Fakebook

If all you ever knew about someone was based on their social media presence you might be tempted to believe that everyone lives a pretty charmed life. No strife, no struggle, no need to change their underpants 'cause clearly their shit don't stink.

You'd also be wrong, wrong, wrong. Social networking sites like Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Pinterest are the equivalent of a perpetual first date: your legs are always shaved, your outfit's always tight, you're on your best behavior. You say all sorts of things people would never actually say in real life like "Look at my zillion carrot diamond ring!" or "just feeling sexy today!" Who talks like this? We do.  When we're on Facebook! 

There are actually people out there who become depressed when viewing other's pages because it seems to them that everyone else's life is so much better! See this article written about this phenomenon.

It's human nature, I suppose. We've probably all contributed to the myth that is our lives on social media. One thing that I try to remain aware of is that we never really know what goes on behind someone else's closed doors. You don't know what people are struggling with behind the posed stances and brilliant smiles. 

The same person who just posted a seemingly idyllic pic of themselves and their significant other wind-surfing in the South Pacific may have been arguing viciously with that person moments before the shutter clicked. 

That pic of a gourmet home cooked meal? The kids probably refused to eat it that night. They had chicken nuggets instead.

Those adorable pics of young siblings with their arms around one another? Their mom probably had to threaten them with extinction and then bribe them with candy to get them to sit still long enough to take the pic! It probably also took at least 104 crappy pics to get the one Facebook worthy shot.

Cute puppy dog pics? That little ball of fuzz probably crapped on the carpet later that day. 

Social networking sites provide a moment frozen in time without any context whatsoever. Those of us on the outside looking in might be thinking "gee, that person has the perfect life!" 

Nope! 

Nobody does. So, wish your friends well, but know that no one leads a perfect life. We wouldn't be human if we didn't experience the full compliment of existence: joy and struggle. Facebook is just particularly good at highlighting only the joyful parts. 

Dumpster Diving

I have a confession to make. A dirty little secret, if you will. It is really quite embarrassing, so this is going to be difficult for me:

I am a dumpster diver. 

There, I said it! My name is Surviving Mamahood and I am a dumpster diver. I am sure you're wondering "how did this happen?" Well, let me 'esplain. First, do me a favor and put down whatever it is that you are eating.  My apologies in advance. Thank you.

It all started on a rainy Spring afternoon. My then 7 year old daughter, who is a Girl Scout, had been collecting orders for the annual Cookie Sale. For those of you not familiar, each girl gets a super long order form to track their sales. You can also track on-line but that can be a pain in the ass, so most folks use these forms to write down the names of the customers as well as the type and number of boxes ordered.

Now let me be absolutely honest with you. When I say that my daughter was selling cookies, I really mean that my husband and I were selling cookies. Warning to any adults foolish enough to get mixed up in this cookie business: you will be the one stuck pimping out cookies. Because we are naturally competitive when it comes to selling we enlisted the help of family members to sell even more cookies! We were building an unstoppable cookie empire, ya'll! Before we knew it, we had collected literally hundreds of orders - all neatly documented on the cookie order form.

On that rainy afternoon, this sacred document was left behind at the local diner. To protect the innocent (me), I am not going to talk about how this form got left behind at the diner.  Suffice it to say that mistakes were made and yada, yada, yada. No, we did not keep a copy of the form as a back-up.

Anyway, as soon as we realized that the form had been left behind, we raced to the diner hoping that they had set the form aside for us. Surely they would have realized that this precious document was not junk?! Tough luck for us. The form was no where to be found. The kind waitress explained that the trash from that meal service had already been taken out back and put in the ... DUMPSTER. My husband and I locked eyes in horror. I am sure he was thinking "Gee that sucks, oh well we tried, right?" Me, being the super psycho control freak that I am thought, "I wonder if they would let us hop in the dumpster and have a look around?"

I am going to pause here for a second. I feel like I need to explain myself. Clearly, the normal adult reaction to such a thing would be to think, you know, this really sucks, but what can you do?  I'm not gonna get in a dumpster for a lousy piece of paper?  Am I right?  Bueller? Bueller?  The truth is that I am not normal, people.  I am a fixer by nature.  I don't take no for an answer and truly believe that with a little bit of hamburger elbow grease, any problem can be solved. I also routinely suffer from Hot Mess Syndrome. My brain was telling me that we had to get in the dumpster and try to find that order form.  My nose was telling me that I was going to be very sorry if I did. I should have listened to my nose.

My husband made the first valiant attempt at my urging.  He returned home in five minutes, no form in hand, with a completely disgusted look on his face.  "I lifted the lid of the dumpster and it was nasty.  I tried pushing a few bags over, but I didn't see anything.  I'm not going back there. That form is gone, babe."

Cut to me pulling into the parking lot of the diner armed with rubber gloves, my own garbage bag, a flash light (it was dusk now) and one of those flimsy face masks.  I tiptoed to where the dumpsters were located and used an empty can to stand up on so that I could peer into the dumpster.  I am 5'1 and this dumpster was big.  I couldn't really see over the edge, so I made the fateful decision to climb on in.

This was a diner dumpster.  Therefore its contents were an amalgamation of every type of diner food and artifact that you can imagine. I was adrift in a sea of half-eaten hamburgers, cooking lard, and vegetable peelings.  I stayed in this dumpster for nearly 25 minutes rooting through the trash bags like the world's saddest and largest raccoon.  At some point during those minutes, it began to drizzle. I stared up at the moon from inside that dumpster and imagined myself a tragic hero. Wouldn't everyone be surprised when I returned home victorious!  And you know what?  I didn't find the form. I had to drive home naked, shoe-less, stinky, and empty-handed.

After my husband hosed me off on our front porch, I went to bed that night feeling rather defeated and mortified.  I had climbed in a dumpster! For a stupid form! Anyway, we were ultimately able to fairly easily re-create the list, which again, adds to my mortification, but hey, it's a pretty decent war story!

What nonsense have you had to do in the name of helping your kids?