When the World is Crappy, I Choose Ignorance

Bad people are the worst and need to disappear now. Innocent people being hurt and killed is totally wrong and unfair. People spreading hate and false rumors, who use their stories and thoughtfully strung words to get blind followers and create groups of uprising can go ahead and stop now. Evil needs to go right back to where it came from–HELL.  

And those are all the biggest understatements of the year. But words can never adequately describe such things.

Sometimes the world just seems like a crappy, crappy place. And once I get on that mindset, my thoughts spiral and continue to spiral down down down toward the dark, black hole of all-encompassing negativity, whereupon entering, there may be no return.

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Fortunately I’ve never quite reached that black hole. But man, this past week I’ve gotten pretty close.

It doesn’t help that I decided to pick up The Maze Runner from the library to read for the first time. The book was great, and I’m looking forward to finishing the series, but living within that fictional dystopian world these past several days somehow hasn’t worked to improve my outlook on our real one. It also doesn’t help that my husband’s favorite channel is CNN and favorite past time is watching all the news stories in the world. I guess it makes him feel informed, or something. And I guess some people like to be informed..?

Not me. My preference is ignorance and bliss.

I hope those who enjoy being informed on the details of world events try to understand people like me, and not make us feel unintelligent or uncaring for not knowing more. Because it’s not that I’m so stupid or naive or heartless that I don’t want to be bothered with the unimaginably terrible situations people in the world are facing right this very moment, thousands of miles away in places I’ve never visited, because it’s not happening to me, this white American middle-class girl born in a free land all thanks to my ancestors I know so little of but mostly luck. It’s not that at all. For me, ignorance is a survival mechanism that keeps me going along day-to-day without crying hysterically in the bathroom, without sleeping in my son’s bed at night and cuddling him so tightly because we’re all going to die and who knows when and what is this world I’ve brought him into, without fear living in my heart at all times controlling my every move and blocking out happiness and recognition of all good things this world still has to offer.

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I don’t know myself to have any true anxiety disorder that needs to be medically treated, but I know many people deal with such things and shouldn’t feel ashamed for a second. I do, however, think of myself as an overly-sensitive, emotional person who feels too much when I allow those feelings that demand to be overly-felt and can’t get thoughts of bad, sad, scary things out of my head once they’ve seeped or bombarded their way in there (and this is why I don’t watch scary or remotely scary movies, because I am consistent in the things I can and can’t handle, and wish not to be an insomniac for the rest of my life).

When I say I vote ignorance, I don’t mean completely and utterly. I like to know the gist of important events happening in the world (and unless I lived under a rock, I will always know at least that much), enough so that I can keep the hurting, mistreated, abused people in my thoughts and prayers (that’s about all I’ve ever managed to do for such people I don’t know, as well as an occasional donation; I do hope to be able to help on a more personal level one day). But I don’t need to know every detail of what happened to them, explained and analyzed by reporter after reporter, or see news videos showing actual footage taken while poor innocent people were being shot and murdered in cold blood. I’d bet the poor innocent survivors of such events can’t get that tragic, uninvited memory out of their heads and pray to God that they could just forget, have that scene of what they lived through erased from their minds, so they don’t have to view and repeat, repeat, repeat, living through it over and over again for the rest of their lives.

I understand that people’s emotions and reactions are different. Some people watch and read detailed accounts of disaster and despair and it makes them feel more for the victims, and feeling for people is always good. There will always be hope for humanity as long as there is empathy. For some I think, watching and reading detailed accounts of disaster and despair is just like seeing more of the same from yesterday, last week, a year ago, and doesn’t extract any real feelings at all. Perhaps they should take a step back to find something that does make them feel again lest they lose their own humanity. For me, detailed accounts of disaster and despair just make me feel sick and honestly, quite hopeless, indeed–the very opposite reaction of what victims need their fellow humans to feel if anything is to ever change for the better.

The purpose of being informed to any degree of world events can’t be for entertainment when we’re bored or pure knowledge of things so that we can bring it up in conversations later and sound so knowledgable, perhaps even throwing in our own strong opinions on the subject for purpose of controversy and a good debate and more entertainment in getting some to fully support us and others all riled up in disagreement. The purpose of being informed of the goings-on in the world, the real blessing of media and technology and having the world at our finger tips is so that we can be aware of those who need help and do something to aid, however small it may be. At least I hope this is the reason we want to be informed (and the reason the media wants to inform us).

