The Moody Mommy

Confession: I can be a slave to my moods. I am not even-keeled, I am erratic. I don't think I used to be like this. It might be a product of motherhood. Hyper vigilance and sleep deprivation and all around lack of down time and intellectual stimulation.

But I also have great moods, and great days. Like the other day, which included exercising and creating, fresh air and real conversation.

I felt great, until the witching hour. Usually I throw myself into housework and dinner when it comes. But when everything was on the table and the chicken wasn't ready, I realized I still had time to kill before the sprint that is dinner-clean up-bath-bed.

I moved the kids to the living room. I put on the music. Not kid music. Hip hop. I turned up the volume. I danced.

I realized that if I stood in front of the window, the people in traffic would be able to see me dancing. Only at rush hour, which coincides with the witching hour, do the cars stop in front of my home for a moment. Maybe I could make them laugh. Maybe I could bring them back into their bodies for a moment. Maybe I could brighten one moment of the monotonous commute. Maybe I could connect with San Francisco in a new way.

When I started dancing, Giovanna ran towards me, squealing. She got down with it. At the sight of her big sister's moves, Skyla also squealed in delight. She rose up on her little chubby knees and found the beat. It was. So. Cute. I squealed as well.

I didn't dance in front of the window that night. But I did beat the mood and proceed to have a lovely evening in which Giovanna snuggled Skyla to sleep in her crib. When I looked at the video monitor and saw my big girl comforting my baby girl, the two clutching onto one another, one year-old head resting on five year-old shoulder, my heart exploded.

The next day at the gym childcare, Skyla was only happy if Gigi held her on her lap. Which was bittersweet. But God how I am grateful that these girls have one another, and that I get to be their mother.

I'll be dancing again tonight, trying to beat the mood.

To read more of my thoughts on motherhood, mindfulness and the creative life, please follow my blog or subscribe via feedburner.

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In Defense of Social Media

I think I am addicted to social media. Specifically Facebook and Instagram.

Like most addictions, I feel guilty about this. But I don't believe there's any point in feeling guilty about anything. Either you do it and you own it, or you stop.

This is me owning it.

In the morning when I wake up and turn on my phone, I check social media before I check my email. I don't do this every morning, but I do it every morning that I can.

When I actually have time to work, I interrupt myself to check Facebook.

When I actually have time read, I interrupt the pages to check Instagram.

Usually, I spend more time on social media than I want to.

Why do I check it so often?

Because I love climbing into other people's minds, seeing glimpses of the world through their eyes. Maybe I'm bored or uncentered or lacking focus. Maybe what I'm trying to write or read is hard and I'd rather be distracted than face the demons. Maybe it's resistance. Maybe I'm hiding beneath social media, hiding from my work and my responsibilities and everything else that's actually important.

Or maybe that's not it.

I'm a work-at-home mother. I don't get a lot of adult interaction aside from school pick-ups, the occasional play date or girlfriend date, and husband-wife time when we're not too exhausted from the wildness of the parenting wilderness.

Social media helps that wilderness become a community. It closes the gaps. It makes us neighbors, even when we live on opposite sides of this polychromatic planet. Today a friend secured a walker for her baby via Facebook. (Why buy when you can borrow?) Another Facebook friend with a sick child in the hospital appears to have found many prayers and much comfort via Facebook. This weekend a friend from college got engaged and a friend from high school had her baby. Because of social media I get to see my sorority sisters in their wedding dresses. I get to share articles and conversations with like-minded people. I get to stay in touch with distant family members and watch old friends' kids grow up. I get advice and support and love on Facebook.

As for Instagram. I love it more than Facebook though I find it serves a much different purpose. Instagram is simpler. Instagram is about life as it happens, and because you need a photo to share a thought, more thought goes into every post. Instagram lets you create and share your creation immediately. This platform encourages creativity while delivering inspiration curated by you. And because there's no algorithm (yet?) to the posts you see, you're always on the cutting edge of the universe. You're watching history as it unfolds.

I joined Facebook in 2004. And I've been on Instagram for over 3 years. I've grown up alongside this technology. Even when I know I'm spending way too much time stalking my tribe, roaming the streets of my teeny tiny virtual city, engaging in other people's lives while neglecting my own; I still don't consider quitting. Never, not even for a moment.

I am not willing to give up the communication, the information, and yes, the validation. I love my Facebook friends and I admire my Instagram feed. Perhaps I don't need quite as much information as I collect, or perhaps I do. Perhaps mining for data on social media helps me to understand the human experience, bringing increased awareness and compassion and maybe (just maybe!) better writing.

I may be stuck in my own world of writing words and raising kids, but I do have social media as a portal (albeit limited) into the rest of the world.

I'll take what I can get.

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