Account: deactivated. So long, Facebook.

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UPDATE: I reactivated my personal Facebook profile in the middle of February. It was a short break, but I do think it served a purpose. I proved to myself that I can live without it, but I also learned that it is currently the easiest, most convenient way to keep in touch with people in my life.

I am happy to report that I have continued texting with friends, keeping that more personal (definition of which is relative, obviously) connection. I have not, however, picked up a phone and heard anyone’s voice, which I really need to do. Soon.
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I have deactivated my personal Facebook account.

*audible gasp*deactivate

Yes, I have…and I instantly felt lighter.

Every time I mention that I deactivated my account, I am met with concern and the fear that something bad happened on there. I am blogging to tell everyone that this is not the case. Nothing bad has happened. There was no drama or fallout to influence my decision. For me, this is a good thing – and there are a number of reasons why I have abandonned what has been a big part of my life for over six years.

I have decided to reclaim my life. One of my themes for 2013 is reclaim. Deactivating Facebook is the first step in that process. I need to reclaim my time, reclaim my story, and reclaim my sense of why I do things. I don’t need to share everything; I have to learn to appreciate the beauty of taking a photo for the simple reason of having it.

It has served its purpose. Facebook provided me with the thrill of reconnecting me with so many long lost friends. Without Facebook, I could’ve never found some of the people who have become my most cherished friends…again. But, I now have other ways of keeping in touch with them.

It’s already better! When I decided to deactivate my account, I sent out some messages requesting cell phone numbers of people for whom I had no way to connect outside of Facebook. Once I had their numbers, I texted them – and you know what happened? We had more personal conversations than we’d ever had on Facebook “liking” each other’s statuses and commenting on photos that had been shared with hundreds of other people. It was more personal and I felt more connected. More than one person texted that this was “better already!”
Facebook is a convenient way to connect with people, but it’s easy to never have conversations. Not relying on Facebook will force me to put more effort into my friendships. I might even feel compelled to send a letter in the mail!

I know too much. Sometimes, less is more. I love to know what is going on in the lives of my loved ones. But, I also like to have something to talk about when we get together or talk on the phone. I have grown tired of people knowing exactly what my kids and I look like when we show up after years apart. There isn’t the same anticipation or surprise or mystery – because I posted a picture after my haircut the day before. It takes the fun out of reunions.

There you have it – after over six years, my profile is no longer active. Fret not, though! All is not lost; I archived all my information and have it stored on my computer. I can also reactivate my account at any time.

It is important to note that my sarahcasm Facebook page is still active and I will be managing it. I am also still on Twitter (because I’d lose everything if I deleted that).

Maybe, just maybe, the time I would have spent on Facebook, I will now spend blogging! …or cleaning…or playing with my kids…or cooking…or…or…or…

 

 

A Lesson in Facing your Critics

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Dear Q,

This lesson comes from you – your four year old self. You are the teacher, bound and determined.

Not long ago, you were given a new pink shirt. You’d been asking for one because you had outgrown your old ones and had no pink to replace them. I searched and searched for a pink shirt you’d like and finally found it – a button-down one with a collar. They are harder to come by than they should be. When you got it, you were so excited; you put it on to check the size and loved that the cuffs had buttons.

The next day, you wore it to kindergarten with dark wash jeans and sneakers. I was happy that you were so pleased with it, but a little concerned about how it might be received by your friends. I was hoping, at four years old, no one would care.

But they did.

After school, you told me that some of your classmates called you “a girl” because you were wearing pink. You thought they were rude for teasing you and it made you sad, but you said “I guess I’ll just teach them that boys can wear pink, too!”

And you did.

Undeterred, you picked out your pink shirt to wear the following week. While you were struggling with the buttons, determined to do it by yourself, you said “I wonder if they’ll say anything to me today.”

And they did.

That day, your classmates told you that you were wearing a dress, but you simply said “obviously, this is not a dress” and went about your day. After school, you told me they’d been rude to you again, but you were still beaming in that pink shirt. You were so proud of yourself and you told me you wanted to wear the shirt every day.

This lesson is about more than boys wearing pink. This lesson is about your strength of character and your attitude in the face of your critics. Your little four year old self stood strong and was not only undeterred by them, but vowed to open their minds through your actions.

I hope that confidence and self-assurance stays with you, always. I hope you feel free to stand up for yourself, for others, and for what you believe in.

You are a force to be reckoned with and I couldn’t be more proud. You are a remarkable human being.

Love always,
Mom

Progress report

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People have been asking me how things are going with my health and diet overhaul. The short: Diet = good, blood = bad.

