40 (or so) days later

Now that we are in the home stretch of Lent, the Facebook fast has taught me a few things. One, that I'm a poor, miserable sinner who, despite being disappointed in what I find, can't help but check in every Sunday since those are technically not counted among the 40 days. By His grace, I also know it's okay ;). I've also found that the less I interact with the platform, the less it interacts with me. Hmm. I see the same things over and over, lose interest, and put it down. I check my groups, same thing.

To plan a re-entry to (or complete dismissal of) Facebook, I've considered several options:

-disable my account altogether and do any buy/sell/trading the old fashioned way (but who really has luck with classified ads anymore)

-create a new account, ditching my old one and only befriending a very, very small number of people

-make it a rule to unfollow/unfriend anyone who raises my blood pressure, which seems silly, but part of my addiction to Facebook involves getting riled up about people who say stuff like "we did Black people a favor when we brought them over to 'Murica." Serious face palms like that are hurting my head. And I can't engage in every such argument that comes up, or, as shown by previous experience, my real life family and friends suffer.

-check in once a day for a short amount of time. This seems like the most doable option, but it will involve self-control on my part, which I struggle with in the areas of Facebook and desserts.

-ditch the smart phone altogether and get a flip phone. This would be probably the best option, but our only option for quality Internet is through our smart phones, so that would be an unwelcome impediment upon several areas of life.

I think that the short daily check-in, coupled with the following, is going to be the best bet.

-only check groups that are relevant to my real, in-person life. Those would be home school and theology groups (though the latter can be maddening at times).

-NEVER read the comments on any ad that shows up in my news feed.

Facebook-Free Lent Day 3: Analysis Paralysis and other fun

I really missed Facebook today, most likely because I was darned stressed out! Know what stresses me out? Making decisions. The first decision of the morning was what to have for breakfast. Oh, the agony.

Then, there was the mule situation. My mule has had something in his eye since I went down to the barn Saturday and found the left side of his face coated in ice that was a mixture of tears, blood and pus (As for that visual...you're welcome.). It being -30 with a strong wind, getting the ice out of the way was a challenge, and long story short, yesterday evening I found what appeared to be an ulcer in his eyeball, which he could finally open enough for me to see. I had thus far avoided Google, but going to it after my aunt urged me to get him to the vet STAT, I found that there was a high likelihood of him losing his sight in that eye, with the possibility of losing the eye itself.

Somehow I managed to sleep last night, but this morning was a whirlwind of me crabbing at the kids, calling the vet, arranging an appointment (I abhor phone calls and arranging appointments), followed by trying to get some school done (trying to decide what we could get done) as we have missed two days this week. Then it was to hitch up the trailer and try to get it pulled out of the snow, load said mule who, for being a mule, loads really easily but is pretty horrible if his Friend, Sister-from-another-Mister, and General Life Partner isn't with him, which she wasn't going to be. I debated sending feelers out to see if anyone wanted to hang out with my kids. But, Facebook. So the kids came along.

Upon arrival at the vet I found that Eeyore will most likely retain at least some sight in his eye. Good news. To make that happen, I will be catching him 3 to 6 times a day for the next 2 weeks to put drops and rub ointment in his eye. The more the better, the vet said. So, 6 times a day. Did I mention he's a mule, and while he is a pony mule, he still outweighs me by at least a few hundred pounds.

Plus there is the fact that we're going on a much-anticipated vacation in Nine Days. I'm going to be wrestling with the mule still at that point. But we have rented a house, and Jon has taken vacation days. Maybe we could hire someone to wrestle Eeyore for four days while we're gone? Or do we reschedule and hope there's still snow on the ski mountain in early April, and that the house will be available? Decisions, decisions.

We got home, and the kid who was a wild monkey at the vet's office, climbing everything and being generally hyper, is suddenly inexplicably cold. Her cheeks are flushed, her glands are sore, she has a fever. Influenza? Do I take her to the walk in tomorrow? Do Jon and I continue our megadoses of Vitamin C, in the hopes that we will stave off illness, or do we let the illness waft over us and succumb to it willingly in hopes that we are all healthy in nine days?

Through all this, there was an undertone of "update a facebook status about my kid being sick/getting the mule to the vet/post something funny about mule's mule noise/make joke about vet's office being cleaner than the Burger King playland," with the realization that I actually had to face these issues in the present rather than commiserate with others on Facebook about them. Along with the really weird and somewhat frightening subconscious thought of, "If I don't post about it on Facebook, will people believe me, will it be real, and will it be remembered?" That, I feel, warrants some more unpacking on a different day.