That, and for the purpose of being able to see the flames of light in even the darkest, black holes. The helpers among the destroyers. The heroes among the killers. This is what pulls me out of my funk every time the world gets me down. The stories of survival and pressing on when almost everything has been lost. The people who spread hope and peace, goodwill and charity, defiance and refusal to spread hatred and negativity even when it would be so easy, understandable even, to do so. And so I thank you, World, for always pulling me back up after you’ve gotten me down.

When giving your child a sibling isn’t as easy as deciding to start trying.

Things people say to a mother of one who is struggling to get pregnant with a second, and the thoughts that go through her head:

“Well at least you have one.” I happen to know that you are saying this while struggling to have your first, so yes, you are justified in your pain and perhaps resentment toward mothers of any number of children. But you should know as well as anyone about unfulfilled dreams and fear of the biological unknowns. While you, hopeful mother, are in a very tough situation, so am I, the mother of one, because I feel as sad for my child as I do for myself, that I’m not giving him a sibling and can’t say when I will. Don’t make me feel like my emotions aren’t justified.

“It might be a good thing you haven’t had another yet. Your child is crazy/quite a handful/destructive–it would be a miracle if a baby lasted a day in the same house as him.” Well thanks. I’m glad you think my child is so much more of an anomalous monster than all the other small children in this world who already have a baby sibling.

“Don’t worry so much about it. The more you think and stress about it, the longer it will take to happen.” Okay, that’s fine, it may be true. But much easier said than done. And you with your four kids all spaced two years apart, I don’t think you’ve ever had to worry or not worry about getting pregnant….

“Maybe you’re not actually ready for another child. You might think you are, but everything works out the way it’s supposed to in the end. You are probably right, and that is a huge fear. After trying to conceive for months, the thought of having another baby is always in the back of my mind, all day every day. So every time I yell at my kid, totally lose my cool, feel completely burnt out, like I can hardly make it to his bedtime, the mini devil version of my mom-self climbs up on my shoulder to loudly laugh and mock in my ear: “And you think you can handle another! Ha, you can hardly handle one! All these other moms of three and four are excelling in their roles (or so your BFF social media tells you), but you could never–you’re not cut out for it. Just stop trying, give up now, lest you want to lose all semblance of your sanity and self-respect.” So if I’m not ready now, when will I be? Is a day coming that I will wake up with 100 times more patience, clarity, and self-control? If it really truly is, then okay. I will wait.

“Your kid is probably loving all this one-on-one time with you.” Yes, I do believe he is, and I am loving it as well. Whenever I think of that changing, I feel incredibly sad. But things have got to change sometime, and sooner is probably better than later, because I bet the next thing you say to me as we watch our kids interacting together is….

“I guess that’s what happens with an only-child, huh? They don’t learn how to share/be nice/get along well with other children, hahaha [because this is being said with such hysterical good-humor]?” Actually my child does know how to share and behave properly in social situations–we’ve worked together a lot on those things. But alas, he is three, and so I do believe he is entitled to an off-day every now and again. Of course, as you know, his living situation hasn’t exactly forced him to practice these attributes on a daily basis. Still, I would appreciate you not judging him for things that are beyond his and his parents’ control.

“Just be grateful for the child you already have.” If gratitude could be measured, I’d bet you fifty times the amount of money in my bank account that mine is at max quota when it comes to my child. But that doesn’t change a woman’s ideal, a lifelong dream, even,  of the number of kids she wants to raise in love and happiness or the number of kids she still believes are waiting in the heavens to be hers.

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In case you hadn’t guessed, I am a mother trying to have my second child. I have never been truly offended by anything people have said to me regarding my situation, because I recognize the foolishness in being offended by well-meaning, perhaps oblivious, people. But still, one can’t help but wish they would more often say, “I’m sorry, that must be difficult,” as a response to the topic they brought up after noticing that my child is an entire three years of age, still without a younger sibling or impregnated mommy, and wanted to know if I am “ever planning to have more kids?”

