The Reason I Unfollow You on Social Media

It's not you, it's me.

Seriously, I don't consider myself either a liberal or a conservative. I do, however have certain likes and dislikes. I also have a houseful of teenagers to whom I feel a responsibility as role model. These are the major reasons I make social media friends go away.

1.    I’m a mom. I enjoy parenthood and adore my six children. I have no problem with people who have decided that they don’t want children. They’re free to do as they wish.  I do have a problem with people who insult families and belittle what I consider to be my greatest accomplishment. I don’t call people stupid or say that they are trash because of their decision to not have children or traditional families. I absolutely will not have the aggravation of seeing these posts.

You guys have the right to live your lives and speak your beliefs. I have the right to not see them and feel insulted.

2.    Everyone knows that Erotica is popular now. If people want to write it, I hope they do it well and make a gerjillion dollars. Really I do.  Good on them! I especially think it is the awesomesauce that Sylvia Day has gotten so popular because she is a sweetie-pie and she deserves lovely things.

That said, for some odd reason that I do not comprehend, some erotica fans/writers seem to think it is cool to post and tweet extremely graphic scenes and quotes—before I have my morning coffee. I am subjected to naked pictures and descriptive terms that I personally never use. It grosses me out. I mean seriously, EWWWWWWWWWWW! If I wanted naked I would have stayed in the bed. I didn’t get six children by not knowing what a penis is, mkay?

3.    Everyone has a bad day, or week, or sometimes a whole terrible month. Some people have a terrible and angry life. I’m sorry that this is how they see the world. I personally cannot see their negativity day after day and be a positive person. So I choose to surround myself online with people who can see the sunrise. Since many of my real life friends I have met online, I like to keep the optimists close. They and I might hit it off someday.

4.    Profanity is a choice. I cuss as much as the next guy—in real life and when I’m not around children and old people. I choose not to in writing and on the internet where kids might see it. I have children.  I don’t want them to use profanity as the major part of their vocabulary. I don’t want teachers to email me that inappropriate terms are used in papers or at school. I don’t want to teach other people’s children to curse. Of course I expect everyone to slip once in a while. Just not in every freaking post.

5.    When my children were small, whining was a problem. I used to pretend that I was deaf and unable to hear a whining tone of voice. Unfortunately, the internet is an easy place to whine and poor-mouth and it gets on my last nerve. Everyone has a bad day but some people make it a lifestyle and I choose not to attend pity-parties.

6.   I understand that people are proud of what they write. I also understand that you have friends and that you need to support their books. But, if you post nothing but ads and links and even worse, with eighty-eleven hashtags on each post, I’m out of there.

Life is what you make it people and I apologize if my de-friending or un-following hurts your feelings . You have the right to post as you wish and I have the right not to see it.

The Bacon Poem

Middle son was out of poem ideas so he told a friend, "Quick, give me a subject!" The results are below.



Slipping into dreams I slept,
To wake up in the morn'.
Down the creaky stairs I crept,
Feeling sore and worn.

Much to my surprise I see,
My nose was not mistaken.
Someone went ahead and cooked,
A plate of precious bacon.

My stomach rumbled like a storm,
I went forth with delight.
But then I shed a single tear,
I woke up in the night.

This was today.

'nuff said.

I Killed the Crockpot But I Didn't Shoot the Refugee

So today was the big day for my high school kids. The entire school dresses like turn of the century immigrants and they go through the processing at Ellis Island (the school gym) like their ancestors did. We spent yesterday getting costumes together.

The kids asked me to make Russian Piroshki, which are fried meat pies. So after working my patotie off on costumes, I stayed up until midnight prepping the meat, eggs, onions, etc so the actual cooking of the pies would be easy for this morning.

My youngest son, Gabe.






This is my middle daughter Ellie----->

 This morning I was up at dark o'clock to make the piroshki. I rolled dough and filled pies and fried them up. There was plenty of time, we even had five minutes to sit before we had to load up the crock pot and drive to school.

We didn't make it out the door. (insert scene of wild panic). Glass was everywhere, the floor, the counters and most of all it was fallen into the peroshki.

The phone rang and my youngest had forgotten her lunch. The dogs were in the glass trying to get the meat.

Well, by then we were running late. The kids piled into the car, I grabbed the dogs, one on a leash and one without, threw a lunch together for youngest daughter, and made it to the car.

Since bringing food is a part of the grade for Ellis Island, the high school kids were freaked.

I dropped the immigrants at their school and sped over to the grade school to drop off lunch. Then The dogs and I went to the grocery, picked up more ingredients, and sped home. But when I got here, the Lowe's truck was unloading my new washing machine. So I parked across the street. One dog was on the leash, one was under my arm like a purse and my other arm had the groceries.

The dog's hind leg got stuck in the waistband of my sweat pants and I pretty much mooned the delivery guys on my way in the door. Seriously, I did. They may never marry having had a preview of the coming attractions of middle age.

So then I had to roll out and make another four dozen Piroshki. Of course, since the crock pot was smashed and gone to Jesus, there was the ginormous hunt for the missing electric pancake griddle. (It was the only thing big enough to heat a turkey-roaster pan full of meat pies-- because cold fried pie is nasty.)

Finally, I actually managed to deliver the Piroshki to school. Now the immigrants won't starve and I may be a hero.

Noon: This just in. Middle daughter tweeted me that the piroshki was the first food to be eaten gone! We win at lunch.

3PM: The pancake griddle evidently caught a chair on fire. 0-O