Text me, baby.
It works for me. There are 8 daylight hours per week that I am not accompanied by one..or all four…of my young sons. And each of these kids speaks and hears just fine. Which makes the likelihood of starting a conversation and talking through, uninterrupted, to completion…absolutely impossible. If I must talk on the phone, typically I’ll hide in the powder room because my kids complain it’s too cold in there. So that reduces the risk of my being followed. But then I have to whisper. And the person on the other end of the line can’t hear a damn thing I say.
I’m an enormous fan of social media. Without it, I’d be friendless. I can give just as much…and, on occasion, just as little…as I’m inclined because it’s so arbitrary.
“Sorry…I am just now seeing your text…I was on Facebook! Mary just posted her Passover pics! That middle daughter got all the looks, didn’t she?”
Facebook absolutely rocks. I want to see your Christmas tree. I like to see your kids. I need to know if you’re a heavier or lighter version of the girl or boy I remember from high school. I am a serial poster. And a serial commenter.
I am guilty, Your Honor, of having a Facebook presence.
Sometimes, when I’m in my local grocery store, I’ll bump into someone I know…marginally.
Me: Smiling, mentally grasping for a name, “Hi! Marjorie, right?”
Marjorie: Nodding, enthusiastically, “OMG….YES! I AM SO HAPPY TO SEE YOU!”
Me: Smile faltering, “Huh?”
She must have me mixed up with someone else. I think she is my brother’s friend’s sister-in-law by marriage. I met her once. When I was 16.
Marjorie: Grabbing me with both hands, “YOU. ARE. SO. FUNNY! I read everything you write on Facebook to my husband! We LOVE you! My Mom knows you too..because I call her and read her your status updates. OMG, I am SO glad I bumped into you! I have been meaning to tell you, we LOVE the color in your living room! It used to be green. But now it’s tan, right? We…my husband and I…really prefer the tan…it highlights those black and white pictures of your kids. Which are also relatively new, right?”
A bell goes off in my head. A bell of recognition? Negative.
A warning bell.
Oh, I see what this is. This is a Facebook Voyeur standing in front of me. Someone who years ago friended me, still reads religiously, but refrains from posting. So much so that I don’t even realize we are Facebook friends. Until this chance encounter. Which, I admit, I’m finding slightly creepy.
I extricate myself from my new BFF as politely…and as quickly….as possible.
There is that little downside to having a Facebook presence.
I recently joined Twitter…maybe a little late in the game. Damn those kids demanding my time and attention.
I don’t think I quite have my Twitter legs yet. For instance, I tweeted “Was never a big Men @ Work fan back in the day, but I’m digging Colin Hay’s Overkill on The Coffee House”. Should I expect more followers from tweeting this little nugget?
Fewer followers? Damn.
I am frazzled by the absence of the Facebook “like” button on Twitter. If I like something, I guess that calls for a retweet, huh? And, when one of my handful of followers gives me a twitter shout, I tweet them a thank you. I don’t see many “thank you” tweets on Twitter. Is tweeting a thank you a lame tweet? Too old fashioned? Well, there is a learning curve…hopefully I’ll soon be up to speed.
And have a respectable following.
I’d like a respectable Twitter following. Because I recently began blogging. And THAT I am loving. I fancy myself a bit of a storyteller. Which is a sophisticated way of admitting that I frequently exceed the maximum number of characters Facebook alots for a status update.
In all seriousness, writing the blog is…well, it’s exhilarating. And grounding. And exhausting. And challenging. And therapeutic.
I haven’t worked “outside the home” for a solid decade. And I’m itching to get back into the game. Try my hand at the writing thing. So, in January, I broached the topic with my husband.
Me: Nervous, “I’m thinking seriously about starting a blog.”
Husband: Without missing a beat, “Any moron can write a blog.”
I try not to take him out in public much.
Me: “Yes, but not every moron can write a blog worth reading. And that’s what I’m hoping to do. Write something worth reading.”
Husband: “Hmm. You do well on Facebook. Lay your balls out there and see what happens.”
Ah…pearls of wisdom from my Baby Daddy.
So I’m putting in lots of hours. And the delicious dinners prepared by my loving hands are no longer met with gagging and the occasional vomiting from my 3rd son, my pickiest eater. Because those homemade meals have been replaced with a plethora of cereal boxes.
Mommy loves you, boys. Look how much…Fruity Pebbles!
The laundry is taking a serious hit. Forcing us to go commando a little more frequently than my husband would like.
Gives entirely new meaning to the notion of laying your balls out there…wearing linen today? Ouch, sorry, honey.
But the blog is getting some traffic. Actual strangers are reading it. And commenting. And liking it on Facebook. And tweeting my posts. I’m receiving emails from people who don’t even share 6 degrees of separation with me…and I’m not finding it at all creepy.
Which is ironic, isn’t it? Because when I write, I invite you into my life. I introduce you to my kids. I replay my conversations with my husband. I expect you to roll your eyes and side with me after reading those conversations.
My writing is much more intimate than my living room wall color. I’m laying my balls out and hoping to avoid castration.
God bless the iPhone. And social media.
Occasionally it does get in the way of my day job….
No, my kids are not experiencing the neglect they did when I read the Twilight series. Or the Hunger Games.
My younger two sons were on our backyard swing set the other day. Fully clothed. I snuck inside to check my Facebook, I mean pour their cereal. 5 minutes later, I walked outside to find both of them on the trampoline…and my youngest son buck naked.
Seriously?! How many times do I have to tell them? Only one at a time on the trampoline!
It’s a solid argument against my joining Pinterest, don’t you think?
Bethany Meyer, Author of “My Four Boys: The Honeymoon is Officially Over”, http://4godssakeboys.com/