Well FYI, my husband and I started trying to get pregnant a year ago. Every month since has brought excitement, anticipation, drudgery, disappointment, and, perhaps most of all, guilt. Logically, I know my son is very young and really hasn’t missed out on much in his life yet, but truth be told, I just can’t shake the feeling that I’m letting him down by not giving him one of the most cherished parts of my childhood: siblings.

That might sound a little overdramatic, but when it’s your life and you’re in the midst of the struggle, it’s a big deal. I’m positive that there are many women who have suffered through much more than I have, who have experienced my emotions multiplied, exponentiated even, by the number of years they’ve been trying to conceive. I don’t pretend to know their pain, but I think the basic emotions are the same for pretty much anyone who’s been trying to conceive for more than a few months. Fear of the unknown is the hardest to rationalize, because perhaps conception will occur next month and the worry will be nothing more than a short-lived memory, but perhaps it will take years, or never happen at all–who can say for sure?

I don’t believe the average healthy, childbearing-age woman has to truly worry that she may never get pregnant. But some of us have health conditions that make that fear seem like an absolute possibility. For me, it’s endometriosis.

The main symptoms of endometriosis are pain and infertility. When my husband and I began trying to get pregnant for the first time four years ago, I had already been dealing with pain for several years and could only pray that the infertility wouldn’t manifest itself as well. Desmond was conceived after just four months of trying, and I was happily relieved to know that I was not, in fact, infertile. A couple months after Desmond turned two, we began trying for another, hoping for a three-ish year age difference.

Several months later, I made the mistake of turning to Internet for reassurance, hoping to find stories of women with endometriosis as well as multiple children.  While browsing an online forum, about half of the commenters said they had never conceived and had pretty much lost hope of having a biological child. The other half said something along the lines of, “I always dreamed of getting pregnant but knew my chances weren’t good. But then, blessed be the heavens and thanks to my lucky stars, I did conceive and had my beautiful, healthy angel baby, and he/she is more than I could have ever hoped for. I am so beyond fortunate to have gotten my one little miracle.”

Reading that was disheartening, to say the least. Suddenly I had this feeling that maybe I am infertile and had just gotten really really lucky that first time, and what a fool I was to think that after that one chance conception I was good to go for any others I might want at any time I simply decided was right. My son’s birth, like all births, was a miracle. But I had never thought of myself as being particularly lucky or blessed–no more than any other mom, anyway. As much as my Desmond fills my heart with love and joy and pleasure, he’s not enough. My child is my everything, but he’s just not enough. Sorry if that sounds harsh or ungrateful, but how can he be, when ever since childhood when I first dreamed of being a mother, I always planned on having multiple children?

Many parents have one child and they are happy with that and that is wonderful. But when I grew up with four siblings and loved my house full of noise and laughter, bodies and shared bedrooms, when every time an older sibling moved out for college was one of the saddest days of my life… well, it should be understandable why I would want nothing more than to give my own child those same lifelong friends from birth.

Motherhood has always been one of my main goals in life, one that will leave a lasting legacy even after I leave this earth, and I firmly believe will be a defining part of me in the life after this one, on through eternity. I can’t accept the allowance of that dream being altered or unfulfilled in completeness due to a random, seemingly insignificant condition of my mortal body. Not all things are within my control of course, but I do my best to remain positive and look at things within a perspective far greater than my own.

The purpose of this post is not to make you feel sorry for me (like really, it’s not). Perhaps you can relate to me, and knowing someone else has felt your feelings makes them feel more validated (even though they were already validated all on their own), and sometimes that’s all we really need. But perhaps you can’t relate, however, I bet you know someone who can. And now you know a bit more of what she’s going through and how you might appropriately support her.

In the end, though, it mostly just comes down to my child, for me. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve watched my son playing at the park while he’s tried to join in with a group of siblings and they were far from accepting. Yes, they’re kids, and as I said of my own child before, they are entitled on occasion to not behave properly in social situations. But how I wished they would just include him for that hour.

I once even overheard a mom say to her friend, “Well that’s what happens when you decide to just have one kid–he’s going to be lonely” (I’m sorry, but does my child appear to be like, ten to you?). Perhaps she had several kids so close in age so that they could form their own little army, always sticking together, never trusting or playing with an outsider. To each their own, I guess. But how I wished she had simply reminded her children, “Hey, that little boy isn’t your brother, but it’s okay to play with him too.” Because no kid deserves to be left out or excluded based on something he can’t–and sometimes neither can his parents–control.

