Drunk on Facebook

For a while, my best friend Janis Aden has tried to convince me that Facebook was a nifty pit stop on the information super highway that was not simply a landing zone for everyone 21 and younger. I refused to believe her. I practically patted her on the head long distance and told her she'd lost her mind. After all, I'm over 30. I have three kids, two church callings, recently racked up a $36.82 library fine and $103 washing machine repair bill, and I spend an inordinate amount of time perfecting my role as a poor housekeeper. I do NOT have time for Facebook.

Then the note from Clay popped up.

Dammit.

Excuse the strong language, but ever since the simple invitation of "Is this Mandy from New York?" I've been addicted to Facebook. Trust me when I say I do NOT have time for Facebook. But like most addictions, it rules your life. I've never had an addition, but they're tough. You are powerless to resist. You may not want to spend every spare second tooling around going, "I wonder what happened to (fill in the blank)," but you can't help yourself. You WANT to find friends. You want to see your little friend number climb and not feel insignifcant when you're added as a friend by someone who has 278 other "friends" in comparison with your 43. I'd feel a little lame about the whole thing if so many of the rest of them weren't out there, too. I feel like I'm sitting in an institute class circa 1998 and I'm loving every minute of it.

So, it's all Clay's fault. He is my friend Susan's husband and an old friend of mine and yes, I will take credit for their actual introduction in summer 1999 or thereabouts. He and another friend were looking for me and found someone with a name that could be my married name but was it really? Clay took a shot in the dark. This is amusing because I half figure if he really wanted to chat with me, he could have asked Susan for my email address. Or my phone number. Or my address if we want to be archaic. Anyway, he found that one day after listening to Janis' drunken ravings, I signed up. Now, unlike blogspot, I couldn't just lurk around and see how people are with the anonymity that I enjoy. You actually have to be social on Facebook, put yourself out there waving a flag saying, "Hey, didn't I know you once 10 years ago? Let's be friends....again!" That seemed time consuming and a little daunting: "What if no one wants to be my friend...again?" I gave up, leaving nothing but a name out there. That's all it took. Now I find myself obsessing over everyone else's day-to-day ramblings. I have FOUND people ! Jon and Hilary! Nikole and Kelly (they lived and Cleveland and I didn't know it ARGH!), the Masons, the Cottams, the, the...people I barely remember...they're all out there on Facebook logging their moment-to-moment activities and I'm hooked. I can't stop caring that Geoff is taking a final, the Shawn likes Banana cream pies, that Sara can't make her computer work right, that Jan made cookies, that Jennifer is going to eat sushi, that Susan wishes she had my woodstove, that Jo is wondering where to find Emily, that Teri and Jim are still baiting each other, that Veronica got a new dog, that Jeannie and Hannah posted their Christmas letters and I'm going to copy Hannah, that Bro. Woodbury just read a great book and on and on.

I really do care.

And now I need to find some limits. :) Is there a rehab for facebook? Or, is there a point where it becomes less amusing?

Who knows. But in the meantime, for people who only come here to see pictures of my kids, the latest:

Posing on Thanksgiving Day. You have no idea how hard it is to get Ellie to sit for a picture. My grandmother suggested spanking her, but somehow, I just don't think that would help me get a good picture of her.

Hannah gets roped into helping Jack make applesauce. We sauced over a bushel of apples and Jack actually did the acutual saucing (handle turning) for the entire batch.

Jack and his "best little buddy the cutest baby in the world Small.

Ellie in a hostile bouncy seat take over.

Daddy helps Jack top off the tree.