"Not me!" Monday

Another Monday brings us to another week of "Not me" Monday, the confessional blog carnival created and perpetuated by the charming MckMama over at My Charming Kids. Hop on over to her blog and join in on the fun!

I certainly was not volunteering to help with Vacation Bible School a few weeks ago, so that my underage Kyle could attend. It would've been clearly lunacy when we were planning to be moving at the end of said week. I would never agree to something that would take me away from home during a few quiet evenings when I could be spending that time packing minus the interruptions... But if I had, I would be really glad in hindsight for deciding to help, after all!

Awhile back, I definitely didn't wash a load of diapers, not so much because the diapers needed to be washed, as because Owen is plowing through our cloth wipes so quickly that I needed more clean wipes. Not me! I would never do that.

Speaking of diaper changes which require wipes (read: poopy diapers), after a failed attempt to find and purchase flushable diaper liners locally, I absolutely didn't intentionally buy refills for "g diapers," in spite of owning no g diapers whatsoever. I am definitely not so desperate for some way to cut back on the amount of toddler bowel movements with which I cope on a daily basis. And if I was, then I certainly could've been patient for just one more week. I mean, really. Those are expensive!

Obviously, I am not at all interested in pampering any delicate pregnant sensibilities.

Totally didn't get misty watching the VeggieTales video "The Ballad of Little Joe" with my children. Because, how can veggies drive home the beautiful truth of "you intended it for harm, but God intended it for good"? They're....green and crisp, mostly.

I absolutely didn't make a complete mess of my kitchen one night, making Wardeh's delightful Chocolate Kefir Smoothie, because I decided not to halve it, and it was way too much for my food processor to handle. And I did not plow on, even when chocolate smoothie was oozing from every crevice of the food processor, creating something of a cocoa-colored lake on my counter. My 6-year-old did not walk by and comment, "Wow, that is really messy!"

I am, after all, a model housewife.

Lastly, I am not utterly thrilled that in spite of eating my fair share of butter, beef, coconut oil, eggs, pizza, ice cream, and cookies, I have not gained one pound since I became pregnant. I care nothing for what the scale says, and I am not even a little bit curious to see how my weight gain during this pregnancy differs from the previous pregnancies. I could not care one teensy bit. Nope, not me!