I didn't want you to wonder about me.
I didn't want you to think that I'd fallen in a hole somewhere with nothing but a box of crackers and a crochet hook and that I was happy but that somebody else was taking care of my kids and you were missing me and I never reached out to tell you I was okay and that I now live in a hole full of rugs crocheted out of old sheets and that also I'm very tired of crackers and I don't have the first idea what anybody else is making. My plan, of course, is to make so many rugs that I will be able to climb myself out of the hole on top of the rugs. Don't ask me why I couldn't just stack the sheets. It's physics, you all. And just so that you'll know that it's me writing and that nobody hacked into my blog and started typing, I'll share this, followed by a confession that will make you nod--both because you might have the same confession to make and also because it will make you know that it' s me writing.
It's this: Sometimes I make mistakes.
This one had to do with a doll and a washing machine.
May all your mistakes be temporary. May none of them include your daughter's favorite doll. May none of them send you searching for twine. May none of them be irreversible. May none of them include the moment where your daughter finds the decapitated doll on the stairs and asks what happens and then requires you to explain. May none of them send you on a google search for "reattaching displaced doll head." May none of them include throwing said doll away.
Actually, the part about the rugs and the hole was true. I think I'm about 14 rugs away from reaching the top.