If Toddlers Had Facebook

Isn’t Facebook great? You can go online and share everything about your life with your family, friends, acquaintances (aka people you met once), and stalkers. Whether it’s picture after picture chronicling your kids’ childhoods, because the whole world really needs to know about your 10-year-old’s haircut  (guilty as charged) or vague status updates about that someone in your life who needs to butt out and piss off, you can share it all on Facebook.

Some people hated it when “old people” (our parents and grandparents) got on Facebook. “It’s gonna be ruined!” they complained. And by “ruined” they meant, “I can’t post pictures of my half naked ass puking in the bushes or status updates about all the wild sex I’m having.” Aside from the often jumbled status updates about “COUSIN LENNY XLKSKD FIRE” and the 3,249 requests to play Farmville, it wasn’t that bad, though.

“Old people” definitely did not ruin Facebook. Sure, there might be an accidental — and highly inappropriate — gif or laughing reaction on a post about someone being on their deathbed, but that’s always good for a chuckle since it slightly lightens the situation. Even more so when they apologetically post about how they didn’t mean to put that or that Zuckerburg must have hacked their profiles. (Because deleting the offensive post is clearly not an option.)

(By the way, I’m putting quotation marks around “old people” because the people that we considered old a decade ago aren’t much that much older than we are now…)

Since we know what “old people” on Facebook looks like, let’s imagine for a moment that our toddlers got accounts and were given free reign. Their pictures would probably be just as bad as an older newcomer to Facebook. Where you might see an old person post three different profile pictures in various orientations until they get one that’s upright, you’d probably see pictures like this from a toddler:

Have you ever felt especially stabby when someone posts pictures about their amazing vacation while you’re stuck in the office or at home dealing with two projectile vomiting children and Laundry Mountain?

When you take a break for a minute and mindlessly scroll through Facebook, you’re faced with a picture that is angled just right to show off an adult beverage, toes, and sand.

If a toddler had a Facebook account, this is what they’d post:

And, of course, there would be the inevitable passive-aggressive comment from a jealous toddler friend…

Oof.

Toddlers would also probably be just as self-conscious about the number of likes on their posts as the average angsty younger Millennial was.

And you know how new parents seems to be cursed with an affliction that causes them to overshare on Facebook during their child’s first year? Well, toddlers would probably be like that, too.

The best part of toddlers being on Facebook would be all of the drama, though. You know they’d have it. They go from one extreme mood to another in the snap of a finger, and just like an insecure 29-year-old who has had way too many shots of Fireball, there would be no hesitation in putting that drama all over Facebook.

Toddlers on Facebook would definitely be interesting.

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#AtoZChallenge: ‘X’ is for X (10)

Today’s post for the A to Z Challenge comes from my Facebook timeline. Coming up with a post for “X” can always be a bit of a challenge, so I’m cheating a little bit by going with “X” stands for the Roman numeral X, or 10. You get 10 mildly amusing status updates pulled from my Facebook page.

From last year, when Baby Girl commented on her growth…

Looking for freelance jobs can be equally frustrating and entertaining…

When the kiddo started getting slightly modest a few years ago…

Little Man is starting to get a little shy…when I walked in the bathroom where he was getting ready for his bath, he decided to cover up his privates. He’s stark naked and what does he cover? His chest. He is too funny!

That time I decided to be a zombie for Halloween and modeled my zombie walk for my husband…

During the height of the 50 Shades of Grey popularity…

The boy’s hatred for Clemson used to be something else…

“How’d Clemson get that ball? They probably snatched it.”

“I’m not pulling for Clemson, I’m pulling for who plays Clemson.”

“I don’t like cheaters, so I’m not pulling for Clemson. They probably do that.”

“I liked orange until I learned about Clemson. Now I don’t like it.”

When the kiddo caught me off guard with his take on The Giving Tree…

“That book is hilarious!”

That time Little Man messed up the title of a Nintendo game…

When Baby Girl was 2.5, she had some issues with our dog’s name…

When McDonald’s got kinda confused on what caffeine is…

Thanks for joining me for the April A to Z Challenge! If you’re participating, please leave a link in the comments section so I can check out your post.

