DOES THIS POST MAKE ME LOOK FAT? (And Even If It Does, This Is YOUR Chance To Chime In... Go Ahead & Give Me Your Two Cents' Worth)

(And I just realized my entry yesterday had to do with bacon. Y'all go easy on me, okay?)

Moving on.

Last night my dreams were so vivid, I could describe in detail to you the process by which I fixed a broken window sash and installed new mini-blinds. When I say detail, believe me, I mean detail... right down to the quarter-inch rectangle outlined with a border of bright green in which I slid a new glass pane into... and I have no idea where that originated. At any rate, I woke up this morning thinking about that window and other specific items and processes in that (or those) dream(s) and thought, if only life were that easy.

I am sure I am like you in that whenever my kids are hurt or bothered about something, I am hurt or bothered about that same thing. When they outgrew diapers and training wheels and elementary schools, I knew that my time of fixing things was coming to an end. Yes, I can fix dinner or fix their laundry, so to speak. I can buy things they need to fix a project and sometimes even help them fix a dilemma; but for the most part, that is where all the fixing ends. I can't fix a thought or an image in their head.

To be more specific, her head.

The youngest. The daughter. Our daughter. My daughter.

God bless her.

 Beautiful.
 Kind.
 Healthy.
 Smart.

And going through what every woman or girl, young or old, goes through and deals with on an all too familiar and yet regular basis. Body image. How she looks. What she likes and doesn't like. Comparisons.

You know how some of you tell me often that I should write a book? Well, I wrote a rather long book in my head last night and it was filled with stories from you. Women and men. How different people face the reality that what the mirror reveals WILL NEVER win over what photoshop and airbrushing can create.

Do you care? Did you care?

Look, this isn't the first time the subject has come up in our house. I'm sure it won't be the last. I have my own issues to deal with in a size fourteen pant. Five years ago I was a size four. A four. Somewhere along that particular path I think I got a little sidetracked with things like sweet tea and barbecue and those blasted chicken wings. That I can deal with. That's me.

But when I see my girl struggling, a girl in high school who runs and walks and bikes and is by all accounts a perfectly healthy young lady... well, even the middle, son number two, got a little upset last night when he described to me the LIES he sees twisting the truth every day for every man, woman, and child alive.

You have a thought? Leave a comment if you like or better yet, send me your story via the email address found at the very bottom of the left tab. You never know, I might actually take all those stored chapters I write in my head and actually transfer them to paper one day. I do think there's a book in there... I just have no idea what it's about.

Not installing mini-blinds, though. That's for sure.