Monday, February 1, 2016

tasteful, in numerous ways
Scary Mommy is an interesting site. I think it intends to be funny and witty and probably succeeds occasionally. I did not find the article Your Facebook Life Doesn’t Fool Me to fall within either of those categories. I don’t understand the author’s anger at what her “friends” share, or don’t share, on social media.  It might seem odd, since I make a point to share an unvarnished life on my limited social media profile.  But, that’s because, in all reality, that unvarnished life is my domestic bliss.

We don’t have a right to anyone else’s life. We don’t have a right to their struggles. And we shouldn’t demand that our friends share anything more than they’re willing to. I figure that’s what makes it so much fun when people do share the topsy turvy antics of their kids.

There seems to be a loss of privacy in the world today. It used to be good form that you didn’t share the ugly side of life, the fights, the messiness, the chaos. Now, apparently, it’s letting down the sisterhood. Nothing stands out in a sea of dirty dishes, there’s nothing unique about an overwhelming amount laundry. We all have the consequences of life in our homes. And who wants to see that nonsense during their escapes from reality. The big wide World Wide Web is not the place to air your grievances with your spouse, your in-laws, and your siblings. It is the place to chuckle about the chaos cause by a tiny army you not only created but invited to live with you.

at a luncheon no less
The nitty gritty is just that. No one wants to see it. We live it every day.  People share that which makes them happy. For most people those are the happy things. The beautiful moments, the special times that make them tingly with glee. And they want to share with their circle of friends. And that desire is human, relatable and understandable.

Who doesn’t want to put their best foot forward? Isn’t that why we brush our teeth and our hair before venturing into public? We wash our kids’ faces before school and have “school” clothes… know, the unstained shirts and jeans without holes in the knees. Why wouldn’t it be the same for social media?

It does not make one a liar.

at least he knew to hide in shame
Yes X-Man is screaming at me right now because he wants to take a shower. He’s soaking wet, wrapped only in a towel, freezing, because he used up the hot water during the last shower he took. The only that ended ninety seconds ago.  And yes, it’s a struggle to work with an oversized four year old, who really ought to be playing linebacker for a pee wee football league somewhere. And yes, I’ve laid awake worrying that he won’t ever talk, won’t ever understand….won’t ever many things. 
this is why I don't bake.

But what mom hasn’t?

So we share the beautifully perfect photos, the crafts and cookies, the good times. To show that it’s possible to crawl out of the haze, it just for the moment. And for those of us who don’t do cookies or crafts…..we share well…..other things.

My life is good. It is well in my soul.

the start of my day

It doesn’t mean the father figure always picks up his dirty socks. Unless by always it is meant never. It doesn’t mean my children obey me immediately. Or ever. They fight. They ignore the rules. They don’t pick after themselves. They turn their noses up at my cooking. And the father figure is irritating. Especially when he doesn’t do what I want.

the day got worse
I enjoy sharing my kids’ exploits, because in general they make me laugh. One of my favorite social media experiences was sharing the destructive streak my kids were on one summer day. I laughed, maybe cried a bit, but laughed more and, more importantly made others laugh. But, I keep them in context. And I don’t share everything.

The thing is I share the things I want to share. I share the things that make me laugh. It’s a constructed image, at least in part, and that’s ok. They’re my family. They’re my kids. They’re my monkeys and dang it if it’s not my circus. But it’s mine to share.

And yours to enjoy. 
this was a good shot.

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