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When Spiders Attack

I’m afraid of spiders. Like, deathly afraid. Ever since I watched the movie Arachnophobia as a kid, I’ve been terrified. I spent a year constantly searching for spider bites on my body after watching that movie. Usually the “bites” ended up being some of my smaller freckles. Unfortunately for me, I’m covered with freckles, so the whole “oh-my-god-I’m-dying” terror thing happened a lot. Not fun.

As far as I’m concerned, all spiders are either brown recluses or black widows (or something else that is equally deadly). Doesn’t matter what color or size they are; as long as they have eight legs, they should die. Sometimes my son brings up how great Charlotte from Charlotte’s Web is when I’m hating on spiders — he thinks he can bring me to the other side because of a fictional character. Newsflash, son — she doesn’t get a pass just because she saved Wilbur. And by “saving Wilbur,” what we really mean is she deprived the people of their bacon, and that’s much worse than lurking in a corner.

My husband is usually the one who handles spider business around the house. The first few times I screamed for him to come help me because I found a brown recluse, he dashed in, ready to save me and slay the beast. He was my knight in shining armor, just of the “wears boxer shorts and a wife beater” variety. And his sword was a flip flop. Otherwise, he was exactly like a knight in shining armor. Once my husband began realizing that my brown recluses were usually something less lethal, he stopped being so quick to run to my side. Now he comes when he pleases and grabs my shoes to kill with. Clearly we aren’t in the honeymoon phase any longer.

Look at that spider’s teardrop tattoo and tell me he ain’t about killing folks.

Now that you know I generally don’t care for spiders, let’s get into what this post is really about.

Thursday didn’t start out great for me. I went to bed the night before with heart palpitations and an on edge feeling, presumably from anxiety. Anxious about what, I don’t know — sometimes anxiety disorders like to keep you guessing. And then I woke up that morning with a sharp pain in my upper abdomen that went through to my back. That combined with the still present heart palpitations concerned me a bit since I had recently read an article about how women’s heart attack symptoms can be different from men’s. I took some Tums, ibuprofen, and aspirin to cover my bases and decided to wait and see if it got better or worse.

The pain eased up after a few hours, and I was able to go about my day. My husband, who works from home most of the time, had to drive in to Charlotte, so I was home alone with the toddler. We colored, we played house, and we made stuff with Play-Doh. After making 524 Play-Doh pizzas, I decided it was time to move on. I put on a Daniel Tiger in the living room for Baby Girl to watch while I started tidying up. The first thing on my list was sweeping up all of the Play-Doh bits from the floor. Well, Play-Doh bits and the Lucky Charms bits and Cheerios bits that didn’t get swept up earlier, because of laziness.

I reached under the table with the broom to slide out some of the cereal and PlayDoh bits, and as I looked down at what I was sweeping out, a big fucking spider dashed out and began running at me.

Considering the heart concerns from earlier that morning, this was very clever timing on behalf of the spider, who was clearly hellbent on killing me.

I’m not going to doodle what happened next, because we have surveillance cams in our homes. The camera in the kitchen caught pretty much everything, including my blood curdling screams. Typically I wouldn’t post a video of myself in a public space in a million years, for many, many reasons, but I think the funny in this video is worth it being put up for a day or so. (Bonus: this video will verify that I look just as much like a bum in real life as I do in my doodles.)

Now that you’ve made it through the video, let’s continue, since there’s a little left to this post.

Immediately after the eight-legged creature was murdered, I started texting my husband about the ordeal.

It was definitely a wolf spider. Since my husband likes to act like wolf spiders aren’t anything to worry about, I’m gonna leave this right here —

Like wolves, they chase and leap on their prey.

Chase. Leap. That’s the stuff nightmares are made of. Maybe their bites won’t kill you or cause your skin to rot, but the next time you feel something brush against your face in the dark, just know it could be a wolf spider leaping on you.

My children are both having fun with this ordeal. Baby Girl has teased me about being afraid of the spider, showed Little Man how I screamed, and even told me that the dead spider was alive and moving towards me. What kind of three-year-old am I raising? Little Man watched the video a dozen times before bedtime last night. He went back and forth between saying I’m the [unintentionally] funniest mom ever and that I’m too dramatic. Hmph.

For further funny spider fear stories, check out Becca Barracuda’s Bug Juice post

I know I’m not the only person to freak the hell out over a spider, so what’s your story? 

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