Facebook-free Lent Day 2

Day One was empowering. I made a list of books I'd like to read and actually found one and spent a good little chunk of time reading it! A couple things, though....

1. Having deleted the Facebook app from my phone, I replaced it with a different app. I probably counted five times that I absently, completely automatically, clicked on that app--Amazon Video, for what it's worth--and no, I had no plans of actually using the app. That little fact was pretty disquieting to me.

2. I felt somewhat isolated as I thought of several witty quips in my mind that I would have otherwise rushed to share to Facebook. True, I didn't get to share those witty quips. I also didn't waste time checking Facebook to see whether anyone had read and responded to my witty quips, or whether said witty quips were not indeed witty.

3. I spent most of the day with my two dearest friends from high school, so I can't say that it was a fair "day two," since I wouldn't have been on Facebook a whole lot anyway. However, I did realize I couldn't post pictures of our children and the group shot of all of us. That fact didn't diminish the joy at having spent the day as I had.

4. I'm greatly looking forward to reading both the books I've selected and having time to enjoy them before bed tonight. Normally I absently scroll through Facebook until I realize I've reached what my husband deems "The End of the Internet' before realizing I have only 15 minutes to read before my targeted bedtime, which usually turns into an hour, a late bedtime, and a crabby me in the morning.

5. Bring on Day 3.

Facebook-free Lent Day 1

I've been talking about giving up Facebook for months, possibly years. Having been in college in the early 2000s, I was "there" when it first began. I heard about it from a couple of friends, got a couple invites, and remember thinking, "Why on earth would I want my "face" on the Internet?" It all seemed very absurd to me. Then my roommate got it, and we could suddenly find out all kinds of information, like whether or not that cute guy in History was single, and what our "friends" would be up to this weekend.

Facebook evolved with us, or possibly rather we with it. I remember being able to post "statuses," which were often the cryptic, emotive type (being a college student and all). A few years later, people could respond to such statuses. Still later, Facebook opened its market to everyone, from high schoolers to boomers and beyond. I remember feeling really conflicted at that development, since Facebook was still a relatively intimate way to connect with people I found to be true friends.

I don't need to expound upon what Facebook has become. We all know it. I feel fortunate that my 6 year old boy still says, "What's Facebook?", rather than being interested in how many likes the picture of his drawing got. I aim to keep it that way as long as possible, but knew that something would need to change in order to make that happen.

In my younger years, I flirted with alcohol consumption. Don't get me wrong, I still enjoy a drink or two here and there and have discovered a casual love of craft brews. What I found around age 21 and 22, though, was that just a drink or two of alcohol took away my social anxiety, improved my fiddle playing, and generally made me more of an interesting person. Or so I thought, until the next day, when I would again worry about the possibility of having said something to someone that maybe wasn't worded exactly how I had "really" meant it.

By the grace of God I didn't ever fully find myself going down that road. I had children now, and it didn't take any experiential discovery to know that parenting with a buzz could only be harder than parenting stone-cold sober.

However, I've always had that realization at the back of my mind that I have an addictive personality (another reason I'm careful about alcohol). Addiction doesn't always take the form of a drug or beverage. It doesn't even have to have the appearance of something sinful. When I started buying baby supplies (cloth diapers, then baby wraps), it was just me, being a mom who loved my child and wanted to find the product that worked best for us. And talking to other moms who wanted the same for their children. And then analyzing and reviewing how each specific product performed in any given situation, realizing this might not be the "best" product after all, and going on the hunt for a new product, which entailed a whole lot more analyzing with my fellow online addicts.

My children having outgrown the cloth diaper stage and mostly outgrown being wrapped, those areas of addiction are being removed out of necessity, much like the potential addiction to alcohol I faced many years ago. But wait....I'm homeschooling! And I see the rabbit hole of curriculum possibilities looming ahead of me. I used to joke that if I became as addicted to baby carriers as I did to cloth diapers that my husband would divorce me. I won't lie, I became even more addicted, and it did cause some serious strain on our marriage. I'm not about to go down that road again with homeschooling curriculum, or my husband might make me send our kids to school!

