Confessions part 3

*The movie Signs scarred me for life. To this day, sometimes when I walk downstairs at night to get a drink of water, I swear I'll catch a glimpe of an alien through the sliding glass door.

*I use to be boy crazy. One time I ran into a sign and got a black eye 'cause I was, well, distracted. By a boy. Yep, very very boy crazy. Now I'm just crazy.

*That reminds me. I got my first black eye while chasing a snowflake...right into a pole. Sometimes I run into things. Which is why my dad's nickname for me growing up was Lumpy.

*Sometimes I use a fork to scratch my back. But only when I'm really really desperate. And I almost never put it back in the drawer. (Mark, that one was for you.)

*The Wizard of Oz always has and always will give me nightmares. Tornadoes and flying monkeys...it's a lose lose situation.

*I have probably burned more calories in my life dancing to Tubthumping by Chumbawamba than by all my other workouts combined. Yes, I know it is a horrible song. That's what makes it a confession.

*On a more serious note, this girl has been on my mind constantly lately. I was even praying about finding another job so I could afford/qualify to adopt her myself. Then I realized that to adopt from her country, you have to be married. So, Bob, if you're out there....

P.S. If you haven't read the Bob saga, you really should. It's good stuff.

Good as Dead

Today, as I was working with My Little Sweetheart, a man walks into the classroom.

A man holding a rose.



Who claims his name is Bob.



Apparently the love of my life, the father of my child.



My co-workers are as good as dead.

The Good, The Bad, and The Bob

Yesterday I went back to the doctor. Once again, the results are the same. My doctor views surgery as a last resort, so we are pumping up my meds. The good news is she wants to give them time to work, so I won't have testing again for 4 months. Four months without doctor bills will be oh so nice!

I appreciate all your continued prayers, and although the test results haven't changed, I have recently had less pain, so that is definitely a praise.

On a lighter note, I took yesterday off work for my appointments. Today, when I returned, my coworkers informed me that My Little Sweetheart spent the day announcing that I wasn't at work because I was in the bedroom with Bob. Yes, I gasped too.

My coworkers are actually enjoying the Bob scenario, and tease me about it as much as possible.

We have decided the father of my child was inspired by one of these familiar faces:

Bachelor #1
Bachelor #2
Bachelor #3

So, who do you think it is? Personally, I am rooting for Bachelor #2.

Bob

Yesterday, as I was working with one of my students, whom I call my Little Sweetheart (really, he has the sweetest little soul ever), my mom called. I usually don't pick up calls at work, but when he heard the phone ring I told him my mom was calling, and he insisted I answer.

And then I let him say hello.

The conversation went something like this, "Hello Miss Allen's mom, my name is *Little Sweetheart* (except he actually said his real name, first and last, I was so proud). Uh-huh, Uh-huh. Hello Miss Allen's mom, my name is *Little Sweetheart*. Uh-huh, Uh-huh. Hello Miss Allen's mom, my name is *Little Sweetheart*."

After I few rounds I told my Little Sweetheart to say goodbye. So, of course, he said, "Goodbye Miss Allen's mom, my name is *Little Sweetheart*."

Okay, can you see why I love this kid?

Anyways, the story does not end there. Little did I know, by my innocent little phone call, a new obsession was created.

Not only with my mom, but with my dad, my dog, my baby, and my Bob (in case you were wondering, I do not have a baby or a Bob).

Really, all day, I had a shadow repeating, "Miss Allen's mom, Miss Allen's dad, Miss Allen's dog, Miss Allen's baby, Miss Allen's Bob."

But I still love the kid...Even after he got on the bus with this picture:


And exclaimed, "Hello Bus Driver! Miss Allen's baby and Miss Allen's Bob!"

So, Bob, if you are out there, I don't know who you are, but apparently you are the father of my child.