I don't have daughters myself,-- but I have a soft spot in my heart for young women. I think back to my own teenage, and young adult years. I was always a pretty girl, not an A student, but smart. And while I have always been confident, I distinctly remember, how much the attention boys and men meant to me then. I compromised myself, and sometimes put myself in dangerous situations, to get attention. Hind sight is always 20/20, I know. It is easy to see now that my perfect guy was out there waiting for me, I just wasn't meant to meet him until I was 25. It was part of the plan. I needed to stretch my wings, learn to garner attention for my gifts, and my heart, not for my outfit, my boobs, or my bawdy behavior. I can now look back at old friends who were sporty, and academic, and even shy, and see that they were the ones with the true confidence. I would love to bottle up that hind sight, and spike the Diet Coke of every young woman I know. (and then of course in true adult Victoria style, say-- really??? Are you sure those are shorts? Cover up love! --- just kidding. I would only think it.)
I am swirling in chaos! Our little remodeling projects, ie: painting the boys rooms, have resulted in a whirl of mess, mess, mess. My husband has been diligently painting walls, repurposing furniture, meanwhile all of the clothing, shoes, toys, junk, furniture we are no longer using, etc... is lining the hallways and rooms of my house! We have tried to engage the boys in this project, but it has somehow eluded them that they have any responsibility for putting the house back together, so it it a painful exercise of command and whine. Today, we must put it back, we cannot start the week in madness. So my day, is going to be interesting. They need to help, a lot. I need to figure out how to motivate them to help, without them feeling like they are being tortured. Wish me luck, at 10:30, video games, and NFL TV go off, and cleaning commences. I'd better have another cup of coffee, and pray for the next half hour, I'm gonna need it.
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