Anyway, this post was going to be about my Facebook addiction, before I realized in free writing that Facebook wasn't my only problem. I will say that it's the root. I have been a Facebook user since 2004. Wow. I was 20 years old when I started using it, and I'm not 34. I'm not sure about this, but I do know that my struggles with depression and anxiety got worse around this time. It could have been life circumstances, but I do also know that I got "better" around the time I moved away from college (which had been a goal), got my dream job and....(drumroll) didn't have any local Facebook friends. Everyone I knew and interacted with on a daily basis didn't have Facebook at that point (remember, it was still basically just a college thing).  I had to actually connect with people in person.

Since then, Facebook has become so much more. I have a smart phone. I'm not sure how I would even go without it, since so much of my life is on it. But Facebook is going to be the devil here, or at least his tool. I see myself depending on it, despite my discomfort with how much I do depend on it. The crazy thing is, is that the people developing it and evolving it know this. Our brains are conditioned by the "ting" of a notification that will either tell us that someone "approved" an aspect of our humanness, or maybe that someone is ready to fight about it. When we hear that "ting" our brains prepare for either of those, or perhaps some other possibility. Maybe someone wants to buy my guitar. Maybe someone thinks my kids are adorable. Maybe someone is going to call me a feminist, anti-woman, anti-American, or a car seat Nazi (all of the above are categories that some people would see me fit into). Maybe someone is having a party and I'm not invited. Why? Did I say something that offended that person? Was it that pro-life article I posted two weeks ago, or the joke bashing Joel Osteen?

All this time, my kids are living their lives, away from the crap that's involved in that aspect of modern life. If there's anything I haven't failed at as a parent, it's letting my kids play creatively and not get sucked in by screens. But if I am addicted to that technology, will that bliss last? I'm already seeing that it won't.  If I want my kids to find joy in music, God, animals, the outdoors (not in that order!), shouldn't I model that enjoyment instead of staring at my phone for myriad 5 minute chunks of the day, then complaining that I don't have time to practice my instruments/sew/whatever?

I woke up last night knowing that I wouldn't be checking Facebook for the next 40 days and had a moment of panic. I almost checked it, because it wasn't Ash Wednesday yet at that point, so I could "technically" use it. Luckily that thought offered my mind a moment of clarity and conviction about how important it was that I actually do this!

In closing, my kids are outside playing for the first time in at least a week, since it is a balmy 9 degrees above Fahrenheit. I haven't written anything forever, so this is rambling and poorly written, and I'm aware of that. I'm off to enjoy life and conquer the withdrawals of this Facebook addiction.

Somehow I've gotten out of the habit of writing, and I think it was a really good habit to be in. Looking back I am pretty sure that most of my best writing was during some of my lowest points in life, so my lack of need for cathartic rambling is probably a good thing. I also don't have a direction for this post, so it probably won't be published.

Life has been...up and down. I'm really starting to realize what the farming thing means in terms of our lifestyle, trying to stretch ourselves between two places and for Jon, two jobs. Trying to coordinate his days off with when the crops might be ready, and then they're not because it rains, or something breaks down, or whatever. Packing my kids, pets and horses up to spend a week or more at the farm, then getting up there and realizing I forgot the dog food or Josie's "buppy" (blanket). Our dog's spay appointment got rescheduled three times because our projected schedule kept changing.

The rhythm of farming is all I've known my whole life. Plant in the spring, hope for rain (unless you're still planting), hope the weed emergence and wind cooperate enough to be able to spray at the right time (another tricky thing when we live two hours away!), wondering which disease will be prevalent in which crop this year, driving down prices. The smells of flowering wheat, freshly cut hay and ripening grain mixed with diesel fumes.

I relish the time spent up at the farm, getting to see my children experience some of the same joys I did as a child (albeit sans livestock). Seeing my dad, my husband and I and our children interacting together around a shared job is the realization of a lifelong dream.

But then there are the drawbacks. Scheduling, as mentioned above. Deciding whether or not to drag the menagerie of animals up to the farm because who knows how long we'll be there. This fall the greatest challenge for me has been the feeling that I'm straddling two communities. I rarely do anything social up at the farm because I'm farming. A quick trip to the elevator or a rainy day supper at the pizza joint is about it. My social community lies at my home address, not my hometown anymore.

At the same time I find myself time and time again unavailable to develop friendships in my new community. The kids were invited to five birthday parties this fall, all of which had to be declined because we were farming. We haven't been to church since I don't know when (July, I think), because we're either at the farm or the kids have happened to wake up with fevers the Sunday mornings we are home.