Perfect Chocolate Chip Cookies (And How I Make Them Without a Mixer)

Chocolate Chip Cookies. Choc. O. Late. Chip. Cookies. Chooooocolate Chiiiiip Cooookies.

Are you thinking about chocolate chip cookies? (And the real question: are you salivating yet?)

One of the best desserts ever, in my humble opinion. Deliciously classic, perfect for any occasion, snack, treat, or meal (yes, they can sometimes replace an entire meal. Add a side salad, if you must). I don’t know about your idea of “the perfect chocolate chip cookie,” but mine is able to satisfy whatever my sweet tooth is craving on that particular day, whether it be demanding something chewy, buttery, chocolatey, melty, crispy, gooey, or just downright delectable. My cookie is thick, with layers of rich goodness in each bite. Dense, yet soft and tender. Also, it is fast and easy to make, requiring nothing but a mixing bowl, wooden spoon, measuring cup, and measuring spoon. And it consistently turns out perfect, every. single. time.

Here’s how I make my chocolate chip cookies without a mixer, because I’ve never had one, although it was at the top of my wish list during my first year of wifehood, but then I learned how to get along so well without one. However, have you seen Ree Drummond’s orange KitchenAid painted with that beautiful flowery design? Kinda puts “KitchenAid” right back at the top of my wish list ever time I see it (love Pioneer Woman)!

Place butter in a microwaveable mixing bowl and microwave for 30 seconds until super soft, even melting.

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Stir in sugars. Add in egg and vanilla, stir until combined.

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Dump in one cup of flour, mix slightly. Add in the second cup of flour, cornstarch, baking soda, and salt–mix powders slightly with your spoon to distribute evenly before stirring into the mixture beneath. Once there is just a little flour left unmixed, pour in chocolate chips and stir until no flour is visible in the dough.

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Form into balls, place on greased cookie sheet. As dough will be soft, place cookie sheet in freezer for 5-10 minutes, until dough balls are hard and cool.

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Getting them fairly cold prevents them from spreading quickly in the oven and staying perfectly thick and round. Bake for 8-10 minutes (usually right at 9 minutes for me).

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And to emphasize once more: these chocolate chip cookies are crispy on the outside, chewy in the middle, and just a little gooey in the very center (when eaten straight out of the oven)–so in a word, magical. And they stay soft and chewy for days, although I prefer to make my cookies ten to twelve at a time, leaving the rest of the dough in the fridge so that I can 1) eat a spoonful of cookie dough anytime I feel like it, and 2) have warm cookies anytime I feel like it.

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Recipe found on Kelsey’s blog, Apple a Day

Ingredients:
3/4 c. butter (I use salted)
3/4 c. brown sugar
1/4 c. granulated sugar
1 egg
2 tsp. vanilla extract
2 c. all purpose flour
2 tsp. cornstarch
1 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt (I use 3/4 tsp. as I like a little salty-sweet combo, and I think the extra salt really enhances the buttery flavor)
1 c. bittersweet chocolate chips

Directions:
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

2. In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a paddle attachment, cream together butter and sugars until fluffy and light in color. Add egg and vanilla and blend in.

3. Mix in flour, cornstarch, baking soda and salt. Stir in chocolate chunks.

4. Using a standard-sized cookie scoop or tablespoon, drop dough onto a prepared baking sheet. Bake for 8-10 minutes, until barely golden brown around the edges. (The tops will not brown, but do NOT cook longer than ten minutes.)

5. Let cool as long as you like, but I usually start popping them into my mouth after about 5 minutes…if I can make it even that long. Makes around 3 dozen.

GETTING YOUR NEEDY TODDLER TO BE LESS NEEDY

Not long ago, here was a typical afternoon scenario with my needy toddler:

Me in the kitchen, cleaning up after a meal (…or four hours… ok, an entire day after a meal), washing dishes and the like. My son calls from the living room.

“Mama! Look what I made!”

