Posts Tagged ‘facebook’


May 3, 2013

Every now and then people post stuff to my Facebook page and say, ‘This made me think of you!’ Usually it’s great stuff and right on.

But occasionally I just stare at the screen, thinking, ‘What the fuck. This is what you think of me?!?’

Figuring out what authentic means. Motherhood and me-ness. Just being.

April 18, 2013

I read a status update on Facebook by an unschooling page I follow. It was essentially all about how difficult it can be to support others, to inspire them, and always have to push your own dreams aside. That it is okay to never achieve your dreams if you help others. The line that really hit me was something like, ‘Sometimes I feel I will always live on the edge of a black pit, helping others climb of their black pits.’ That resonated. Strongly.

The author finished the post by saying hey, that’s okay! This is the good life.

That bit didn’t so much resonate.

Parenting requires, no, DEMANDS more squashing of self than I could have ever prepared for. Of course, I transform, I submerge myself with abandon into this new life, mostly. I want my children to be more courageous and creative than I am, and I feel that I play an instrumental role in allowing them to explore, to be who they are, to experiment and wonder. I want them to be curious and engaged and philosophers. Scientists. Artists. Literary giants.

I don’t begrudge them these things. Sometimes I question myself and my own motives, wondering if I am already trying to live vicariously through them. I pull myself back. No one deserves that pressure, we all need to be our own selves in the most authentic way we can. And that doesn’t come from other people telling us how to live or what to think.

So this status update made me angry, and made me sad, and made me THINK.

Then a lone sliver, a wisp as white and frail as anything else, floated across my mind. That one of my happiest and most fulfilling times in life was at camp. And my job, my life, was about inspiring children, young people, and adults. To help foster an environment where children could play and learn how to be themselves and take risks in a supportive environment. My life was all about helping others, and fuck, was I happy.

But I can’t lie. The campers at that place fucking loved me, and that fuelled me. I was able to be more fully, authentically me there than I had ever been anywhere else. The crazier I dressed, the weird impulse to shave my head, the outrageous singing and making a fool of myself – the more me I was, the more people loved me. And so, of course, that sweetest of lessons helped me grow and be joyful.

I feel on the cusp now, but it isn’t the same cusp I know and am old frenemies with. This cusp has that black pit on one side. I don’t know about the the other side.

The grand dreams, the feeling of factual endless possibilities, I don’t think it is there anymore. Those things may actually be in my own black pit. I think of my best friends I’ve known fifteen years, longer. How we all started with big dreams, and the certainty they would come true. I’ve watched people’s dreams deflate, and I’ve mostly felt sad about that. Because I know what we are all capable of.

But now a quiet voice says, find a third way. You don’t have to always give of yourself so constantly and consistently, this is a season in your life. When that voice is pushy, it asks uncomfortable questions about what sort of model I am being for my children. When it is melancholy, it asks what sort of life I am living for myself. Can I look up to me?

How am I so good at inspiring others, at believing wholeheartedly what I say, but then I sit here, in my tattered and comfortable slippers, perched on the edge of a black pit?

Maybe it is the time to look for an overgrown path. It’s small, dusty. Meandering. I’m not sure where it leads, but I do know it is away from that pit.

Or maybe it is still the time to sit here. Trying to rest and regroup when I get small moments, stretching my neck and checking my supplies. Casting my eyes about for that path, debating if I even want that path, or something else. I’d like my black pit edge to have a stream for my feet to rest in, but then I don’t want it to be too comfortable.

So I sit here, helping my children be and believe in themselves.

While I wonder who I am. That old me, who is still in Country A, laughing in thunderstorms and driving golf carts wildly? Eating ice cream in the summer twilight?

The impossible me who was brave enough to move across the world for true love?

The new and older me, who is often achey and short tempered?

I think I’m all those, but I feel I’m something else, too. Maybe my dreams have shifted, maybe I don’t want to chase them, maybe I’m just taking a breather. Maybe it’s easier to try to forgive myself for not trying at this moment in time. Maybe it’s okay to not know. Maybe it’s fine to let the sun warm my back, to sip water, to extend a hand to others. Maybe it’s not my time. Not yet.

Maybe it will be, soon.

Friendship, racism, family.

March 6, 2013

My sister has banned my mother from seeing her Facebook updates for ‘an extended period of time.’ Blondie posted a picture of her with some people she used to work with, who all happen to be in Big City here in Country B (Blondie has just moved here! She’s coming to us next weekend and I can’t wait!). The guys in the picture were not white.