I keep hearing about how busy kids are these days, what with full days of school and full evenings of activities afterwards. I adore the fact that we "aren't that busy;" my kids get up on their own schedules, we eat every meal together, every day, be it at the farm or at home. Meals in the car are virtually unheard of. But ours is a different kind of busy. I predict it will become busier as my dad retires and more of the day-to-day management is up to us. It may become easier as the kids get older and can help out more, but then what of any activities they'd like to be in? It remains to be seen.

I do know that the ability to farm is a privilege that not many people get to experience these days. To know the work, the gamble and the long process involved in growing our food is something that's incomparable. For me it's a connection that goes back not only to my great-grandfather who homesteaded our farm, but to my ancestors in Norway who were also farmers but knew something needed to change for them to be able to survive (13 kids couldn't all take over the family farm, right?). To continue that tradition has been on my mind since I was a young child.

So I (we...my husband isn't a passive bystander) will continue to weigh the costs and benefits of our lifestyle, not only for me but for the whole family. It's a tricky business. And that's kind of an anticlimactic/blah ending, but I haven't written for a while. So that's about all I've got to say about that. ;)

Hot Mess Library Mom...that's me

A dear friend called me this morning to express her frustration with this thing called parenthood. Well, not parenthood in general, but the fact that, as mothers, no matter what we do, someone will be looking over their shoulder and judging. My friend (who shall remain anonymous if she wishes) is a very cautious mom in general. Super cautious. It is a stretch for her to allow her kids to run, but as she knows exploring within boundaries is in their best interests, she allows her children to run in front of her while out on a walk. At this point, the parenting gurus who bemoan the fact that "kids these days don't get any exercise or get to explore" are nodding their heads in approval.

Enter two (I am sure) well-meaning police officers. They pull over, address my friend, and admonish her to keep her children closer to her next time. My friend was crushed and embarrassed. The officers had no idea how hard it is for her to loosen her boundaries.

We both agreed that, had it been a father with his children on a walk, a different tone would have been taken. "Oh, those kids, they sure like to run, don't they!" "It's great to see an involved dad."

After ending my phone call with my friend I headed into town. The kids and I were going to go to the library and run a few errands. Since we found the library closed until 11:30, we ran our errands beforehand.  

To backtrack, I am always a hot mess at the library. I am not sure why, but my children always end up being completely out of character and I always end up being overly anxious and weird. My usually-clingy daughter wants out of her ring sling to run. My rule-following son becomes selectively deaf. I forget the diaper bag and the toddler poops in her cloth diaper. I knock over the display case (okay, that one was at the grocery store).

But today I was prepared. I had packed snacks. I had packed water. I had remembered diapers for the toddler. All our old library books were packed neatly in a bag. I thought we were set.

We had been running errands, though, and at this point my bladder was *done.* I instructed my four year old to quietly read while I ran to the bathroom.

When the toddler and I returned, he was obediently sitting reading and had picked out several books. I was sure I had this library trip in the bag. My daughter (19 months old) requested to get out of her ring sling, and I obliged. She sat nicely in a chair while I looked over my "Goodreads" list of books to read (an app on my phone).

That's when it hit the fan. As we trekked to the grown-up section, Little Miss Toddler decided to run. Usually when she gets further than six inches away from me she veers right back like I am magnetic, whimpering and hiding her face. Not this time. Giggling, she ran out of my reach in seconds. In his quest to be "helpful," Big Brother ran after Little Sister, alternating between laughing and tattling on her.

"I just need one book," I said to myself and found the first book on my list. Skimming the back I realized it wasn't what I was looking for at all and went to the next book on the list. Before I did that, I rounded both kids up. The toddler screamed at the top of her lungs with laughter and then anger when I grabbed her. She was *not* being stuffed into her ring sling, and kept screaming as long as I held her. 

The library didn't have the second, third, or fourth books on my list. I decided to try to find a classic, Gone with the Wind. No bananas. It wasn't there. Between each of these book quests, I had to round up both kids, who screamed as I cornered them, the youngest continuing to scream as I held her.

"I give up," I finally voiced, and returned, bookless, to the children's section to check out our books. I was sweating, my pulse was up and the toddler was still screaming, the four-year-old still giggling at her despite the fact that I had removed his coveted movie night privileges.

I shoved the pile of books on the counter as the kids ran rampant again (we had too many books for me to hold onto both of them and check them out at the same time).

"Do you have your library card?" the librarian asked.

