The Time I (Accidentally) Fakebooked

I woke up in a really good mood today. Like really good mood. Maybe it was the sunshine or the fact that no one had thrown up in two whole days or that I slept decently or that I felt loved or a combination of all or nothing or whatever. I just felt good; I don’t argue with feeling good.

Since I felt so good, I wanted to spread the good feeling to my sons. They endured a difficult week as well, and I thought maybe some fun activities would be a great kick-off to our weekend. I started to think about things we could do together — and things we kind of needed to get done before the next snowstorm of never-ending doom descends upon us. I mixed some necessary errands — new milk since we were sick and the milk we had expires this weekend, cereal, dog food, gas — with some fun errands — picking new books at the library. I wanted to make pizza since I haven’t cooked since before we all got sick. I wanted to have a sweet treat. I wanted to watch a fun movie.

I saw it all unfolding perfectly. The boys would be so excited! I would be the best mom ever!

I got so excited, I posted the following Facebook status update:

“Friday! Let’s put away the laundry! Let’s go to the library! Let’s make pizza! Let’s make root beer floats! Let’s stay up late* watching a movie in our pjs! #LifeontheEdge (* = 8:30PM!)”


I didn’t get the laundry put away before they got home from school. But as soon as they got off the bus, I had them round up their library books and pick which ones to return and which ones to renew. Then LittleBrother threw a wrench.

“Mommy, since I’m student of the month, can we buy pizza instead of making it?”

In 2012, I started on the quest to perfect my pizza dough so that we could have a healthier, more cost effective pizza option on a weekly basis. We’ve made a lot of pizza since that fall, and while my pizza dough is amazing, sometimes a takeout pizza just tastes so amazing. I looked at him and nodded. Okay, so, no making of pizza, but still pizza! It was still going to be a great time!

Off we went to the library. And then off to the grocery store where the boys got really, really excited about the root beer floots. And then off for dog food, which was slightly less exciting and a woman who wasn’t having as good of a day as I was attempted to ruin my day for me, but I kept smiling. Then gas. Then we picked up pizza! Then we ate it! The best pizza ever!

As I cleaned up our mess (not just from takeout pizza but from a week of clutter due to all four of us being too sick to notice or care), they played some video games. When I walked into the living room to ask which movie they wanted to watch as I got some good ones at the library, they asked if, maybe instead, they could watch Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune.



Yeah, sure, that’s fine, I assured them. We cuddled on the couch and watched (ancient) game shows. BigBrother asked me all of the questions about the shows. I answered them with a smile, because I remember asking the same questions when I was his age.


LittleBrother asked the one I still wonder: “How do they know all of these things?”

It’s hard to tell.

And then at 8:00, as the game shows ended, they decided they were ready for snack and bed. No staying up until 8:30 even. Fine, fine. I went about setting up the root beer floats. Then LittleBrother threw another wrench.

“I don’t really want a root beer float. I had one at school today. Can I have applesauce instead?”

What? You had a root beer float at school? Fine, fine. I gave him an applesauce, which is obviously the antithesis-snack of root beer float night, and enjoyed my float while BigBrother asked me eleventy billion questions about ice cream and root beer and pop and soda and words and dialect and Western Pennsylvania and Ohio and marriage and firefighters and editors and mortgages and car loans and purebred dogs versus mutts and then my ear fell off and it was time for bed.

I helped brush teeth and find jammies. I read books and tucked blankets down by the wall and kissed little faces. I said, “Goodnight, sleep tight, don’t let the frostbite bite,” because Frozen broke me. I sat down on the couch and thought about my Fakebook status from earlier in the day and smiled.

I smiled.

Our day didn’t look like my Facebook status; it was even better and as just us as it could possibly be. Accuse me of Fakebooking and I’ll just smile at you like I smiled at the mean lady who tried to ruin my day today. Today I was happy and I had a great day with my sons.

Now excuse me, I need to go put away my laundry. *

* = Nope. Not gonna happen.



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On Thursday evenings, we eat an early dinner. Okay. Most evenings we eat an early dinner. But on Thursdays, we make certain to finish our dinner early so we can drive nine miles west to get the boys to our church for children’s choir practice.


They love it. I love that they love it.

Walking In

Tonight, as we waited for the director to get into the practice room so I could ask her a question, I watched as the accompanist taught the boys a quick song on the piano. I watched as they joyously banged on the bongo drums, as they fake-tap-danced on the linoleum floor, as they greeted each of their friends as they showed up.

Time for Choir

It also gives us, the parents, an hour to go out and do something by ourselves in the middle of the week. We normally stop and get a coffee, or for me, half cappuccino, half espresso roast like my dad taught me back when he drove me to voice lessons every Thursday evening. Today we went to Dollar General and bought Gatorade and Lysol to replenish our stashes after the stomach virus that ripped through our family. I took a moment to call and check on my parents. We stopped and bought some wine, because stomach virus that ripped through our family. And then we went to pick them up.


Us, Out an About

I struggle with taking them to choir. I struggle with taking them to Sunday School, which we haven’t in awhile. I struggle with teaching them about a faith that I hold near and dear to my heart. I want them to know the love that I have, the faith that I have, the joy that I have… but I desperately want to shield them from the hate that exists within the bigger church. I want them to find a faith, if they so choose, on their own, not just simply adopt the one I have so chosen as my own. Growing up in the evangelical church in the 80’s and 90’s, I saw things that make me fear for my own children. Not necessarily for their physical safety, but for their spiritual ability to discern right from wrong, faith from brainwashing, love from hate, mistakes from guilt and shame.

I can only hope that as I continue to expose them in this way while also working oh-so-hard to keep the dialogue open about all of these issues at hand will keep the door open. So that they can question, ask the harder questions that many from my generation didn’t feel comfortable enough to ask. That I didn’t feel comfortable enough to ask. It’s a fine line, a difficult one to walk as a parent; a parent with faith who was scarred by more than one leader with ulterior motives or, even, the best of intentions that lead down a path of hate.

I don’t have the answers to the bigger faith questions at large, but I hope to be the best mother I can be to these two little boys, on this topic and so many others. That’s all I can do.


And hope against hope that someday my sons’ generation will know the peace that my generation wishes existed now.