Why I Share Where I Do

So yesterday’s post was almost a Facebook status update. I took that picture, hit the share button on my phone, selected Facebook, and was typing the status update about my son using the word “plinth”, when my husband pointed out to me that I shouldn’t be climbing mindlessly into the passenger seat of his car… since my car was in the parking lot as well.

I stopped the post and began my drive home. As I did so, I thought about the story for awhile and thought, “Hey, that could be a blog post.” And that’s when I realized that my story sharing has taken a sharp change in direction of late. I am much more likely to share my little vignettes of life on WordPress than I am on Facebook.

Used to be, I had to throttle my Facebook status updates so I didn’t annoy my friends. Now, if I look at my timeline, it is composed almost entirely of shares from WordPress. That night on the drive home, I felt like I was making a choice of who to share with.

See, there are many people who read my blog that I don’t know in real life, thus, they are not my Facebook friends. Likewise, there are people that are my Facebook friends who don’t follow the link to my blog posts. Many do, but as many or more don’t. So when I’m faced with that choice to share a brief synopsis of my son’s funny behavior on Facebook or a more lengthy telling on WordPress, I feel like I’m making the choice between sharing with friends or strangers. And more and more, I’m making the choice to share with strangers.

I struggled with that but by the time I had reached home, I had decided that, yes, I wanted to blog about it. It was a cute story. If I blog it, I have it forever. I can search my history, I can bundle it up in a book later in life, I can give it to my child when he’s an adult. If I post it on Facebook… *sigh* I gave up trying to save off my Facebook statuses a long time ago. It was just too much work. If I share it on Facebook, it’s a flash in the pan and then it’s gone.

And… And… anyone can read the blog. Anyone. Even all those Facebook friends who don’t. And who knows? Maybe more of them read it than I think. I’m frequently surprised by someone referencing a post when I didn’t know they paid my blog any attention at all.

I read someone’s blog recently about why they write. They talked about all the words in their head and needing to get them out. That’s not me. What I do have is a driving interest to tell stories. I don’t make them up. I’m not (yet) a writer of fiction. But I do thoroughly enjoy telling the stories of what’s happening around me in what is (hopefully) an entertaining and engaging way.

As I said in my first ever blog post, people on Facebook were enjoying my stories. They encouraged me to share them with a wider audience. Ironically, they aren’t around encouraging me much anymore but I trust that their sentiment was genuine. I came across a letter from a long-lost friend recently; he too told me that I needed to share my stories.

And so here I am. Trusting that it’s far better to fully flesh out my story and save it for posterity than to throw a quick quip out there on Facebook. And judging by how much my daughter laughed when she read about her brother’s “Inner Dragon” last night, I think I’m taking the right path. Because now, she’ll be able to laugh about it again and again. And some day, his kids can laugh about it too.

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Taking Your Licks

Jane recently made some cupcakes from scratch. She didn’t use a box mix, she used extra vanilla, and she poked holes in the top to add hot blackberry Jell-O.

They were tasty.

Very tasty.

As such, they disappeared quickly. She made more but those disappeared quickly as well. In fact, one recent night, there were only a few left and the kids were fighting over them.

From the other room, I could hear Hal objecting because someone had eaten his cupcake.

I heard my husband tell him that he could have “this one” when he finished his dinner. “It’s ok,” he tried to assure him. “There’s enough for everyone. You can have this one.”

I then heard Daryl apologizing for eating Hal’s cupcake. “I didn’t know you wanted that particular one.”

All three people in the room attempted to comfort Hal, calm him down, convince him that the available cupcake would be sufficient and equally tasty.

Through the sobbing, I heard Hal’s desperately sad little voice:

“But I wanted the one that I had licked!”

I guess he hadn’t figured out that licking something to claim ownership only works if people actually see you do it.

Brownie Theft and Reconciliation

We had a dessert auction at church to raise money for Relay for Life. My family brought home three desserts. The strawberry pie and plum cake were lovely, but the brownie with cookies & cream candy crushed inside of it was the runaway hit.

I offered to take it to work and keep it at my desk so my husband wouldn’t eat too much of it. He counter-offered to hide it from me. We tried to restrain ourselves from eating it too quickly, and as a result, there was still some in the pan when I left for work four days later.

I was more than a bit disappointed to see the pan empty when I came home. Then my husband gave me a gift.

“I saved the last piece for you. It’s in a baggie above the oven.”

I spied it sitting there and relaxed. I’d have a nice treat to take to work the next day, which was great since my lunch would consist of a single dinner roll sized sandwich and a few Fritos.

Unfortunately, I forgot about the brownie until shortly after I got to work. Crushed, I called my husband to tell him just how miserable I was that I wouldn’t get to eat it at lunch.

“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll go in there right now and eat it while I’m on the phone with you. I’ll tell you all about how it tastes so you can enjoy it through me.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Where is it?”

“Where is what? Don’t joke around.”

“I’m serious. Your brownie. It’s not here.”

There was a brief moment of silence before I figured it out.

“She’s dead. She is so dead! I can’t believe she took my brownie! And after I let her take two of those little sandwiches and I only got one.”

I contemplated sending her a text saying that she was dead if she didn’t return the brownie. I thought some teachers might not understand the death threat part of it was a joke, though. Plus, I got busy at work and got over it. Just a little bit. I mean, I’d had quite a bit of it… but, man, it tasted good!

My husband hadn’t forgotten though. When I came home from work, he and Jane showed me a pan of still-warm brownies on the counter and Jane said, “I’m sorry I ate your brownie, Mommy.”

They had looked up the recipe online and made a fresh batch for me after school. Everyone had some for game night that evening. And then my husband wrapped the last six pieces in some foil and told me and Jane that they were mine. There’s two left. I guess I should probably share them with her.