nerve to do what we’d both been wanting to do all night, and we kissed for the first time. It really was the only time I’d ever kissed on the first date. It was magical, and I knew without a doubt that I’d be seeing him again.

That happened the next day, and the next, and the next. We spent every free moment together from then on. We spent New Year’s Eve together, of course, but we never made it to that party. Instead, we stayed at his place and watched a rented movie. The cookies and milk and kiss at midnight happened as I tell everyone, though. Both are now a tradition between the two of us.

I wonder why I’m still so afraid to tell the real story of our meeting to everyone else. At the time, I kept it hidden because I knew how stupid I was being, and I didn’t want anybody else to tell me what I already knew. But now that everybody can see what I saw, that this thing was real from the start, why do I persist in telling the made-up version of our first date?

Confession Thursday–A Mother’s Greatest Fear

December 14, 2006

As a mother, I am plagued with any number of fears about PJ and how he might develop as he grows up. I worry he might get sick, really sick, like cancer. I worry he might end up the family’s black sheep, addicted to drugs or in prison. I worry some girl is going to come along and break his heart. I worry some sick predator is going to do something much, much worse to him. I worry about car accidents, bike accidents, freak lightning, you name it.

But my biggest fear about PJ isn’t any of these. I’m terrified he’s going to be autistic. My life has intersected with autism a few too many times for me to brush it off as mere coincidence. I’m forced to wonder why so many autistic children have crossed my path, and the only conclusion I have is that I’m destined to be a mother of one of these special children.

Since it is Confession Thursday, though, I feel the need for complete honesty. I am horrible around people with special needs. I don’t know how to act and they make me uncomfortable. The time I’ve spent in the presence of autistic people was spent looking for a way to get out of their presence. I don’t have any clue how I would handle one of my own children being autistic.

The good news is that so far, PJ shows absolutely no signs of any problems whatsoever. He’s reasonably well-behaved and incredibly social. Barring unexpected acts of God, he should grow up to be an average, normal kid. I wish that reassured me, but it only does to a certain extent. I’m aware that he could start to show more signs as he grows up, as unlikely as that seems now. I’m constantly watching his behavior to make sure it’s completely normal.

Please don’t tell me I shouldn’t worry about this. I know that already. I don’t let the fear keep me from enjoying my son, and only M even knows this is a fear I have. He actually has the same worries, so we console each other about it. I know that if I am destined to have an autistic child, God will give me the strength to cope with it. I just think I’d rather be weak in this area.

Confession Thursday–Thinking Ahead to Christmas

December 7, 2006

Even though I won’t spend Christmas day with my family, we will be visiting my parents for some time before Christmas. Toward the end of our visit, my brother and his wife will be flying in, as they get to spend Christmas with my parents. That means I will have lots of quality time with my brother and SIL. I realized this morning that’s not necessarily a good thing. As much as I love my brother, I’m not that comfortable around his wife.

They had dated previously in the past, and she broke his heart. When it looked like they might be interested in each other again, we were all wary because of her history. My brother went through with it, though, and last September, a week before PJ was born, he proposed to her. They were married in March.

The whole relationship went lightning-fast, and that made the whole family a little uncomfortable about it. I wanted to criticize badly, but M and I were engaged after six weeks of dating (and we hadn’t even met before) and were married three months after that. Even though things have worked great for us, I’m worried we set a bad example.

At first we really liked J, my SIL. My first impression was good; she was really friendly, bright, smart, attractive–I could see why my brother liked her. As time has passed, though, I’ve begun to see traits in her that she had kept hidden at first. While I can still see all those original qualities in her personality, I can also see an overwhelming selfishness, hypocrisy, and snobbishness. She is an ordained minister, but in our denomination she will likely never find a job as a minister. She moved my brother across the country in the hopes of possibly finding a job closer to her home. At my brother’s graduation, she sat and played on her cell phone through the whole ceremony, not even looking up or clapping when my brother’s name was called out. She also texted a friend through the prayer. Remember, she’s a minister, apparently closer to God than the rest of us. Maybe that means she doesn’t have to show the same respect the rest of us do.

M claims that the first time he met J, something about her struck him as off. That impression has only strengthened through the last year. Now I’m starting to see what he didn’t like at first. I’m terrified my brother has made a huge mistake. He made a promise to protect me when we danced at my sister’s wedding, and now I regret not making him the same promise.

I’m still trying to like her, to give her the benefit of the doubt. But I’m not looking forward to spending so much one-on-one time with her. I don’t even trust her with PJ (another frustrating story there, but I’ll pass on telling that one today). I hate admitting it, but I don’t think I like her. I just hope she’s not as bad as I think she is sometimes and that my brother is happy, despite the impression I have of her.