Unfriending

Oh sure, we can talk about the merits and draw-backs of social networking all day long.

We can talk about how Facebook has changed forever the meaning of the word "friend" and ask the question: "Really? Who has 963 'friends'?" and point out that Facebook "friending" is not the same as making new friends in real life. 

We can even debate whether or not "in real life" even exists when people are so plugged into social media by their phones, their wireless internet, their watches (well, maybe not, but soon, I'm sure)... When people hand out cards that list name, phone number, website, Facebook page, Twitter handle, etc., can we even make a distinction between how we make friends face-to-face and online?

People, let me just say, there is one gigantic, glaring difference between our beloved social media and the real world: In real life, we cannot simply click a radio button and disappear from someone's news feed.  We can't unfriend a person and hope that they just assume we're not posting updates - that we've gotten lost in the melange of statuses that flood their electronic wall each day...

Oh no.  No, there's no simple "unfriend" action in real life... no matter how much we wish there was.  There's no way to simply disappear from one's life and hide behind the anonymous mesh of 1's and 0's the internet affords.  Privacy settings don't apply to our large-windowed mini-vans and we can't grant exclusive access to our whereabouts to "friends only" in reality.

I realize how horrible this makes me sound.  I do. I'm always looking for new friendships and excited about connecting with people - both for myself (and my sanity) and my kiddos... But if I've ever wanted a do-over in my social life, I'd want it now.  And please understand that I'm talking about now - I wouldn't take back any of my shitbag ex-boyfriends or ill-advised high-school hookups or my crashing, burning, drama-laden Zeppelin-style friendships from my past.  I'd take it now with one person who is a very kind, very sweet individual who doesn't understand boundaries, appropriate discussion topics, human anatomy, acceptable questions or time-limits.  This person does not take cues such as "(toddler wailing in car seat) Honey, I know you're starving, we're on our way home and I'll feed you as soon as we get there, I promise." or "(phone rings) I have to take this; it's our attorney... (answer phone and have person continue waiting)". 

Again, I'm talking about a fabulous person, I'm sure.  I'm just finding myself utterly and completely unable to find a commonality between us, I'm uncomfortable (beyond all comprehension) with the subjects chosen to discuss (despite desperate attempts to steer the conversation elsewhere) and beyond frustrated with the lack of regard for me, my schedule, or my kids.

Sigh.  I need an unfriend button in real life.  Or maybe just a rewind button.  Or at the very least, a mute button.

Smell My Butt...

Gross, eh?  That's what Jack said to me last night at the dinner table.  He had just climbed into my lap to share some snuggles while we waited for the girlies to finish chasing pear chunks around their trays with pudgy pincer grasps.

"Mama, smell my butt!"

"What? Why?"

"Smell my butt I farted!"

"That's gross, Dude."

"I know! I'm gonna poop."

"Well get off my lap then!"

Runs to bathroom laughing.  Husband hyperventilating. Me shaking my head. Babies horking down pears.

Remind me again why I should assume I deserve any dignity at all?

Punk.

Not That I Want To Raise My Children In Bubbles...

... but I kind-of do. I mean, not the kind of bubble where they gain no worldly experience or anything. No, I mean those germ-free bubbles that keep someone isolated from all human contact.

Okay so maybe that's a little extreme, so maybe I just want to put them in Bubbles for trips to the grocery store. Or make them invisible... Better yet, perhaps I should just hire a babysitter for grocery outings. If I were a betting woman (and I'm not by virtue of having no money and any money I do get my hands on goes directly to my Starbucks fund and wouldn't be gambled away) I'd bet the farm that leaving the girls at home would get me in and out of the grocery store in HALF the time. HALF. That's huge. And I further guarantee that 80% of the illnesses my family contracts would be avoided entirely. See where I'm going with the Bubble thing?

See, I get it, Old Korean Lady. I do. Those girls dissolve my heart too. I can't resist them either. I nibble toes and rub noses and tickle cheeks and offer my finger at every opportunity I get. But it's okay for me to stop in the middle of an aisle to catch Jordan's eye, grin back at her and plant a smooch on her nose. SHE IS MY DAUGHTER. So, you see, I do understand that they're irresistible. I'd love to devour the sweeties in Jack's class and squish them all in giant hugs. But I don't because they're not my kids. Therefore, as far as understanding goes, I've got plenty of that. Patience, however, is a virtue that is in fairly short supply these days. I use it all up on my children, then my husband, and then, if they're lucky, customer service representatives (and usually they're not... lucky, that is). And I realize that you don't understand me when I plead with you to please leave us to our shopping so I can get home to feed them. I know you don't understand, "I'm in a hurry," because I don't understand the (very sweet, I'm sure) things you're saying to the girls while you grab their toes and touch their noses and giggle at their smiles. Please, Old Korean Lady, listen to your husband who is saying (very frustrated, I'm sure) things to you and pulling your blouse in the other direction. I'll betcha he's saying to you in your language what I'm saying in mine: "Please let them be!"

And you, Very Kind Not-Yet-Grandmother, I am very sorry your son is 27 and a total jerk and won't settle down and your daughter is a lesbian who doesn't want children... I am. But I can't fill that void in your life while we're standing in the baking aisle. I don't really want to talk to you about breastfeeding or whether I sleep through the night while I debate Betty Crocker versus Duncan Hines. I wish you the best... maybe get a few more cats? But I really have to get out of this store in under 2 hours...

The worst offenders are Moms-of-Older Kids who say rude things (but don't realize they are rude things) such as, "Look, 'Tween-Who-Should-Be-In-School-But-Is-Probably-Sick-So-Is-Staying-Out-Instead, why don't you go see those babies - aren't they cute! Look how sweet they are, go on, look," while urging said 'Tween to get as close as possible to inspect (and breathe on) the babies.

And yes, shockingly, two babies of comparable size in infant carriers, clutching corresponding blankets in the same shopping cart pushed by one person are (ready for this?) TWINS. Real, honest-to-goodness living and breathing twins.

Holy Moses.

Yes, I was pregnant with them. Yes, I gave birth to them. No, I'm really sure they're not identical. Nope, don't want to talk about lactation. Nope, not your business whether or not I can afford them. Yes, my hands are full, but they won't be if you move away from my cart so I can put my armload of garbanzo beans into it instead of standing here discussing birth-order with you.

And really, you don't need to get 6 inches from their faces to determine that their eyes are blue. And then tell me about it. I'm aware; I've seen them.

So what's a mom supposed to do? I see several options:

1) I could NOT go to the store and send Hubby... no, no not really an option.
2) I could ignore these people... but it doesn't matter if I say nothing to them, they'll still touch noses and tell their shopping partner about the "adorable little babies" they've just smeared with germs.
3) I could start wearing a sandwich board around with decrees posted about My Grocery Store Twin-Viewing Etiquette, but that would make crouching to get the better deals off the lower shelves pretty tough...
....which leaves me with option #4... The Bubble.

Anyone know where I could find them?