Facebook Parenting

Ahhhh, yes...good ol' Facebook.  Where life is beautiful all the time.  Especially when it comes to kids and our stellar parenting styles.

Hey, I get it.  I really do.  As a mother of two crotchfruit myself, it gets just oh so tempting to put those stellar moments out there for the whole world (or the world according to your friends list) to see.  We all have those mom pride moments we want to share, especially when we may have family who doesn't see our offspring as much as they would like.  But let's be honest with ourselves, sometimes, maybe not all, alot of what is getting thrown on Facebook about our children is a mommy ego trip that lets us believe we really aren't screwing them up and we might just be doing something right.

I've always believed none of us will know what kind of parent we were until those little baby robins are shoved out of the nest and forced to fly on their own.  For all the parenting advice that focuses so heavily on the first five years of a child's life, the fruits of our labors won't become known to us until they reach their 25th birthday without a criminal record.

However, I digress.  What I'm more intent on blathering on about is Facebook and the happy, shiny, shitting glitter statuses we throw out there about our precious wee ones.  Maybe it's easy for me to say, because Facebook was not the be all, end all social networking site when my children were younger.  Hell, if I'm going to admit my age, the internet wasn't more than a fledgling robin itself when my children were still shitting their pants.  So who knows, I could have been one of those parents posting all day long every day about the wonders of the mini-genius I had crawling around on the floor looking for crumbs.  I'd like to think that in my tendency of "keeping it real", I would have posted much as a I do now.  Perhaps, it is the parenting of children through toddlerhood, pre-teen nightmares, and teenager-make-me-drink-dom that has mellowed me into thinking this way.  Yeah, I did that amazing thing of creating life (sarcasm), but I'm tired.  They kicked my ass, and now, at 16 and nearing 20, I'm just kind of over the magic.  Yes, they do fantastic, spectacular things that make me want to shout out to the 122 people I have graced with the privilege of seeing my wall.

But let's pause a moment and think about what Facebook would look like if we all were a little more "real" about our lives...

"Johnny ran away from Vacation Bible School this morning.  Maybe MIL should stop forcing Jesus down the kid's throat when all he wants to do is make guns out of sticks."

"Stripped the 13 year old's room down to a mattress today because it's legal and punching her is not."

"Didn't hear the baby crying right away...guess that fifth shot of Jack was not such a good idea."

"Diagnosed my kid with appendicitis...over the phone...because I went to work even though he was puking."

"First name basis with the principal.  I sure wish he'd take my advice and just kick Junior's ass to keep him in line."

"Daughter's skirt is so short she looks like a two dollar hooker on the Sunset Strip"

"Wonder if the teacher figured out I downed a couple shots before conferences"

"Dinner of bologna and spaghetti-o's tonight.  On paper plates."

You get the idea.

Maybe there really ARE perfect parents out there, with kids who shit glitter and win a trophy every day just for breathing.  I don't assume to know how life is for everyone, so I guess that Leave It To Beaver existence IS possible. 

What I DO know, is I am THANKFUL my early parenting years were done before social media.  Because if I was starting out now, I'd be intimidated as fuck.  All those perfect children being perfectly parented every single minute of the day, and I would glance up from my computer and gaze upon my own children and feel about as useful as tits on a boar (thanks dad, for that little gem).  

Infancy and toddlerhood of crusty boogers, saggy diapers, children fighting, all the day's food displayed for everyone to see on their 3rd outfit of the day.  On to childhood of eating glue, artwork created on every surface of the house, destroying everything in their path.  Enter the pre-teen years of attitude, awkward ugly duckling photos, that ability to speak at a volume ten times louder than the rest of the room when with their friends, joining activities they really suck at.  And then the wonderful world of teenagers with mom sneaking drinks in the bathroom, hiding the booze so they don't steal it, drivers licenses that would be better wasted on an 85 year old epileptic blind woman, drugs, sex, rock and roll.

Yeah, parenting is hard.  Parenting sucks the life out of you.  There's the smooth sailing days, in which you go to bed that evening and wonder what kind of atrocities they're storing up for you.  The moments when you hide somewhere no one can find you and bawl your eyes out because you just. can't. take. one. more. thing.

Hey, I fully admit that maybe it's just me.  It's very possible the parenting gene skipped a generation around here, because by the time I had the first one ready to leave the nest, this momma bird was ready to shove a boot straight up her ass to get her to fly.

These kids have done great things, and made me proud, but I've got the grey hairs to prove that it all came at a cost.  And I'm not going to sugarcoat that with happy little shiny Facebook updates about what Dick and Jane did that day with Puff and Spot.  On my page, you'll get the bad with the good.  And it's not just about being my authentic self, either.  It's also for those who are viewing.  Because maybe there's a new mom out there wondering where her flower filled, rainbow and pot of parenting gold exists while the baby screams for the sixth hour in a row.  Maybe there's the parent of the pre-teen who wonders who that monster is that woke up this morning spewing sewage from their mouth.  Maybe there's a mom somewhere out there who has just HAD IT, and has just come out of her hiding place from sobbing her guts out and logs on to Facebook.

You're not alone, girlie.  Not alone at all.

Keep it real.