If you were my kid...

Let me tell you what you DON'T want to be. You really don't even want to find yourself in the unfortunate position of being my kid. You know I desperately want to be the calm, cool with whatever drama mom that I imagine raises some future poet laureate or Nobel Prize winner, but you know I really don't ever hear about those moms in acceptance speeches.  Instead, if you're my kid you are saddled with an overactive, panicky adult who has incredibly vivid imagination. And who punishes accordingly whether the infractions are real or imaginary.

If you were my kid I'd be all up in your business. I'd know more than both of us wished to know about your bf's and your bff's and your lols.  I'd make sure you knew I knew too because at least we're gonna be transparent about how I've got my eye on you.  I'd know your friend's moms and their style of supervision. I'd make sure you got caught every time you tried something and if I didn't catch you it'd be because I was too tired to let you know I caught you. I might even pull that, "Is there anything you'd like to tell me" trick so that you'd think I knew what I didn't even know and spill it.  You and your friends would be awed by my omnipresence. Privacy would at times be a far off luxury.

You get that we are dealing with people with pretty much half developed brains? Worse yet, people with half developed brains who have access to all kinds of things and technology that can injure them both physically and emotionally. Things that can leave permanent scars.  And that's the reason that I am not above snooping, spying, bribing, threatening, and all manner of methods that the parenting magazines warned you of back when you had time to read those things and thought your still crawling child only had to fear electrical sockets and uncut hotdogs.  The thing is, mostly I'm attracted to this "all up in your business" parenting style out of an intense affection and desire to protect, not primarily a desire to control.  I'm also no fool - I do know that orchestrating every aspect of your child's life is not an effective long term parenting plan, that the endeavor itself is a great illusion. I wouldn't go so far as to do that.  I know ultimately the kids will have to choose protect themselves from difficult people and situations. But it's okay if I'd really love it if they came out on the other side of adolescence safe and sound, right?

I was visiting with my friend Helen today. She's already raised her kids and now has grandkids. We feel similarly about people who injure children and she's committed to offing anyone who dares to hurt her grandchildren.  She says she'd be fine spending the rest of her life in a cell so long as she had access to books.  I can get behind that. Just so we are clear, I happen to be a huge fan of vigilante justice and think it's a neglected and incredibly effective form of evening the universe out.  To make sure my children know that I am committed to protecting them, I've made sure to throw around phrases during the news like "if someone did that to you I'd light them on fire" and "if someone tried that with you I'd run over them with my car - and back again." I'm fairly certain my children are somewhat terrified of the intensity of my protective nature.

It makes sense, I guess, that there are days when I don't have many fans in my household.  That's totally cool with me. I did not enter parenthood to be anyone's bff although I'm charmed by a secret-telling session or a girls only shopping trip.  I have other goals as a parent that include raising a child who's capable and compassionate - but underlying that there's always nailing basic safety and, of course, hygiene.  We've pretty much got the hygiene licked which is great because that means I'm completely free to focus on things like researching AT&T's Smart Limits program for the iPhone and the latest sexual offender registry updates.

Talk soon...

Oh God no....

Monster Oarfish, 18 Feet Long, Called ‘Discovery of a Lifetime’

Party Expert

Well I've decided that there's nothing better than having one of your favorite singers come play in your living room and I know this is true now BECAUSE IT REALLY HAPPENED.  I wouldn't expect you to remember me mentioning having a house concert a few months ago, but Kenny and I had gone to hear Kate Campbell at my friend Tamara's house in the spring and I thought we could do this kind of party.  I am not a person who hosts parties. I won't even usually go to a party or shower or networking opportunity. Hell, I thought I'd finally arrived when I managed to get out of all holiday party obligations and it's not at all because I don't like you. I just don't feel comfortable and I like my pajamas and my book a whole lot. This has been going on a long time so when I told my sister we were doing this, in a very therapeutic voice she said, "First, let me tell you how proud I am of you for having a party."  I'm telling you this so that you know what a leap it is for me to commit to a house concert.  I did it, though, because Kate Campbell thrills everyone and this kind of party doesn't even require that any of my friends do anything other than sit in a newly renovated house and clap.  How hard can it be right?

All you have to do really is invite 50 or 60 great people:

and by friends I mean people like Tara who will come early and find and arrange wildflowers:

and like Mandi who will bring their artwork to make your house look perfect:

and friends like Stephanie will make sure you can serve drinks in the coolest way:

and Leighanne who'll call and tell you you're not fat so you won't freak out about what to wear.

And you've got to find a great caterer (Ray Harris) because he'll go along with your Sunday Supper theme:

and have Juan fry up some chicken in the yard:

You've got to marry a guy who will climb a few trees with you and string some lights while you sing "Kenny and Lori sittin' in a tree" ad nauseum:

And for extra oomph make a party favor:

So we did all of those things and most importantly, invited Kate, who brought her wit and warmth and sweet, sweet voice and all of those things made a perfect night.  If you grew up in the South, her music brings you home - like to your grandmother's house on a Sunday after church. You know, I don't even really think about heaven until Kate sings Sorrowfree and then I'm crying a little about shining rivers and forever and forgiveness.  It was an evening of belly laughing over roadside signs at vegetable stands and sadness over our lack of progress when it comes to civil rights. She sang about cars and blues and Jesus and funeral food and by the time it was over we had all committed to reading more poetry and dusting off our copies of To Kill a Mockingbird, but not one of us was ready for it to be over.  How many artists can do all that in an hour and a half?