I finish the dish I’m on, dry my hands on my pants as I go to look. “Oh wow, you’re playing legos. You’ve done a good job! What are you making?”

“A hotel.”

“Very nice.” I turn to go back to the kitchen, calling out one more, “Good job!” I wash a plate.

“Hey mom! Come look at my hotel now!”

I wash a couple more dishes.

“Mom! Mama! Come look! See what I did!”

I go to look. “Wow Des, you added a whole two more legos! That’s great!” Back in the kitchen.

“Mom! Come look! Look again, Mama!” Needy Toddler calls.

I ignore him, continue washing.

“MAAAMMMMMAAAAAAAA!!!”

“Desmond! I need to finish these dishes! Play your toys and I will come when I’m done.”

Ensue tantrum.

This seemed to go on for some time, about a month preceding and following Desmond’s third birthday. Completing chores was exhausting and exasperating, took forever or didn’t even get done. I figured my son had entered this needy toddler stage because he was lonely and in need of a playmate. I ended up feeling guilty for not giving him a sibling yet, blaming myself for not planning better, not foreseeing this situation while he was still an infant, for having fertility struggles. I would just have to suck it up and fill in as his playmate as much as possible.

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But then I learned about a small change I could be making to improve my connection with my son, helping my needy toddler feel less needy of my attention and praise at all times. With the help of insights from Janet Lansbury articles, I realized that I am not a fully present parent. And being one is not as daunting as it may sound.

My son often plays independently best in the morning, and I’ll take some downtime sitting on the couch looking at my phone or reading a chapter from a book while he keeps busy on the floor. It turns out that these are actually the best times to give him my attention–when he isn’t even asking for it. Once I just pulled myself away from my own activity, even when it felt unnecessary (and difficult… because personal downtime can be so very needed) considering the fact that he seemed perfectly content, and sat down next to him to watch whatever entertainment he had engaged himself in, he would look at me and smile. Maybe I’m just sappy and read too much into things, but his bright inquisitive eyes seemed to say, “Mom, is what I’m doing really more interesting to you right now than what you were doing on your own?”

And then he would tell me about the trucks he was racing or the tower he was building or the passenger plane he was about to fly to go see his friend Hudson who lives two miles away. Sometimes he wants me to join in the playing with him, but more often than not he just likes having me there, watching and paying attention, finding whatever it is he’s doing to be important–without any begging or pleading on his part.

After I’ve given even just ten minutes of my undivided, unrequested attention, I tell Desmond how much I’ve loved watching him, he plays so well and has such great ideas, but now mama needs to do a few things around the house. He has never once cried or thrown a fit about this, but just continues playing and I can almost always finish my chores (within reason—usually about an hour’s worth) before he’s needing my attention or praise again.

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That is what I think it means to be a “fully present parent.” Not to be there at your child’s side every second of every day, but when you are available, be fully available. When you don’t have any other pressing matters to attend to, then take some time to make your child the only pressing matter to attend to.

I certainly don’t consider myself an expert on raising children or getting my own to behave just the way I want him to. This is one idea and strategy I’ve learned for my son and me that is helping us get through the needy toddler stage and our days go a bit more smoothly. But something I’ve learned from all the articles and books I’ve read on parenting is when they say, “Here’s a foolproof method that will work on every child!”…well, not all children are the same, and the same methods will not work on every child. But when I have a mommy tip that works for me, I’ll share it here. I’m sure you have plenty of tricks of the trade of your own that I could learn from; do feel free to divulge!

Because I firmly believe that as mothers we should be unified in making each others’ jobs as easy and judgment-free as possible, while raising our little humans to be the best grownup, future generation of humans that ever lived.

WHY SOCIAL MEDIA CAUSES YOU INTERNAL CONFLICT

Recent sightings on social media:

“40 Printed Fashion Outfits to Make Your Friends Jealous”—Pinterest

“Hubby got me a new diamond ring, such a surprise (and it’s HUGE, hahaa)! He’s just the best! Be jealous:P”—Facebook

“Home Hacks That Will Make Your House Guests Jealous”—Pinterest

“21 Fall Porch Ideas That Will Make Your Neighbors Insanely Jealous”—Pinterest

“Third tropical vacation this year, second time with NO KIDS. Just me and my man soaking up the sun and waves. Glad I’m me because if I wasn’t…well, I’d be jealous, LOLLL.”—Facebook

Are you sensing a theme here…?

