Being Conservative

I have become, like many of you, a Facebook addict.

I don’t obsess over it. However, I do feel something akin to loss and slight instability if I don’t check it at least once a day. Or twice a day. Or anytime I have a free hour.

It has become a burden to me, on many levels, and yet not one I’m willing to give up. (Never fear, at the end of this post, I will not be swearing off Facebook.)

Things I didn’t care about in the least, things I didn’t even know, are now common, even necessary, knowledge to my everyday life.

There are so many rants that have been done about Facebook, and I have to say all the best ones are already out there – people who join groups, people who join stupid groups, people who post things to provoke controversy, people who use hearts and smiley faces (guilty!), needy people who post co-dependent statuses, etc.

But that said, I have to put my own unique spin on what cracks me up.

Ready?

Here it is – people who “like” the group – Being Conservative.

Really? I mean, really? You “like” Being Conservative?

Okay, okay, well let me pare down why that makes me laugh every. single. time.

Thanks to my IFB-screwed-up background, every time I hear the word “conservative”, I picture zealous diatribes about female modesty, denim jumpers, and the ever-dreaded culottes.

So every time I see someone “like” Being Conservative, I picture them wearing culottes. And some of them, most of them, look pretty ridiculous. With men, it’s especially funny.

Me, I don’t “like” Being Conservative.

Being Conservative sounds boring and staid.

I mean, I’d like Being Passionate, Being Exciting, Being Fun, Being Joyful, etc. But, Being Conservative? Snore.

Being Conservative sounds like a root canal is about to take place.

So, I’m just saying - if you "like" Being Conservative, just realize - somewhere out there, someone is going to be visualizing you wearing culottes, and you are going to be looking pretty ludicrous.

And that’s something I can imagine Being Passionate about.

Back in the Saddle Again

I’ve been so neglectful of my dear, sweet blog.

I can’t believe Sam is going to be a year old in July, and the last time I blogged was in January! I knew working and caring for a baby was going to take a lot of time, but I honestly can’t say it’s been just a time issue. I also stopped writing, because I was mentally exhausted. I still managed to find time to watch 2.5 hours of TV at night or spend an hour on Facebook. Recreational writing just seemed to come to a standstill.

Part of it is the increase of work at work. Before, I had slow times or down times, and now it’s a consistent flow with about the same velocity, as say, oh, Niagara Falls. I’m not complaining, since I know I am fortunate to be employed, and even better, to be employed at a job I sincerely, truly enjoy. But working more, both hours and projects, sends me home with a lot less energy than I used to posses.

The other, weird thing is that I seem to have “dried up” creatively. At first, I thought it was sleep deprivation, then I thought it was lack of time, and then I realized that I was now looking at the world differently. In the old days, I would come home practically panting to blog. I wanted to share my day, my realizations, my frustrations, and hopefully something funny. Now, I just come home, play with the baby, eat dinner, watch TV, check Facebook, read, and go to bed.

It’s not that nothing happens in my day – a lot happens. It’s just I don’t have the urge or the energy to put it all into carefully crafted words. I thought for a time that I’d lost my sense of humor, but my co-workers still laugh at my jokes, and since they’re not pity-laughers, I figure I’ve still got it.

There is so much people can’t tell you about parenting. What Brett and I are learning is that every. single. parenting. situation. is different and tailored specifically to your family.

I was explaining it to Mom yesterday. I told her the things that would drive her nuts if she were married to Brett are not necessarily the things that drive me nuts. And vice versa. You get used to some things when you’ve been married to someone for nearly ten years.

Some things still surprise you, and that can be both a bad and a good thing. Do I like that my husband cooks dinner every couple of days? Absolutely wonderful surprise. Do I like that Brett’s temper in traffic hasn’t tapered off in spite of having an impressionable nearly-one year old in the back seat. No, and not all that much of a surprise.

But you have to take your situation and (with apologies to Hannah Montana) make the best of both worlds.

One of the best things about Brett’s stint as a stay-at-home dad has been the mornings.

I am not, thankfully, forced to run around like a chicken with my head cut off. Sam wakes up (I use him in place of an alarm clock), and that’s my cue. I make the bottle, and Brett brings Sam into our room. I snuggle with him while he eats, and then let him and dad go back to napping, while I take my time making breakfast and getting ready for work.

Then it’s back in the bedroom for goodbye kisses and snuggles, and I’m off to make a living.

I like the balance of our a.m. routine. Sam loves the extra sleep in the morning, and it gives me time to get stuff done without feeling like my baby is being neglected.

There is so much more I could tell you about how Sam is raising us, but I’m thinking I’m going to let it come in drips and drops, instead of flooding you with my dissertation on parenting.

Because, let’s face it, I could be wrong. Sam’s only 11 months, so I am not about to get cocky.