10 Ways Facebook Is Like the Boyfriend You Can't Quit

For a long time Facebook was it.  It was the way to get my work seen.  

While other sites were for bloggers and businesses and people looking for recipes and hairstyles, Facebook was for everyone.  Everyone was there looking, sharing and commenting, everyone from grandmothers to seventh graders. Posting my writing on Facebook was like putting my work on a billboard on the highway - hundreds of people saw it, and if they liked it, they told their friends. 

This made it easy to up my number of followers, a number that to a blogger like me was like weight or household income. It was a number that I would kill to keep it moving in a certain direction.  A number that was the source of happy dances or considering spending the day with a bottle of vodka and watching Judge Judy.  

And now no one on Facebook sees a blogger's stuff.  

Facebook is now the person who throws a big black sheet over someone using sandwich boards for the purpose of self promotion.     

Facebook is killing blogs.  

They want bloggers to pay, and pay through the nose. 

"Ain't nothin' free in this town no more." Right Domestic Goddess?

Facebook is Facebook.  They can do whatever they want.  And they've been nothing but honest.  They're like the crappy boyfriend who lays his cards on the table -- tells you he can't, make that won't, commit.

And fool that you are, you stay with him.  

Here are 10, yes 10, ways I know I'm in a very unhealthy relationship with you, Facebook.

You blog-killing, crappy boyfriend piece of you-know-what!  

1

I'm constantly checking in on you to see if you're going to change your ways and show me some love.

2

Even though I spend tons of time and energy on you, I know I'll get next to nothing in return.  

3

I keep thinking that if I had a better figure you'd like me more, but I'm starting to see that no one is good enough.  


4

Even though I know you're a greedy bast--d, I still think about paying you to give me a "boost," but that seems desperate and wrong.

5

I read and talk to friends about strategies that will make you do right by me.  Things change for a little bit, then go back to normal.


6

I have so many friends through you and if I break up with you I might lose them!


7

It makes my day when I put my goods out there for some reason or other, you show me off. 


8

I wish I could not need you so much, and totally break-up with you, but you are impossible to ignore.


9

Just when I think we are done, you sucker me back in to staying. 


10

I am trying to get to know other people, like this guy G+, but he's kinda boring and I just don't get him.  

Seriously, most people get their soft news from Facebook.  Friends of mine have remarked that they haven't been seeing my posts. Some ask if I still write.  

Blogging feels like an uphill battle.  

Big and small sites are feeling the hit.  We write for an audience -- for community -- not to send our work and our words into the ether.

Is the golden age of blogging over?

What are you doing to get your work out there?

Empathy: The Weakest Link Between Parents and Child-frees

I may think I'm doing a miserable job, but my version of the SuperMommy Show is fooling everyone.  Even though I sleep about 5-6 hours a night, I don't look like a zombie. I can still teach and take physically demanding dance classes. The dancers of a Chicago dance troupe where I guest teach company class were shocked to learn that I am a mommy to two young children.  "But she demonstrates everything!" they marveled. 

"See what good training and taking care of yourself can do?" answered their rehearsal director, a friend of mine.

Ha!

To the outside world I look like someone who's got her act together.  I'm reasonably nice looking, competent and always armed with a sharp wit.  In private, however, I sob over commercials, Disney movies, and random acts of kindness from strangers. And on the flip side, I live one baby step from launching into a profanity laced tirade worthy of a gang fight. 

But by far, my dirtiest secret is how I feel about my kids. Of course I want them around; I cherish them so much my breath catches.  Sometimes we have a lot of fun together.  But a lot of the time I can't hack it. I yell and lose my temper. I can't balance doing things for them like laundry and chauffeuring and meals, versus doing things with them, like reading books and playing. And then there's the pressure of being a good parent in a nation where parenting should be a team sport, but instead feels like shopping on Black Friday.  

I share these doubts and fears with other parents and those childless of mine friends who get it as much as they possibly can.

Unless a child-free person has been carefully vetted to be able to handle parental venting, I usually don't bother. 

But this child-free person asked me how I was, and instead of saying "fine," I got real.

"My kids are driving me crazy," I confessed

"You made them didn't you?" he grinned. "Right?"

I wanted to run my nails down his face. "I guess," I answered, clenching my jaw. 

Made them?