I spent the next couple of days answering calls and texts about which album has which song on it and heard about a million times how peaceful and happy our evening was.  I'm leaving the lights up and the flowers are somehow still colorful so that it's not really over yet, but the fried chicken and biscuits are all gone.  I keep playing her live album Two Nights in Texas so that I can pretend she's still in the living room and it's pretty close to the real thing.

That's how you throw a party.

 

Logged out

You won't believe it, but I'm finally off Facebook.  It's been a month now so that's long enough to reconsider, but I'm committed. I'd been toying with the idea of abandoning the social network for a while and finally did a little personal experiment.  I'd been noticing for a few months that, even though I logged on frequently (when I say "frequently" you need to hear "with an astonishing and annoying regularity"), I wasn't seeing much new.  What I was seeing was a lot of nasty comments about how other people don't do parenting or politics the right way.  I saw lots of people trying to convince me they're happy in their lives and marriages. And lots of cat pictures. Once I noticed that trend of people pleading for acceptance and approval it was hard to UNnotice it if you know what I mean. The only thing that might have salvaged my participation was that the cats were sometimes kinda funny. My experiment involved just watching to see if I could find something original and engaging each day.

When I finally joined Facebook (and more than one person commented that the apocalypse must be at hand when they found me there) I felt I had joined this gleeful floating raft of happy well wishing old and new friends who all shared the same quirky sense of humor as me.  I imagined that we'd spend our time thinking of even more ways to bring a little laughter to our prospective days.  You know that is not at all how it turned out. It didn't take long in my experiment to see that shine was gone.

Instead, and I can't say exactly when, the platform became a way for some of my friends (who gasp! are not all really friends so much as people I kinda knew) to abuse one another politically, personally, religiously in the name of free speech. The many, many reposts of articles about parenting that weren't in the least bit supportive of young families, but instead offered up judgement and criticism all in the name of God made me wonder if I'd misunderstood our relationships.  I'm raising a wonderful child and even I felt like my parenting would be criticized from reading some of the reposted articles just swimming in double standards on Facebook.  You know sarcasm and dark humor have no better fan than me, but you can add to the list of things that I don't find at all funny racism, gay bashing and photoshopping of any political candidate.  Oh, and slut shaming.

The funny I found at first became obscured by the real venom that came behind it and while initially we all seemed to be on our best behavior, somehow I could no longer find much input that I could call positive or laughable or enlightening.  Worse, I wasn't seeing much original content - just reposts. More than once I arranged what I could see and what people can see about me. I've blocked and hidden and all of that, but I still couldn't find the excitement I'd found when I didn't know everyone quite so well.  I feel like a lot of these folks had opened their robes and flashed me so before I knew it, I was censoring what I was willing to share and I don't like worrying about what my "friends" will think so much.  Because I'm an empathetic person, I found myself constantly wondering about people after cringe-worthy, attention-seeking posts, "Lord, what is it you're asking from the world here? And is it possible to even get what you want from a bunch of not-really-friends? And am I supposed to give it by clicking the thumbs up button?"

And then I remembered that all I have to do is stop looking. Stop looking and all that negativity that sticks to an empath like me no longer carries any weight in my day.  I'd forgotten the option of leaving the party early.  I was worried, though, that I'd miss something if I left. When I answered the questions, "What would happen if I didn't see your toes-in-the-sand picture?" and, "What would happen if I didn't seek approval from people I hardly know with my own comments,  shares and pictures?"  The truth is, nothing would happen. Nothing at all except I might be able to breathe a little. So, I deactivated.

The thing is, it's not really a complaint I have about Facebook that caused me to end it.  I may even go back when I need a cat picture or when I want to see how someone's cousin's kid is doing in baseball.  The truth of Facebook is the same truth of ALL groups of people and that's where I've always had problems.  When you really get to know people, most of them you wish you didn't have to spend time with and the few you deeply care for turn up in lots of other ways.  The attention seeking ones that bug you at the office are the same ones waving flags of vague statements in your newsfeed that begin with "Some people really need to..." and the people posting pictures of their perfect vacations with their perfect spouses are still just right next door trying to forget the money problems and the affairs that everyone in town already knows about anyway. Knowing that all the softly focused selfies from women over 40 took about an hour to stage makes me sad.  Really, nothing is that different than it would be if I gathered all 652 friends and had a reunion with them.  And I wouldn't do that because it would be horrible - almost as horrible as checking in with them multiple times a day at stop lights and finding nothing of value. I don't even like parties.

For the first 10 days I thought I might be missing something important so I'd reactivate the account just to check but the same stomach knotting comments were there and not much else and that helped confirm my decision. So I'm free. I've been liberated from being desensitized by pictures of sunsets and half empty glasses of wine. I was kinda bored at first, but now I'm free to have real friendships with real people who want to speak the truth about their marriages and their children. I'm free from watching the same bad theology article reposted over and over by people I thought were smarter and free from wondering how getting enough "likes" translates into someone finally getting a kidney. Just as importantly, I'm free from exposing myself to an assessment of my worth by people who don't really know me.  I'm not telling you to do it.  I'm not condemning you for enjoying the party. I'm just telling you to email me or call me if something big happens.