During dinner last night (Indian Chicken Masala with rice, if you’re curious), my precocious and seemingly full-grown 11-year old daughter, Abbie, casually throws out, “Oh, Dad, by the way, I finished reading your blog today.”
(Cue me coughing chicken masala out my nose.)
“(Cough, cough) My blog?”
“Yep.”
“How did you find it?”
“Uhm (read: Duh!) – it’s on the Internet. Anybody can read it.”
“Yes, but … why are you reading it?”
“I wanted to see what you write about.”
“You mean you read the last thing I wrote?”
“No, your whole blog. From the beginning.”
(My brain begins to scan 3+ years of writing, filtering out topics I would not want my children to read about.)
“You read about when I took the boys from church to the morgue?”
“That was funny.”
“You read about when we tried to breed your guinea pig?”
“Yeah…I didn’t get that one.”
“You read about when I sing inappropriate songs to Mom?”
“(Stone faced, looking down at her plate) I don’t want to talk about that one.”
So, my daughter has read my blog…hehehe…isn’t that sweet…hehehe…that’s just adorable…hehehe…WHAT?! What are you so nervous about? Just calm down. Everything will be fine. Every child should read about their parent driving naked. So my daughter reads my blog, so what? Who cares? It’s fine. She is welcome to read anytime. I hope she reads this one!
Anyway, on a totally unrelated note, did I ever tell you guys about the time between the ages of 12 and 22 when I was completely obedient to everything my parents ever told me to do? No? I haven’t told you that story yet? Odd. Well, that’s probably because I have been too busy reading scriptures and helping old women cross the street. That takes up a lot of my time lately. But that’s just me. Always looking to choose the right. Always conscious of the example I’m setting. Always writing about private things on the Internet, where anybody can read them, including people in my own house.