The bad…

The iron deficiency is kicking my butt – actually, kicking me when I’m down seems more fitting. I am ridiculously tired all the time. It’s been almost a month since I started the iron supplements and iron-rich diet, but I don’t feel much difference in the energy department. Sleep preoccupies my mind. Caffeine the only reason I am able to accomplish anything.

My other symptoms persist; aside from the killer headache that lasted for days, I’m managing them pretty well.

The Good…

My diet overhaul has been a raging success. I am completely off sugar and my simple carb intake is minimal. It took awhile to adjust and figure out what I could eat and what I should avoid. Introducing an iron-rich, sugar-free, low carb diet has been interesting; it was a bit of a shock, initially.

I am pretty impressed with myself. I would have never thought I could cut sugar out of my diet, but it’s been almost a month since I’ve had sweets or candy or chocolate or pop. I crave it once in awhile – and the one time I gave in and took a bite of a chocolate bar, I winced at the sweetness. I’ve found that my taste buds have adjusted and I am now enjoying sour and bitter – especially, strong black tea and anything with vinegar.

What’s next…

Unfortunately, my family doctor has moved to Alberta. My last appointment with her was the day I got my test results. Thankfully, I have found a new doctor (third this year) who I will be seeing this week. Hopefully, she’ll be able to help me get my iron levels up, because I am so looking forward to having energy again!

Now. . . a nap.

Prediabetes and iron deficiency: Diet overhaul in progress

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I am tired. Desperately tired. I can barely function and can’t think straight – it’s a wonder I can formulate a coherent sentence.

I’ve had myself convinced that the reason all I want to do is sleep and lounge on the couch is that I am sleep-deprived and inherently lazy. Truth is, I can’t be bothered to do much more than keep my kids fed, clothed, and relatively entertained. I have no energy for exciting outings or crafts or even playing outside. And I’ve been feeling really guilty about it. The house is only passably tidy and dinner is whatever takes the least amount of effort.

Am I sleep deprived? Perhaps, but Em has been sleeping through the night for a few months now. Am I lazy? I like to think not.

So, what is wrong with me?

Iron-deficiency. It turns out that my iron levels are so low that they are barely detectable.

Well, THAT explains a lot – irritability, lack of patience, extreme fatigue, headache, restless legs, shakes, inability to think straight. Bring on the supplements and iron-rich food! I am going to eat my way out of this. This is good news! It’s treatable and reversible. With a little effort, I can start feeling human again! The best part is that I can let go of the guilt.

But that’s not all! There’s more. . .

The day I found out about my iron, I also found out that I’m prediabetic. The good news is that it is reversible and with some effort, I can avoid Type 2 diabetes.

Diet overhaul is in progress. For three days, I’ve been on a no sugar, low carb, iron-rich diet. It’s been easier than I would have thought, but Halloween is going to hurt. I love me some candy! Sugar is my biggest vice, so it’ll be interesting to see how my body reacts. Thankfully, I don’t have to give up coffee and have been able to choke it down without sugar. I don’t think my mind or body could handle going sugar-free and caffeine-free at the same time.

I decided to share this for two reasons:

  1. Making it public makes me accountable.
  2. I want to track my progress and record how I’m feeling without bellyaching on Facebook and Twitter about it all.

So far, so good. Though I have been looking longingly at the things I can’t eat, I haven’t been tempted to cheat. This diet isn’t about my weight; it’s about my blood. I have to take it seriously and do whatever I have to do to get it under control.

In the meantime, I appreciate all the support I’ve gotten – my mom has even given up sugar in a gesture of solidarity! Thanks, mom.

Better than me

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I feel like I blog about blogging – or not blogging – a lot. Every post I think of writing has to do with my lack of writing. But here I am, doing it again.

For two years, I’ve been trying to “get back into” my blog. I’ve missed posting, but I can’t seem to make the time or deem anything worthy of publishing. So, here I sit – lamenting the blog that once was.

And that’s my problem.

Today, I read this post by Sharon at Speed Skating Mom. It resonated with me not because Q is like her son, but because I was like him. I still am like him – not wanting to participate if I know others are better than I am. I don’t do anything I used to do, or that I really enjoyed doing – because someone has already done it. Better than me. And in the case of this blog, that someone was me.

The archives of this blog hold some really, really great posts – the best writing I’ve ever done. I look back with pride – and a little awe at the ability that seems to have abandonned me.

There are better writers than I am. There are better bloggers that I am. There always will be. What stifles me is my former self – I can’t compete with her. I don’t have the time or energy or motivation.

So, where does that leave me? Writing about not writing. I’m not sure if that’s sad or ironic.

Squatting in protest

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A few days ago, there was a “Jack Bunny” in the backyard that Q wanted to scare away. In true four-year-old form, he threw his sandal at it. Said sandal landed in the neighbour’s fenced-in yard – the neighbour who is never home.

