Dear Mommy Bloggers(Or, why I am going gray at the age of 30)

Dear Mommy Bloggers:

Thank you for letting me know about your perfect life. I am glad that you can blog/tweet/facebook daily while you cook seven course meals from scratch and homeschool your delightful, clean children while your toddlers play peacefully and never, ever make messes.

Meanwhile, today I shampooed my living room carpet! This was my sole accomplishment of the day, and fifteen minutes later, my toddler came in with a bowl full of macaroni salad that had been stolen from the fridge and promptly dumped all over the nice, clean carpet.
Then I managed to actually wash the baby bottles, feed the baby, dress both children, and suddenly I realized I needed to make the car payment and the bank was closing in ten minutes. I carried both children to the car, only to have the two-year-old pipe up halfway down the road…”Mommy, you forgot Josh’s SHOES!” and giggle hysterically. I looked back and realized that, yes, my two-year-old was barefoot on this cold, rain day.
Thank God for drive through banking.

On the way home, I realized I had forgotten to feed Joshua lunch, and so I swung through Dunkin Donuts and bought him six chocolate minis for a dollar. I will make up for this later with popcorn chicken out of the freezer, because Daddy is on a 24 hour shift and I am not interested in cooking.

After getting home, I gave Josh my Nook tablet to play with for a few minutes while I tried to wash some clothes. Josh came running into the laundry room yelling, “Play game, Mommy! Play game wid me?”
“Okay,” I said. “What game should we play?”
Josh giggled. “Find da library books!”
“That doesn’t sound like a fun game,” I sighed, going into the room where the library books are kept in a basket on top of a small filing cabinet. Sure enough, the basket was there, the library books were not.
“Okay, Josh,” I said, “Where are the library books?”
Josh giggles. “Josh hide dem! Mommy find dem!”

An hour later, I still have no idea where the library books are, and all I can get out of the two-year-old is, “Josh lost dem!”

Meanwhile, the baby cries to eat again, the laundry piles up on the couch, and Josh wants to paint pumpkins.

So I don’t think I qualify as a Mommy blogger.
Just a Mommy.
But then, there is nothing wrong with that, after all.



I have almost 300 facebook friends.
And I don’t think I can call one of them to just vent tonight.  Or go shopping with, or out to dinner, or to a movie.

I understand I am in a unique situation when it comes to not being able to make friends.  I work strange hours and have a policy against developing close friends at work(this is absolutely not a slam on anyone I work with; in fact, I find many of them interesting, funny people that I would love to hang out with, and probably will if I ever change jobs), I work opposite my husband so we rarely have a day off together, we work opposite Sundays so church isn’t an option, the typical mother’s groups/MOPS programs are either evenings I work or days I don’t have childcare.  My kids are young and not in day care, and even when they are older they will be homeschooled, so no friends through kids.
I understand this is not a typical situation, and so I am not speaking about my situation in particular.

I am speaking about society in general.  We as a culture have chosen hundreds of superficial friendships based on pithy social media postings over a select few friendships based on deep conversations and shared interests.  We have chosen the many over the few, the cheap over the superficial.

Why is this?
I think because it is easier.

It’s easier to throw a comment onto a facebook post than call someone and ask how they are doing.
It’s easier to post a comment than to invite someone over for dinner and invest your time and energy into them.
It’s easier to scroll through pictures than take an afternoon to have a playdate with someone you don’t know well.

It’s easier, and safer, to be superficial, than to put the time and effort and vulnerability into developing a close friendship.

And I think that we are all, from me personally to us as a society, poorer spiritually and emotionally for it.