I confess: Guess whose dumb ass left her phone at work. Yeah, me. My work is closed on the weekends, so yeah. FUUUUCK.
I confess: I made a bomb ass dinner on Friday. Could I Instagram that shit? Nope. WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS THE NINETEEN NINETIES!!!!! Does it even count if there is no photo of it. What is my life.
I confess: Seriously, though. I'm sad yo.
I confess: There will be no Weekend Snapshots because I cannot take any weekend snapshots.
I confess: So do I number the next Weekend Snapshots in sequential number? I think yes. Feels weird though.
I confess: A squirrel was pulling bark off of a tree in the backyard UPSIDE DOWN and I could not record it. It really happened. I swear.
I confess: Yes these are all going to involve my phone. Or lack there of.
I confess: I hate myself that I was so upset at first. I did get okay with it. I think I went through the seven stages of grief all in one night.
I confess: I could have gotten a photo of the Shanes and my husband trying to put together the new shed for Turtle. Nope.
I confess: We had the first fire pit of the year and Neil bought these cool packets that you throw in the fire and they make it all colorful. You will just have to imagine it.
I confess: I feel like I could make up anything right now and just claim too bad no photo. Not that I have. These have all been true confessions. But, like, I could.