My mom sent her a text message saying to be careful because she and my stepdad saw the picture and think the guys look ‘scary.’ Blondie was understandably pissed and now my mother has lost her most valuable stalking tool.

Mom called me this morning to try to get me on her side, as ‘you are a mother now and you know how I worry!’ I said I thought she was lucky she had daughters who believed most people were good people, regardless of skin colour. Then came five of the most racist, misguided minutes of my life.

I tried to reason with her, but things got more and more surreal. So I switched topic. ‘Hey, we are going to a concert of Ghanian music this afternoon!’ She was like, ‘Awesome, that will be fun!’

Apparently old dogs can learn new tricks. She is now more scared of brownish people than blackish people. I pointed that we are very good friends with people of various skin hues and we love them all. She was quiet.

I am lucky to like people, to have a sister who likes people. I am lucky to have children with brown, pink, black, white friends, who judge people not on skin colour but on who they have the most fun with. I hope that never changes.


November 8, 2010

My fb status last night: Existere Awesome has cracked 11,000 words. She’s well into the second decade of her nano novel.

TMD’s comment: Yay!

My comment:
You are the best wife I ever had, TMD.

Fast forward to a couple of hours later. I’ve just come into the lounge for something.

Me: I left you a little message on my fb status!

I know, I saw it. That’s why I came in to say hi to you earlier. That was really nice.

Me: I didn’t say it to be nice, I said it because it’s true.


Me: Though technically, I could hate you and it would still be true.


Me: I smell a blog post!!

Five life lessons. (Late night*.) (Alliteration again.)

November 6, 2010

I may have had a spat of tipsy tweeting tonight. (You like that alliteration?)

I’m on the other side of tipsy now, the I-must-sleep-soon-or-the-world-will collapse side.

Lessons learned from this evening:

1. One glass of wine gets me squiffy. Two glasses knocks me out.

2. I have a low tolerance for alcohol as I never drink.

3. I was hugely flattered when a Twitter friend said I was her favourite kind of drunk – cheap and chatty.

4. Facebook is sooooo fucked up. How else could I know that a lady I met ONE time in an antenatal class is getting a divorce? And not only that, but what song she walked down the aisle to?

5. A lot of famous people are from my town/area.

*’late night’ = 9:19 pm.

Stalking, it’s not just for amateurs anymore.

October 22, 2010

Okay, so. I’m not even a good stalker, nor do I aspire to be. But I accidentally stalked a few people yesterday.

First up, this girl who directed our camp a few people after I/we did. I run a facebook group for alumni of the camp. She posted a link to a blog she had started focusing on summer camp – so of course I clicked it. It was an easy hop from there to find her personal, top secret blog.

So of course I clicked.

Damn, kids. Lesson number one. You’re on wordpress? You need to post from a central anonymous account or only your ONE blog. If you have a personal blog, be careful if you open another professional one on the same account. Chances are some idle stalker will find it.

Next up? I spent some pleasant time on facebook looking for my ex girlfriend. Which morphed into looking at my ex boyfriend’s picture – again. Which quickly turned into, ‘Hey, I wonder if the guy I dated before this guy who was best friends with him is on facebook?’ Turns out he is. And so is his wife.

Her profile is not private.

So I now know that the weirdo half cartoon character with the extremely small penis has managed to knock his wife up, and they are expecting a daughter.

I don’t even want to find this shit. It finds me.

If I opt for a new career at some point, it may involve being a social media stalker. Imagine how fun it could be.

And, actually, one of my oldest friends (Hi, you-know-who-you-are!) does have a job stalking people on facebook. As near as I can tell, she hunts down people who have warrants out for their arrest and reads their profiles to figure out where the hell they are. Or something like that.

I would be so good at that. And it seems ideally suited to at home working, no?


Getting emails from all the technological peeps in the world. I AM A MOGUL.

November 2, 2009

Woke up this morning to an email from Facebook informing me that a page I started has a large number of followers and I need to authenticate my involvement with the ‘company’ by linking to the fb page from the official website, linking it to an actual email address associated with the product, etc. The page I started is for a foodstuff. It somehow has over 43,000 followers – I didn’t even remember I was part of this page, let alone the fact that I had started it.  I never post shit to the wall, there is nothing exciting about this page – apparently the love of this food item has united people the world over.

How to authenticate? Luckily there is a little box where you can plead your case. Like, for instance, ‘Listen, assmunch, this is a fan page for food, moreover food that is manufactured in different countries by different companies. Likewise, someone in certain parts of the world could go pick this shit off a tree. Wanting me to authenticate that I have the authority to create this page is like asking me to authenticate that I have the right to take a shit every morning, thanks.’