Two days later, I took the kids to the store to get new sandals. Thankfully, they were all on clearance because it is so late in the season. As we were sifting through the limited selection, Q asked me what the bench said. “It says ‘Do not stand on bench’” I said. Without pause, Q climbed onto the bench, planted the bottom on his feet on it and squatted. “What?” he said “I’m not standing.”

Oh boy.

I’d like to say he doesn’t get that from me, but I’d be lying. He has sass to spare. I just hope it stays with him and he uses it to push back – against boundaries and barriers and systems that he deems unjust. I hope he squats in protest, not necessarily breaking the rules, but making a point.

Related: Wish us luck!

Inner voices and added pressure.

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I just read the following quote on Twitter:

“The way we speak to our children becomes their inner voice”. – Peggy O’Mara

It struck me and without thinking too much about it, I retweeted it.

Then I let it sink in a bit and it didn’t sit well. There are a few problems I have with that quote.

First of all, it puts way too much pressure and responsibility on parents. I know I am raising two humans – shaping them and instilling knowledge, attitudes, and values that they will carry for their lives. That’s kind of the point. I also know that they will model my behaviour, to a certain degree, and take cues from me with respect to what is appropriate, right, and good. I get that.

However, I reject the notion that my children won’t develop their own voices, especially their inner voices – the voices that keep them awake and talk to them in their sleep. They have to be granted  not only the responsibility of creating those voices, but the credit for doing so.

I have a very vocal inner voice. It rarely shuts up – about the ills of the world, or quantum theories, or the meaning of life, or why I willingly drink something that can clean my drains. It did not come from my parents; I created it. The way they spoke to me did not become my inner voice any more than the way I speak to my kids will become theirs.

I don’t need any more pressure than I am already put under as a mother and I also don’t need credit for creations that are not of my making.

Thanks anyway, Peggy O’Mara.

A Walk in the Woods

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Alternate title: Honk if you’d like to kick a Canada Goose in the neck. (I figured this title would get me unwelcome traffic, though).

The plan for today was to take the kids on a walk in the woods, which seemed simple enough. Since it’s so warm, I figured I couldn’t go wrong spending the afternoon outside with the kids. They would get fresh air and I would get out of the house: win-win.

After a few false starts to our outing (including both kids falling asleep in the car and me  realizing that was best case scenario for me), we reached our destination at a local conservation area. We hadn’t been before and I was looking forward to a change of scene. A couple of friends had taken their kids bird-feeding there and although I am not fond of birds, I decided to suck it up and take my kids. After all, they are suburban kids and I want to make sure they spend a lot of time in nature.

When we finally arrived at the conservation area, I realized we had to pay for parking. I grabbed my credit card and headed to the machine.

“Coins only”

Great. I never have cash. Somehow, whenever I have coins, they magically turn into caffeinated drinks. I went back to the car to dig around for quarters and headed back, impressed that I had manage to find six.

“Minimum $2.00”

Obviously, I should have read the sign the first time. Note: this is when I should have given up and gone home. With a roll of my eyes, I headed back to the car. Again. A few nickels and dimes later, we were set for two hours.

I unloaded the kids and, thinking the trails wouldn’t be stroller-friendly, put Em in a carrier that I hadn’t used before. Off we went.

At the entrance of the trails, we were welcomed by geese – so to speak; they were there and so were we. I hate geese. Dirty, loud, aggressive geese. Sucking it up, we entered the trail and I took some pretty photos.

Opting not follow the bird-feeder trail, we kept walking along the swampy water snapping photos. About five minutes in, I knew the carrier had been a mistake. Small as she is for her age, Em was getting heavy and I was already aching.

I took her out and slung her onto my hip, walking ahead while Q hung back stuffing handfuls of gravel into his pockets to take home to his “collection.” Weighed down as he was, he couldn’t walk without risking losing his pants, so he asked me to help him take the rocks out. I crouched down, positioned Em on my leg and proceeded to empty his pockets.

Cue freak-out in:

3, 2, 1…

Nothing says “lovely nature walk” like a 4 year old throwing a tantrum because his gravel was emptied onto the trail from which it came.

I turned around. We were going home. Forget the plan. Forget the quarters and nickels and dimes. This outing was a bust.

Holding Q’s hand and carrying Em, we headed back – with Q half-heartedly dragging his feet in protest. Thankfully, we hadn’t gone far and would be back in the car in no time.

Not so fast.

Enter evil geese. Did I mention I hate geese?

We were met by three evil geese at the exit of the trail. Stupid geese. My human arrogance kicked it – all-powerful rulers of the Earth and all that. Tucking Q behind me and boosting Em a little higher, I walked on.