Yes, I, with a little help from science and my husband, not necessarily in that order, "made" them.  But the idea that I am -- that any parent is -- the sole, even primary, cause of why a child is the way s/he is -- spirited/docile, even-tempered/moody, an early reader/late reader -- is in many cases, just wrong.

But his other point was that having kids at all was not only my choice, but my fault.  Apparently, he had had the foresight to realize kids weren't for him and his partner. In his mind, those who bring children into the world make their own milk-soaked, overcrowded, peed-on beds and should lie in them.

Without a word of complaint.

Let's get something straight. My complaining about my corner of motherhood is not an invitation to be patronized or blamed from my parenting choices.  It does not signify a lack of love for my children, or that I am delusional about either the big picture or the minutiae of parenting.  

It is simply an admission that I am having a hard time, and that I need some support -- someone to listen to me. It's a request for reassurance that what I'm feeling is normal, and will pass.  I need that pat on the shoulder when I feel like my life's a shambles. 

That's what everyone needs.  

It's called empathy.  It's called being sensitive to other people's feelings and needs.  "They" start teaching us those things in preschool, but many of us never really quite get it.  

I lived without children for over 35 years.  I thought I was stressed and busy and tired as a childless adult, but now that period of my life seems blissfully carefree. It's almost a joke how little I had to think, let alone worry, about.  

But is it fair to invalidate what I felt back then?  My problems were REAL, and I dealt with them with whatever maturity and perspective I had.  

Which is exactly what I try to remember when I hear someone without kids complain about how exhausted/busy/strapped for cash they are. That's their reality.  Parents aren't the only people in the world allowed to be emotionally, physically and financially tapped out.  

When a friend without kids complains, I put judgement aside. I listen and offer whatever support I can.  

And I deserve that same courtesy when I vent about my kids.  

Whether you're not a parent, or if you're one of those people who has parenting all figured out, if I express frustration about their children, please just acknowledge my feelings. Even if you can't understand. Keep your assumptions and evaluations to yourself. Do it even if you think I'm totally out of my mind, and I'll do the same for you.

And afterward we can go back to our respective camps and vent anew about each other's insensitivity/entitledness/delusions.  

Or better yet, we can put ourselves in the other person's shoes, shrug our shoulders, and go on with our lives. 

The Road of Motherhood Is Paved With S--t You Forgot

Even though all our devices are slowly being rolled into one (Apple and Tesla met to talk about an ICar, people!) we have more to remember than ever before.

Forgive me for starting another battle in the Parents vs. Child-free by Choice war, but when you have kids (and a body part that rhymes with bulva - yep, started yet another battle) the amount of stuff you are trying to remember to keep everyone not just comfortable, but ALIVE, goes up if not exponentially, than big-time.

Gradually you start doing things that only someone with severely impaired brain function would do, like wearing two different shoes, or misplacing your keys several times a day. And that's in addition to doozies like forgetting to put more diapers in the diaper bag the day the baby has a Code Red blowout, or getting stuck in make-Mother-Theresa-curse-level traffic when your menu of distracting snacks was left on the kitchen counter.

You think about getting more sleep, taking gingko biloba or playing some intellect-strengthening games online, before realizing how uber stupid that is.

It's simple math. The more you stuff have to remember, the more likely you are to forget something.  

You begin to realize this: 

And it's not over when your kids crawl out of that baby stage.  Diapers, sippy cups and wipes are replaced by electronic devices and gear for swimming, ballet, soccer, t-ball, school, and every other activity known to the affluent suburbs. 

And, of course, you have to remember to take kids places, and to actually pick them up.

Which can be a problem in itself.  It seems that no motherhood journey is complete without at least once forgetting a whole HUMAN BEING.   

Today I'm at BonBon Break telling my dear friend Nicole's tale of a botched pick-up.  

What about you?  What's your pick-up story?  

How Hot is Your Valentine's Day? The Quiz

Revised from the original post of February 13, 2013

Once upon a time you despised Valentine’s Day.  All the red, the roses, the chocolate, the restaurant reservations.

The maribou handcuffs. 

It was absolutely ridonkulous.

Then you met HIM (your significant other, not Jesus), and it all changed.  You couldn’t wait for the big day.  Instead of envying or scorning the couples eating those overpriced prix fixe meals at restaurants, you wisely and naughtily planned evenings in.

