The Universe According to Facebook

I've mentioned a time or ten that I'm not really a Facebook person. I have an account like most normal human beings at this point, but the odds that I will actually look at anything on it are somewhere between "HAHAHAHAHA" and "not a chance." I dislike it so very much that I created a page for this here bloggy blog and maintain that page using a third party app, just so I won't have to actually see anything resembling a Facebook logo or news feed.

It's way funner that way.

One of the reasons I can't handle the Universe According to Facebook is that it flat-out refuses to show things in chronological order. No matter what, it insists that a comment on a post that's five days old is more important than a post that has no comments but was posted seconds ago.

I don't care what I missed five days ago. I just want to know what's happening NOW.

I was talking about the weird nonlinear time thing with a friend today and it dawned on us why it's so frustrating -- we miss more because of Facebook's need to tell us what's important than we would left to our devices.

Facebook thinks life events are important. Births, deaths, graduations, etc., they're all important. They tend to get a lot of comments and likes, so they show up at the top of a feed.

But life's little moments? They get lost in the algorithm.

Early last week Alexis told me about how some boys at recess have been chasing her and won't stop. There's some teasing involved and all of that dumb 2nd grade stuff that happens. In talking about it, it occurred to me that her reaction was exactly what the boys were after, so I told her she needed to change her reaction. We talked it through and I suggested that she just laugh if the boys started teasing her again. We figured out what she could think about to make herself laugh, practiced it, and she said she'd give it a try.

Two days later, she jumped in my car and quickly blurted out, "It worked! Your advice worked!" She continued to tell me all about how turning to the boys and laughing threw them off and they left her alone the rest of the day.She wasn't sure what the next day would bring, but she felt like the teasing wasn't so bad after all now that she had figured out to just laugh at it.

It was such a little victory, but it's an important one to me. I got something right for once.

The Facebook algorithm would ignore the whole thing. Describing the resolution and effectiveness wouldn't have gotten many comments or likes and it would have become one of those posts that barely exists.

The little stuff really is what matters. It's too bad Facebook hasn't figured it out.

The Best Homework Show Up For Mother's Day

The majority of the papers that Alexis brings home from school make me twitch, feel dumb, or question the sanity of everyone involved in the educational process. Which is all to say, WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH 2ND GRADE MATH?

Rocket Math needs to be attached to a rocket and flown to the moon where it can stay forever and ever and ever.

The good news is that it's all downhill from here. I won't be able to help with homework before long, which I guess means I'm off the hook? Let's go with that.

Despite the fact that most of the stuff that ends up in Alexis' backpack is terrible, there is that occasional gem. Like this one:

It's just that very typical and normal "I love my mom because" worksheet that everyone does for Mother's Day, but still. Those worksheets really are the best.

I tend to lose papers like that one because they fall out of my hand into the trash can and JUST SHOOSH. I know it's not nice. There is just SO much stuff that I wish I could keep that I get overwhelmed and give up. I usually remember to take a photo of the good stuff before it happens, so at least I do have record of it. I just don't have the original.

In this case, I won't have the original more than a few days. I will have that photo. And ... AND! I have a blog! I can document the fantastic that is that worksheet here! HOORAY!

(Documenting wouldn't be necessary if SOMEONE wasn't addicted to writing in cursive. It's hard to read when it gets shrunk into a photo.)

The worksheet says:

1. I love my mom because she reads me my favorite books. (I can't remember the last time I read to Alexis. She reads to ME now and has for a while.)

2. I love my mom because she helps me make Rice Crispy Treats. (No, I don't. She makes them herself.)

3. I love my mom when she makes me sloppy joes. (This one is true. She really does get all sorts of happy every time they end up on the dinner table.

4. I love my mom because she taught me how to speak Spanish. (Take that, Dora!)

5. I love to hear my mom sing funny music. (All music is funny music when I sing it because I carry a tune about as well as I can carry a grown elephant.)

6. I love my mom because she finds the time to tuck me into bed. (Um, the husband takes tuck in duty. Now I have guilt issues. THANKS, ALEXIS.)

7. I know my mom cares about me because she feeds me. (Is that all it takes? Really? Because I might stop with the other stuff.)

8. I know my mom is smart because she never skipped a grade. (HEY NOW. I actually did skip my senior year of high school, thank you very much. But ... does NOT skipping make someone smarter? Because the kid might have a point there.)

9. I love my mom because she works so hard at photography. (BEST. EVER.)

10. I love my mom because she is the best mother in the world. (No, you can't have her. I won the kid lottery and I'm keeping her.)

Every day should be "write reasons you appreciate your mom" day at school.

Like a Dear In Headlights

Thirty-eight weeks.

It turns out THAT is the point at which I say, "Maybe?"

There have been a bunch of moments when it would have made sense for me to get it together, but the heart and the brain don't always play nice together. Instead, it took a moment that makes no damn sense at all.

First, though, a little history.

I've changed doctors a few times in the past several months. The first time it was because the practice and doctors that I really, really, REALLY liked stopped accepting UPMC insurance. They did it for all of the right reasons and I actually love that they did, but it meant I had to find a new practice.

Fine.

That place lasted exactly one appointment.

It turns out that you can comment about how I'm OLD and how there are more risks when you are OLD and blah, blah, blah, but if you say the words, "Since you waited so long," I'm done. Buh-bye. Do not pass go because YOU ARE FIRED, DOCTOR.

That leads us to the doctor number three. He's not perfect by any means, but I was tired of researching and switching and trying to figure out insurance crap, so I stuck. It took me a while to figure out what "not perfect" really meant, but it became clear a couple of months ago when I realized dude just flat out doesn't listen. He has thoughts in his head and to him those thoughts are facts no matter what I say.

Whatever.

There were some advantages to that.

But there was one thought that just kept nagging at me. Appointment after appointment, the doctor kept saying there was no reason to think the Tiny Human is misnamed and should be Rather Large Human instead. I've read this book before, so I kept thinking, "That? Is not tiny. History repeats itself, yo."

Alexis was 9 lbs 12 oz. It may be possible to trend downward, but by how much? A pound? The evidence didn't support anything more than that. I mean, I've gained 60 pounds, compared to the 65 I gained with Alexis. I look EXACTLY the same as I did with her, meaning I look like I've gained maybe 10 pounds if you see me from the back. Then I turn sideways and suddenly teens vow to never have sex again because YOWSERS. It's all belly. All of it.

And it is HEAVY.

Yet, week after week, I kept hearing things like, "Unless you've got a surprise hiding in there, this one is on the small side." The ultra-interesting part of that is that the Tiny Human has been facing sideways the entire time. There's a butt on my right and legs on my left, so you can't really tell how big anything is. Or, at least, that's what I thought.

Dr. Thoughts disagreed.

Until this week.

This week the Tiny (ha!) Human decided to shift a bit which made it a bit more possible to get a good look at width and such.

"You know that's no 7-pounder in there, right?" the doctor asked.

NO WAY. REALLY? ISN'T THAT WHAT I SAID A MONTH AGO? I didn't say it out loud. I thought it, though.

His proclamation was followed by some discussion and guessing and predicting. It's still all thoughts, but I WAS RIGHT.

And that is when it hit me. This is real. This IS happening. It's the dumbest trigger in the history of triggers, but being told that I'm right is apparently all it takes for a little reality to sink in.

Whodathunkit?