We didn’t get far. Before we could get close, one goose hissed. Loudly and fiercely. For a split second, I could have sworn it had teeth, and visions of the evil goose from Shrek Forever After popped into my head.

And then one charged.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?

The goose chased us back up the trail and the one with the teeth stared us down. There I was with a 4 year old, a 10 month old, and no phone. I wasn’t about to play chicken with that goose and tempt fate.

So, I did what anyone would have done; I took a photo of the offenders. Then, I just stood there helplessly, wondering when Mr. T would notice we should have been home.

After finally scanning for possible escape routes, I scooped up my kids and booked it through some brush, over a ditch, and back onto the road. Take that, geese! Who is all-powerful, now? OK, it was still the geese.

As we approached out car, I saw another mother about to pay for parking and offered her our parking voucher. Apparently, after all that we’d only used 20 minutes of it. Twenty long minutes.

While I was putting him in the car, Q looked at me, held out his hand, and opened it to reveal a piece of asphalt that he’d rescued from the rock-dumping. Asphalt. Of course. Way to teach my surburban kids about nature.

A Lesson in Acceptance

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Dear Q,

Don’t tolerate difference. Tolerance is not enough; you tolerate something you don’t like, but can’t be bothered to try to change.

Accept difference. Embrace how people differ from you, differ from your expectations, and differ from what you are conditioned to believe people should look like, act like, live like, and be like.

Difference is not to be feared; it is to be celebrated. Allow your self the power to accept someone other people don’t. It takes far more strength of character to accept people who fall outside your social expectations than it does to tolerate or fear them.

Let them be and express themselves without having to explain and defend themselves.

Love always,
Mom

Living Online: The weight of it all

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I have been living online and connecting with people on the internet for almost 20 years. In the early 90s, I’d hang out in chat rooms until I heard the birds chirping just before dawn, when I’d shut down the computer and crawl into bed as the sun peeked through my venetian blinds.

Over the years, I have met countless amazing people – companions with whom I have navigated this information highway. Some of the most meaningful friendships of my life started online – a few have moved offline and have become my most cherished.

I cannot fathom what my life would have been like without chat rooms, forums, Myspace, Facebook and Twitter. Immeasurable good has come out of them and they have been a huge part of my life for more than half of it.

However, there is a price I pay for living online. No, it’s not the time spent – that is a choice I make and something I can control. The price I pay is the weight of it all. So often, I come away from social sites with a heavy heart.

Years ago, I made a conscious decision to not engage in controversial topics online, especially ones that mean a lot to me and can easily become polarizing – religion, race, oppression, gender politics. Sometimes, I break my rule and it almost always leaves me feeling uneasy. Everyone has their own agenda and, to be honest, I no longer have the energy to put myself out there. I save that energy for offline discussions – and believe me, those discussions happen all the time and are infinitely more productive.

Something about the internet invites people to say exactly how they feel and what they think, regardless of how it might affect someone else. People will type things that would never come out of their mouths. For that reason, I backed away from Twitter in October and have hardly been back. There is just too much negativity and judging and criticism and agenda-pushing.

Fast forward to last night and the announcement of Whitney Houston’s death. A friend told me the news on Skype and I took to Twitter. I should have known better because last night exemplified why I backed away from Twitter in the first place.

Someone died – a music legend who provided the soundtrack to my childhood. A person. A mother. A daughter. A friend. A loved one of many. I may not have known her, but you’d better believe she impacted my life. Her songs not only throw me back to places and times, but they trigger memories of smells and textures. So many memories flooded my conscience when I found out she had died that I couldn’t sort them quickly enough.

Am I mourning her death? Not exactly. But, I sure am glad she lived.

Twitter quickly blew up with tweets about her drug addiction, assuming that was the cause of death. People tweeted that they didn’t care about her death and that she’d brought it upon herself. That is simply callous and disrespectful. I don’t understand what compels people to make comments like that after someone dies, regardless of the circumstances of the person’s life or death. I even read tweets saying she had wasted her talent. Wasted her talent. This, about a woman who during her career won 415 awards and was one of the best-selling female solo artists of all time? How is that a waste? Whitney Houston shared her talent and we benefited from it. If you weren’t a fan, why comment on it? Why choose to be negative in that moment?

Online social sites can be ugly places that bring out the worst in good people. Insensitivity, criticism, mocking, and polarizing debates reign supreme. It’s a heavy weight. People can’t tweet about what they feed their kids, how and where their kids sleep, where they shop, what they wear, or how much TV they watch without running the risk of someone picking it apart and telling them how wrong and bad they are. I don’t have time for that. I see and hear enough of that in my offline life.

Here’s to a talent not wasted:

How do you deal with the weight of online society?
Have you ever backed away because it all felt so heavy?