Confession is good for the soul, right?
It was one of the few things I loved about Catholicism when I was growing up. I wasn't raised Catholic, but my best friend in elementary school was, and since my dad taught in parochial schools for years, there was some spiritual influence even with my strong atheist childhood.
And going into a quiet little private closet, acknowledging all of your wrong-doing from the past week to an anonymous unseen father figure, and being cleansed of everything by reciting a couple of Hail Marys and O My Fathers... pretty sweet.
But since I'm Mormon, we don't do priests (well, we do, but ours are the 16-19 year olds who are trying to remain virgins), we don't have small dark cubicles, and we only do confession for like serious mistakes like extra-martial affairs, murdering someone or being addicted to Diet Mt. Dew.
Najale, although chronologically eight years old, is in his heart always a flashy young stud who loves kicking up his heels, dancing and prancing and showing off at every opportunity. He is a pretty boy, and man, does he know it.
Tonight, on our regular evening stroll (which alternates between rooting for grass among the yucca trees, freaking out at flocks of small butterflies, and trying to bolt across every open space possible), I felt in the mood to pretend, at least, to do some actual training instead of my normal indulgent momma attitude towards the spoiled Italian/Greek heir.
Well, not really, but he wasn't showing off at all by the time we got finished.
Will any of you on in the Internet be willing to testify on my behalf?
Please?
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