Let's Hear it for the Girls

It must be stated, before I begin, that I am putting off making blankets for orphans in China to write this blog. I'm laughing so hard I had to respond.

As my kids were growing up, I don't know how many times I said to them all, "Just be secure with yourself." Frankly, (and now that they're all grown up, I can let out this secret) I would usually say it when they were beside themselves with insecurity about something and they wanted to sit in a corner and pick at their toenails the rest of their lives. I had run out of things to say to try and help them and I was ready to go in the corner and pick my fingernails and toenails (until they might bleed) with them because my child was insecure and thus I was insecure. But the magic phrase "Just be secure with yourself" seemed to be an insecurity binky.

Today my daughter told me to be secure with myself. (see previouse blog comments) BWAHHAAAHAAAHAAA I just love having a daughter. I mean, I would have hated to have never had a daughter. Daughters are people that will tell you that you have a boogie just inside that left nostril. It's usually withing 10 minutes of saying hello. Daughters are people who will tell you your breath is bad, your slip is showing, there is black stuff or green stuff or brown stuff in your teeth, (they always tell you the color) and that yes indeed, those pants make you look fat. They'll tell you when you look great too, don't get me wrong, but anyone and their dog will do that for you. I just love that I have someone who will do that for me. My Daughter is my protection from myself. Daughters are people who light up the room for you when they walk into it, they look out for you, they talk to you about you stuff, (invaluable to a widow lady) and they love you enough to tell you the truth. Daughters have the sacred womb. The womb that belongs to the family name.

I will change my template on Saturday. I will wipe the crap off my chin and get off the floor. For now, I'm just going to be secure with myself and my lack of computer skills. I can get this blog on the internet by jingo. Who gives a rip that it's hideous? I love hideous. I embrace hideous. I live hideous. I'm going to sign this thing off, go check my nostrils for goobers, and go out there and make blankets for orphans in China with the other Church ladies.