This is social media slash life as we know it. Perhaps we don’t wake up each morning with the question in our minds of how to make our friends and followers jealous today, but it is engrained in all of us, as this is the very nature of these sites and apps we use each day to keep up with our family, friends, acquaintances, and… people we’re jealous of.  We take a snippet of our lives at any time we feel like and share it with the world, so why wouldn’t we display only the best of ourselves and leave the other 85% to exist only in private?

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There’s a reason why you took twenty selfies and only posted the most perfect one, and there’s a reason why you took those pics today—today you put thought into your outfit, fixed your makeup, curled your hair even; yesterday you sported sweats and an unwashed messy bun, and the day before you didn’t even get out of your jammies. And there’s a reason why you post pics of your vacation, new house, and darling happy kids on social media, but not of your daily menial tasks, fifth apartment in three years, or power struggles with your preschooler that often result in exasperation and yelling.

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A couple months ago, I was laying on my bed, red-faced, and breathing deeply after a rough morning with a cranky, screaming child who woke up way too early and pointless but nonetheless infuriating arguments with my spouse. I whipped out my phone and went automatically to my trusty companion Facebook, wishing for a distraction. Among the first few posts was a wife gushing about her amazing husband who woke up with the kids so she could sleep in and relax in bed all morning; he is the most perfect man in the world, and it’s still a mystery that she ever managed to snag him. And then a husband posting a pic of his modelesque wife making a delicious breakfast with the help of their three kids, captioning how she had already worked out, showered, gotten ready for the day, cleaned the house, and it’s not even 10AM; he never shows her all the appreciation she deserves because that would basically be impossible, she stuns him with her superwoman abilities every day.

I threw my phone across the bed, clenched my teeth, and let some tears flow. While feeling most crappy, a revelatory thought came to my head: “This is one of the biggest internal conflicts or our time: social media gives (or hurls in our faces) the ability to compare ourselves with the very best of other people and then we do just that.”

I do not usually possess such insightful logic while upset, but this was exactly the perspective I needed at that time and I was grateful for it. It made me feel almost instantly better.

I feel so much worse about my problems when I think everyone else’s lives are filled only with happiness, good fortune, peace, love, harmony, and awesome hair days. On the contrary, my problems feel so much smaller, totally manageable even, when I know that they are normal, expected, a part of my peers’ lives as well. Misery loves company, right…? Yes, but even more so, people like to feel supported. Like we’re in this journey of life together, not lagging so far behind while the lucky elite look back at us with disdain and then smile because, what a great view we’re getting of them, how much we must wish we were in their perfect shoes.

I am certainly not suggesting that everyone’s social media goal is to make people jealous of them. Of course there are always those few brave wonderful souls whom you love deeply and will never unfriend or unfollow, because they consistently remind you that you’re not the only one with an imperfect 85% of life. The people who talk about their fighting kids, pimpled complexions, unglamourous jobs, challenges of marriage, and financial struggles. And there are many more people who make posts like this on occasion, and it’s a total breath of fresh air.

Notably, while the pictures and declarations of how wonderful life is make some people feel resentful, others only share the happiness of the person who posted, believing that gratitude for goodness was their intent, not inducement of jealousy. This is the kind of person I want to be and am trying to be, one who is happy at the good fortune of others and nothing else. I do not always succeed. That is my fault, something I need to change. And this is the internal conflict I suggest social media causes: we love it and we hate it; it may make us feel jealous, but we must realize that no one can control our emotions but ourselves and the way we respond to others is all on us. That jealousy will dissipate if we don’t compare ourselves to others.

And if you must compare, remember that you are seeing the best of them, so compare only with the very best of you. Look at your own FB profile and see it the way others do. Your life probably looks just as good as the people you’re feeling envious of. Now go and post something REAL. You’ll feel better about breaking at least a little of the façade, and people will love you for it and you will probably even make some of their days a little or a whole lot brighter.