But once the kids came, it turned into something else altogether.  A day where you sprinted all over town buying cupcakes, candy and/or cards for every child in the class, and then felt a strong urge to bust out your best Karaoke version of "You've Lost That Loving Feeling."

It can be so hard to keep the heat in Valentine’s Day, don't you think?  Take this quiz and see if you and your partner are a bonfire of passion, a slow burn, or more like a wet blanket and a match.

You've been planning what you’d do for Valentine’s Day 2013 for________ .

a. months

b. weeks

c.  Oh crap! Anyone got some Hershey's kisses and a red sharpie?

You want to get your husband an inspirational/interactive book – something You’re thinking______.

a. 50 Shades of Grey

b. Table for Two:  The Cookbook for Couples

c.  I Married a Baby:  Getting Your Mate to Grow the @#$% Up

To make your husband weak in the knees this February 14^th, you will ________.

           

 a. rock lingerie that’ll make Victoria’s Secret models look like nuns.

 b. cook something so tasty, his heart will stop – in a good way!

 c. knock some sense into his head (literally!) via skillet.

The biggest obstacle to intimacy has been ____________ .

a.  nothing - a cobra, fire ants and a chastity belt couldn’t stop us!

b.  our children who never leave us alone.

c.  the low-lying brick wall down the center of our California king. 

To rekindle the fires you would need ______________ .

           

a.  if we got any hotter we’d be a volcano.

b.  a vacation.

c.  medications unapproved by the FDA.

Time to 'fess up.  What'd you score?

Can You Find Balance?

Balance.

It’s maybe the most elusive thing out there.  We’re all looking for it, but no one seems to have captured it.  The quest for balance sounds like a George Costanza monologue from Seinfeld. 

Do you have balance? I can’t find balance.  I couldn’t find balance if it kicked me in the pants. Larry Tomaselli went looking for balance and was never seen or heard from again. I’m gonna tell ya, I don’t think balance even exists.

If balance isn’t something we can find, we think we can make it happen, just like it says in the title song from the movie Flashdance.  We write down lists, and plan our time more carefully than the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company. We strive to get everything done, just like Boss Calendar says.

But then the baby has a poop-to-the-neck blowout just as we’re about to leave the house, the dishwasher floods, or somehow we forgot the one ingredient we need for that new dinner recipe, and it’s all shot to hell.  Our elaborate plans to get everything done, to feel whole and sane and capable have been thwarted.  Losing our grip on reality, we’re certain the universe has made express plans to crap on our cracker.

And this thwarted feeling is anything but balanced.

A mom friend and I were talking about always feeling a day late and a dollar short.  Our busy lives make getting it all done impossible. If we find ourselves with an empty slot of time, it’s spoken for almost immediately. If we take care of one thing, something else goes undone. We take the time to get a mani/pedi and only to realize we’ve totally spaced on a meeting. And it’s impossible to feel relaxed when you’re convinced you’re a disorganized asshole.

We're trying to find balance, and it’s not working. We’ve got it all wrong.

Because balance is not getting it all done, and propping your feet up like the lady in the commercial with the clean house and stocked refrigerator.  It’s not a checked off to-do list, or letting it all just roll off your back.

Balance is prioritizing because no, you can’t get it all done, not just not perfectly, but not at all.  We need to stop telling ourselves that vicious lie that we can work and parent and exercise and cook and shop and have hobbies and look great and see our friends and stay up-to-date on at least four social media outlets and find a sense of peace.

Even the most well trained seal can’t hold hundreds of balls while balancing on the point of a pyramid. 

Balance is understanding that when bad things happen it is normal to feel and to react.

Balance is looking around at the things you swore you’d never have or do – a messy house, kids who ate a processed or (gasp!) fast-food dinner, wear nothing but yoga pants for a week and saying this is the best I can do.

Balance is asking for help.  It is getting better at saying, quite simply, “No.” It is realizing that sometimes putting yourself first means doing nothing.

It is believing, not fatalistically, but realistically, that stuff happens. 

Balance is being present.

And it is forgiving yourself for being unable to be present, or say no, or to put yourself first. 

Because maybe, just maybe, balance is one of those things that finds you when you stop desperately searching for it. It gently settles upon you when you remember to breathe.  

.