"No," I whispered under my breath. I realized I'd have to give her my name, which would require talking. And I was at the end of my rope. My emotions were stretched to their limit, my cheeks were already red with embarrassment, so of course when she asked my name my voice caught and I teared up. And cried. "It's been quite a day," I was able to offer before I grabbed my four year old, who lay down on the floor so I had to drag him. I headed for the door, and the toddler headed for the toilet.

The whole time I could just hear the thoughts of the other library patrons who were trying to read, work, or study (the thoughts that would have been mine before I had kids). Can't she control her kids? Back in my day I would have gotten my butt smacked for acting like that. Why bring your kids to the library if they're going to disrupt others? 

Along with the popular pressures mothers face...Let your kids be kids. If the wrong person catches you spanking your child they could call CPS on you. If you need to spank you're obviously not parenting right. You need to read to your children.

I also realized, once I got home, that I was wearing a shirt that read (in large, capital letters) DRINK MONTANA BEER. So I was probably also being judged for that. My lax attitude toward alcohol (drinking a craft beer with supper a couple times a week) is probably the reason I am such a terrible parent. On the other hand, if I didn't consume alcohol, I would be accused of being too uptight and my kids would surely rebel once they hit adulthood.

The moral is, I don't know. There's no winning at motherhood. Someone will always be looking at you and thinking you need to be doing something differently. If they're not, you will think they are, because, well, they usually are. There will always be a circumstance in which your kids will act out, or someone will perceive that your kids are acting out (in my friend's case). For now, I will have to bring a more restrictive carrier for the toddler next time we go to the library (which might be a very long time!!) and accept with grace my title of Hot Mess Library Mom.

Early is on time, on time is late, and late is....still acceptable

That’s the last straw, I thought as the content’s of Ladybug’s diaper hit the clean bedding, then the floor. I had really intended to be on time for church today. Cutting Mr. Bug’s TV time short and leaving extra time for a good snack, getting Ladybug dressed up like a little doll, and actually remembering to write the check for offering this time, I felt confident as we left that Bug would even have time to pick a couple wildflowers before we left the house at 9:35. Church wasn’t until 10, after all. We were early. I did it!! I am chronically tardy, so this was an accomplishment on my part. My band teacher used to use the adage, "Early is on time, on time is late, and late is unacceptable." I too often found myself in the "unacceptable" category.

Until I remembered that the pickup was hitched to my father-in-law’s trailer with his skidsteer on it. I had the choice of switching both car seats to the car or pulling a skidsteer to town on a trailer with tires in very dubious condition. I opted to move the car seats.

At this point Mr. Bug, being very disappointed that I couldn’t join in flower picking, wandered off on his own. Ladybug blissfully stayed in one place on the sidewalk, squatting down (I should have known!) and looking at rocks. One seat installed by 9:40. I can do this, I thought.

Once Ladybug’s seat was secure, I went to gather Mr. Bug. He was across the pasture, still busy picking flowers. I yelled at him to come. Nothing. I know he heard me. So I picked up Ladybug and ran closer, urging Brother to come NOW. I’m sure all the neighbors heard.

I packed snacks. Water. We are ready. Just a quick diaper check for Ladybug and….oh. It was now 

9:50. Church starts at 10. It takes 15 minutes to get to town.

Of course, it was an “above average” poopy diaper, and instead of simply staying in one place it had to make a quick exit as I struggled to wipe the squirming tot and rediaper her. She wasn’t happy; it was nap time, of course.

At 9:53 we were on the road. I was sweating. Ladybug fell into an exhausted sleep. We shuffled into 

church just as Pastor was announcing Absolution. But we made it.

I know of a time when I would have just stayed home. How embarrassing to show up that late to a service. Disruptive. Inconsiderate. Why come at all if you’re going to be late anyway? But that’s just putting a human construct on God, acting as though He is really upset that the toddler pooped her pants at an inopportune time and would rather I not show my face after such a disgraceful event.

In fact, even if I were able to predict my child’s bowel habits or had a good enough memory to remember to change the car seats the night before, if I were to show up to service twenty minutes early, I am no more forgiven by my own efforts, and to think such a thing is a serious error in itself. In all honesty, I don’t think there are a whole lot of people who really, totally think this way, anyway. But I must admit I had a bit of selfish pride in myself this morning the first time we went out the door and I really thought I had remembered it all.

It was a blessing and a privilege to be able to come into God’s house, feel my pulse drop as someone handed me a hymnal opened to the correct page, dig out raisins for the kids, and know that for the next hour I could count on God blessing me in Word and Sacrament!