This is one of the main purposes of this blog for me. To be real. I hope that you will come here and leave feeling good about yourself, not jealous of perfect me or my perfect life or perfect house or perfect style and kicking yourself for not being more perfect. Come in and get comfortable here. Take a seat on my food-stained couch in the midst of my toynado-struck living room. Kick off your shoes and show me your mismatched, worn-out socks. You can even take those off and let me see you chipped-off toe nail polish from four months ago that you just haven’t got around to removing. And then I’ll show you mine. You are welcome here any time; stay as long as you like.

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(‘Cause this is me on a typical Friday night. Freshly showered, witch-face out (although effectively covering up facial blemishes), wearing the nightgown my mom gave to me because I think she said it was… too grandmotherly for her? But as you can see, I’m feeling good about it all. Proud even.)

Oh hey Blog, welcome to the World.

(And a big warm welcome to you, Reader. )

I’ve always wanted to start you, Blog, but blogs are popular and I always seem to steer clear of things that are popular. When everyone I knew was talking about the first Twilight book and how awesome it was (don’t judge my friends for that), I was all like, “um, no thank you.” Then the movie came out and my roommates were going to see it, and I didn’t want to be a party pooper, so I read that vampy-romancey high school page-turner the few days prior to the theater showing, because I have a personal standard about not seeing a book-based movie until I’ve read the book. (Turns out I rather enjoyed the series—no judging me for that.)

And a few years ago, when every female under seventy and half of the ones over were walking around the mall wearing crazy-printed leggings, I made a rash decision that there was just no way I would own a pair until the fad was over. (Still honoring that decision.) It’s not that I have anything against things that are popular. I’ve always loved all things Harry Potter… but I read The Sorcerer’s Stone the year it came out, so I like to think of myself as one of the original HP lovers, among the first fans who helped make the industry all that it is. (You’re welcome.)

That’s right, I like to be a trend-setter. I’d rather be a leader than a follower. If I can’t be a leader, then I’ll wait until that trend is so over that I’ll look like I’m trying to bring it back again, pretty much making me a leader. But no… it’s not that I have such a burning desire to be a leader—I’m too much of an introvert for that (an extroverted-introvert, I like to think). I just want to be unique. I like to do things because I want to do them, not because I’m being pushed into it. Ok, maybe that just makes me stubborn. (My husband would agree with that.)

Whatever I am, I realized I can be any and all of it with my very own one of you, Blog. It’s all about me, baby. Something in my life I can completely control. And a control-lover like me needs some more of that, especially after a day of trying to let my three-year-old help me in the kitchen. I realize this vast blogging world doesn’t really need me. But perhaps, I need the blogging world. And if I can make someone chuckle or feel kinda entertained or like they can totes relate to something I say on this virtual adventure, Ima feel like I did pretty doggone good. (Yes, I’m talking to you Reader. Blog is now just silently transmitting my message to you.)

It’s been a while since I’ve done much writing, and that’s a bit of a tragedy considering I went to school for four years to get a degree in English-creative writing. (Look Ma and Pa, I’m startin’ a blog! Finally puttin’ that education to use.) As it turns out, when a writer (at least me) doesn’t write for a while, it gets easier and easier to not write for a little while longer and then a lot longer until I hardly even consider myself a writer anymore but instead a late-night Facebook-scrolling, Pinterest-pinning, Netflix-binging, book-reading burnt-out mom who is simply making the most relaxing use of the time I have between when the child goes to sleep and my betraying heavy eyelids force me to hit the hay as well. But all that’s about to change. Oh, yes it is.

Yeah…no. Who am I kidding? Not you, and certainly not me. I don’t want it to change; I love my nighttime me-time rituals. I live for them. I look forward to them all the day long. I’m just gonna be adding “blog-writing” to the mix. I’m so well-rounded like that.

Yep, this is my first blog post and I am here to stay. You can count on that. I know what you’re thinking. “Oh puh, you’ll last a few months and then your posts will fizzle out and soon enough you’ll be making catch-up posts for the past year and apologizing for letting us all down.” But no, not me. You get those thoughts right out of your mind. I am not a fizzler, and I am not a quitter. I have big plans for this blog. Entry ideas coming out of my ears. Plus, I used to have a xanga, and I lasted on that thing for like, three post-pubescent years.

…But if I do turn out to be a fizzler, don’t burn me at the stake, ‘kay???