"...And babies don't keep"

I was a weird kid.

Like most children, I didn't want to grow up. But I say weird because, while most kids suffer from Peter Pan and the lost boys-type symptoms and an understandable fear of trading fun and games for endless responsibility, I feared growing up for a different reason: I was afraid the next day, month, year would never be able to measure up to how perfect life was in the moment I was living.

That's not to say life was perfect by any means. But, to the little worrier I was, the next day could bring something horrible! A catastrophe! Or it could simply bring change, which, be it little or big, is a hard adjustment for any kid.

I'm reminded of this younger version of myself every time I look at my little ones, but particularly Aleigh and particularly on nights like last night.

The only time I can find to clean house is after the kiddos are asleep, and I was growing rather tired and impatient with Aleigh. She was struggling with bedtime after waking her sister three times in less than an hour, reading countless books (many twice), and asking for a piece of bread as a nighttime snack. After I explained to her as nicely as possible how frustrating it was when she wakes the baby, she told me she was sorry. She just wanted to stay up with me. I told her when she was older there would be plenty of time for staying up late with mama.

This brought on the tears.

"I don't want to get older," she cried. "I like me just like I am. I don't want to grow up."

A montage of memories flashed through my mind as I looked into those massive, tear-filled eyes: I saw her in my arms, a bright red little bundle, just after delivery; then she was grinning and rolling over; and then she was saying her first words and tottering her first steps. I saw the curious infant transition into independent toddler and then into personality-filled little girl, all in a few seconds, and I remember how strong the urge has always been to preserve those moments. To freeze time and hold her tighter and longer, knowing that she will never be three days, three months, three years old again. 

Tears welled in my own eyes as I so badly wanted to tell her that I don't want her to grow up either. I want her to stay my baby, my innocent little girl with wonder-filled eyes who sees the good and beauty in the world and in others, forever. But, instead, I quickly dried my eyes and reminded her of all she'd miss if she stayed three and a half.

"You'd miss blowing out four candles on your birthday cake," I told her. "And you'd miss that Disney cruise Daddy promised. You'd miss feeling sand between your toes and being scared to death by how very big the ocean really is. You'd miss your first day of school and your first sleepover, your first visit from the tooth fairy and your first baseball game."

It wasn't long before she seemed satisfied that growing up wasn't all that bad, after all. And, with a sleep grin, because now it was well past her bedtime, she told me to go finish my "chores" but to hurry back so we could read one more Aleigh story before her eyes got tired.

An hour earlier, I would have probably taken the opportunity, lost in the need-tos and the have-tos, hoping she'd fall asleep on her own. But not after our very grown up conversation. Not after my little bug reminded me that she won't always be so little.

"I think I'll stay here with you and read another book, if that's okay," I told her.

"Okay, Mama." She smiled excitedly, turning quickly to dig through the stack of books we had already read in search of her favorite. Our very grown up conversation had already left her thoughts, her focus on whether or not we should read "Goldilocks and the Three Bears"or "Madeline" for the third time.

But it hadn't left mine. For I love my little one the way she is right now, too, and I know that will not last. 

The dust and dog hair, the dirty dishes and unfolded laundry... my chores will wait for me, I'm certain, but my little bug will never be three and a half again.

Overcoming the Facebook Addiction

An update: My enabling friends talked me into keeping my Facebook account activated and becoming better at controlling my addiction. Thanks, guys!

“That’s an addiction,” my husband announced the other night as he walked passed me, baby tightly swaddled and in my arms and phone in my free hand. I was scrolling through Facebook, which I’d already done twice in the past ten minutes.

But it is almost impossible to grade papers one-handed.

And I couldn’t find Pride and Prejudice, so I could watch it the thousandth time.

And I was bored.

So I felt justified in indulging in my guilty pleasure that is Facebook. But… well… once I started to think about it, I realized that it isn’t really that much of a pleasure, and sometimes I did feel guilty about it.

My hubby gave up Facebook a few days ago and said he didn’t realize how addicting it truly was until he quit logging in. And I quickly realized the entire deactivation process is like trying to get away from something you know is not good for you. If you’ve ever deactivated (notice I said deactivated and not deleted) your account, you know what I mean. When you click on the deactivate link, Facebook tries to guilt you into staying by flashing pictures of your closest friends with a little note that says, “So-and-So will miss you!” For my hubby, my profile picture was the first to pop up. And when you find the courage to go ahead and click anyway, you still aren’t out of the woods because then Facebook sends you occasional email reminders that all you have to do to come back to the digital world in all its self-righteous splendor is log back in.

I have to admit, I spend entirely too much time scrolling through my news feed, reading memes people post and updates from people I haven’t actually talked to in person in years. I wonder what I would be doing otherwise while I rock the baby to sleep. Would I write? Would I grade? Would I just relax…? (That last one is hilarious!)

Unlike my husband, though, I can’t say I didn’t know how addicting it is or how much time I waste doing it. I gave it up a few semesters back when my students and I were reading Emerson and Thoreau in American lit. The class discussions that followed made me really examine how I spent my time and why, when I have a clearly defined dream of writing a Young Adult series and seeing it published, I waste a ridiculous amount of my time on Facebook.

So, with Emerson and Thoreau on my side, I told the Facebook world farewell and enjoyed the utter liberation that came with that goodbye. Did I miss events? Yes. Did I miss the latest photos and updates from friends and acquaintances and other random people who I’m “friends” with in cyberspace? Yes. Did I get the “hey-did-you-see… oh, wait - you aren’t on Facebook anymore” comments from the friends I do regularly interact with outside of the virtual world? Yes.

But with all that I missed, I gained a great deal, too. I regained that time I would waste scrolling, always scrolling… even if it was just five or ten minutes here or there. I dedicated that time to writing instead and was able to finish the first draft of my first book! I also regained a sense of anonymity. I didn’t know what was going on in people’s lives 24/7, and they didn’t know what was going on in mine. I even ran into a friend shortly after the baby was born who said, “I didn’t even know you were pregnant!” All thanks to my deactivated Facebook account.

More important than time and anonymity, though, I regained both independence and self-worth. I don’t know that many of us realize how dependent we become on technology, including social media sites like Facebook. When it wasn’t there for me to use anymore, I found something else to do… something more uplifting and productive. No joke. Facebook can be a serious downer, can’t it?

I stayed away for six whole months, deciding to come back only after my youngest daughter was born. I justified the decision to return with her birth, realizing there were family and friends in far away places that may never see my child if I didn’t share mobile uploads of her chubby cheeks.

Now, eight months later, I find myself reconsidering that decision.

Facebook has its uses, for sure. We organized our ten year high school reunion and were able to reach most of our classmates via Facebook, for instance. I’ve contacted students via Facebook when I couldn’t reach them any other way. And I’ve shared photos of my little bugs with friends from Vegas and family in Cincinnati and Chicago.

But, in so many ways, if we allow it to, it consumes entirely too much of us without us even realizing it.

So I think, as I write this, I’ve decided to give up my Facebook account once again and join those who live in disconnected, ignorant bliss. And I think I’m really excited about it…

After all, my friends and my pictures will all still be there if I ever need to satisfy a craving for social networking, right? All I have to do is log back in.