I also woke up to an email from eBay letting me know in The Most! Excited! Email! EVER! that I have a yellow star after my name because at least ten people have given me positive feedback. Ebay encouraged (!!!) me to print out the attached Yellow Star Certificate and post it somewhere in my life with pride.

Yeah, how about I print that sucker out and throw it on the pile of shit that is currently on our coffee table? It would look really nice among the empty cereal bowl, camera, baby scissors, baby nail clippers, the latest copy of my therapy magazine, rattles, remote controls, baby diaries, pens, empty earbud bag, Quash, etc etc. Every time I look at your poxy little certificate, I could be reminded of the dangerous addiction that seems to be forming – like the fact that I bought a stuffed baby chick the other day because I managed to convince myself that this stuffed animal was my muse in chicken form.

Or how about the genuine black Crocs from Hong Kong? Because I only have like 6,000 pairs of those fuckers already and there is no reason to buy more. Except, you know, that they are super cheap and I have wanted black ones for years in an attempt to fit in with Styles That Do Not Offend The Eye.

Yeah, thanks. I am spending my time trying not to spend my money on your website, so I’ll rush right out to print out a certificate that will remind me of just how stupidly I have spent money  I do not have. What a bolster to my self esteem that will be! Thanks, eBay!

Crank it up to the next level, boyz. And LOOK at my giant bump. Perhaps this weekend will bring prictures for you lucky people.

February 26, 2009

Woah. Lots of hip pain responses. That’s what we like to see – other ladies in discomfort. It’s like pregnancy porn for sickos. (I exclude myself from the sicko category in this instance, however.)

I could write you another numbered list of even more things that have happened. All of it is overshadowed by the ongoing sickness. The new pattern seems to be by midweek I am vomiting loads, fatigued, get migraines, have a nasty resurgence of my cold, and call in sick. I had a little crying jag to my boss’ boss today. Tomorrow is the first proper antenatal appointment, although even that is just a booking appointment (which should have happened at least a month ago, but who’s counting? Oh yeah, ME). My boss’ boss seems to think I am going to be signed off from work.

I don’t know. Either way, I have to cut my hours way down because my body – and therefore mind – is clearly not coping with working full time and being a twincubator full time.

Those little babies are kicking like wild donkeys on speed, and I just want to focus on them and not on how miserable I feel. I called across the world (eight time zones) to speak to my sister at 1 am her time, and I just sobbed out, ‘I just needed to hear the voice of someone who loves me.’

Whine whine, moan moan. At least the pregnancy is ‘out’ on Facebook, so it’s nice to be getting supportive and copious comments on there.

Had a scan on Monday and Baby M headbutted Baby T so, so, so hard that Baby T’s entire body rippled from the impact. I will tell you their ‘names’ in a later post, because I only just vomited into a tissue box and think it’s time to sleep. After all, I have to wake up super early and try to piss in a urine specimen pot that is about as wide as a pencil.


Snapshots of flair boards, unite!

November 30, 2008
Is it totally crazy to want to save a picture of my old flair board each time I redecorate? This is why the advent of technology is so helpful to people with hoarding tendancies, I feel.

I ain’t afraid of no ghost. Oh, wait, yes I AM.

November 21, 2008

Tomorrow we’re going to buy real, live artwork.

I went to a craft fair with my mom and she got us a lovely picture, but it’s on paper. We came this close to buying a big, chunky painting. So TMD and I are going back tomorrow to get it – and possibly another smaller one if I can convince her.

Pics will be posted here because these paintings are so cute and yet compulsive it’s hot. Zesty. Spicy.

No, they aren’t sexual.

I’m so pleased it’s the weekend. Am having a semi-tough time at work in regards to a child I’m working with. Was just told by another professional that no one wants to adopt older children and so that option won’t be considered. If my life was a made-for-tv movie, I would adopt this child myself. I tell you, it’s made me rethink things a bit.

TMD and I have always known we wanted to foster teenagers at some point when we had a bigger home. Now I wonder about adopting a child as well. Time will tell, I suppose.

Off to eat, watch that ghost hunting show (judge not lest ye be judged!), and possibly upload some pics. I usually copy and paste pictures here from Facebook, but I am not Facebooking about IVF and think it could be hard to explain why I have 6,000 syringes in my lounge. Going to explore WordPress and see if they can host a picture or two.

See you soon. Sort of.

(You know the Ghostbusters theme tune? Do do do do do do, do-do-do-do-do-do. Well, when you type f-l-a-i-r and hit enter, it’s the exact right number of beats for the second part. Thought you’d like to know.)