Whatever issues I’ve had with facebook, and I have, are gone today. Suddenly today I saw the most amazing use of facebook and I’m thankful over and over for it.

I’ve mentioned my friend Amy who’s breast cancer took us from her family and friends entirely too early. It hit home too close and too hard for me. It was hard.

I was unable to make it to her memorial here in town. I was sad for that fact but I forgave myself because I knew I would’ve lost my shit if I’d gone. I mean The Big Ugly Crying.

But the community that Amy created around herself and those who knew her is a wonderful one and I did miss out on celebrating Amy’s life with them. Until today.

Today I went to her Facebook page just because I was thinking of her. Today I realized a lot of people are going to Amy’s facebook page because they are thinking of her. They are talking to her, leaving her notes, telling her about her children and about daily life and sharing stories of love and comfort and remembering.

Today I hugged my daughter and son a bit tighter because of facebook.

Today I remembered a great friend because of facebook.

Today I realized how we touch people in the world beyond what we even comprehend because of facebook.

I hope it’s ok that I share this story, it’s the one that touched me the most from her page. A friend shares, “Your baby girls misses you today Amy. She was tearfully talking about you today. But don’t worry, R came up to her and said “Don’t be sad, your mama will always be in your heart.“ and then gave Maddy a big hug and kiss. After R was done Maddy told her she needed another hug and she laid her head on R’s shoulder and cried a little bit more. R patted her and stroked her cheek and then they sat together holding hands for a while. Your daughter is such a wonderful little girl. And I love to see our girls supporting eachother when they need it. And don’t worry, I cuddled both of them until the smiles returned.“

Today I forgave facebook. Because I needed to read this. As do so many more.

*I changed the little girl’s name because I don’t know how they would feel about publishing it. I know Amy has written openly here on my blog about Maddy so I feel ok with leaving her name as is. I hope this is ok with those involved. Much love to everyone who is.

I walked by a glowing extremely pregnant woman. Her friend handed her a bag with some baby booty in it. I chuckled. I couldn’t help myself. I CHUCKLED. They looked up at me and I recovered, smiled, and continued on my way.

In my head I was picturing what the card would say. I chuckled again. It could be any of the following:

Outside: Congrats New Momma! You’re going to spend the next five years trying to get your pre-baby body back!
Inside: Good luck with that.

Outside: Congrats On Your New Bundle! They don’t sleep through the night until they’re teenagers.
Inside: Good luck with that.

Outside: Dear New Daddy! You thought you had Blue Balls in High School?
Inside: HAHAHAHAHA. Good luck with that.

Outside: To the happy new parent: Write down the last day you had sex.
Inside: So you remember it in three years when your brain is sleep deprived. Good luck with that!

Oh, comeon. Add your own! It’s fun!

And only mildly depressing….

It’s 2:45AM. I’ve been asleep for two hours. I hear the familiar call from a tiny man, “Mommy! Mommy!‘ I’m in his room before I open my eyes.

I get him milk, his Thomas Trains and put him back to bed.

It’s 6:00 AM and I hear the familiar call from a tiny man, “Mommy! Mommy!“ I’m in his room before I open my eyes.

I pick him up hoping to give his sister a few more minutes of sleep. He asks for milk. I turn to get him some.

He starts screaming.

It’s 7:00 AM and he’s still screaming.

Finally, having had enough of this, I coax him in to eating a banana and watching LIttle Einstines so I can get the family ready to go.

It’s 7:45 AM and the family is ready to leave. I get the tiny man’s shoes and he yells, “TRY! TRY!“ which is short for “I’ll do it you mother fucker!“

I let him try.

He screams out of frustration, “HELP! HELP” which is short for “why are you just standing there watching me you mother fucker!“

I coax him down the stairs. I attempt to take his hand. “TRY! TRY!“ which is short for “fuck off.“

I walk a few stairs down and he yells, “UP! UP!“ which is short for “why are you leaving me here, hold me now mother fucker!“

It’s 8:20 and I’m dropping him off at day care. I have a full schedule of deadlines, meetings, phone calls and deadlines. I turn to leave. He lunges at my legs. I pick him up, kiss him, whisper in his ear, “I love you even if you are two.“

I walk away missing him. Even if he’s two.

I was thinking about rebelling. Not in a present tense, but rather in a pattern-of-maturity. A “hindsight” if you will. “Enlightened Rebellion” even.

I realized my husband and I were together in High School when most people go through their rebellion. Our friends may have skipped class or chugged beer or started smoking but we were both first-borns too busy pleasing teachers and parents and each other. We were fairly straight laced aside from a few back-seat make-out sessions. We were home on time, we never did drugs and we never got pregnant. We stayed out of trouble and stayed in school.

We were model teenagers in a sense.

We broke up, went though our own “self discovery” a phase that got us to different colleges, new friends, new places. We tried on new people and jobs and lives, all while staying out of trouble and living as we were expected: Strong contributing citizens of society.

Then I turned 25.

I went in to what I can only call as “my six-month rebellion” where I stayed out for entire weekends at airplane hangers where friends would sky-dive and smoke pot at night, drink too much, and go to McDonalds for fries. It was stupid at best, dangerous at its worst. I did my first tandem skydive as a giant middle finger to my old life. I was fresh and new and starting over as a new person.

I’m so incredibly glad I did.

My husband, however, continued to work and be amazing. He continued to pursue a career, a path, a plan. He never did rebel. He never washed his hair free of expectation. He never jumped out of his proverbial airplane.

I contemplated this fact earlier today. I thought of all our friends who did rebel, who went through their time maturing to flip The Man the giant middle finger and face their new spirit and their new selves only to find peace and comfort in settling down later.

I wondered if there was in inverse relationship between rebellion and mid-life crisis.

I don’t see him heading off with another family or even a sports car. I don’t see him jumping out of an airplane or smoking pot when I’m at BlogHer. But I wonder: I wonder what life’s turns require rebellion and which require steadfast boring ticky-tacky houses with manicured yards or the lack-there-of. I wonder if nearing forty (In seven years, but still! It’s coming!)  will be harder on those who never rebelled at fourteen. And I wonder how to cultivate this in our family, for our children as they mature in to their own people and in us as we hit our mid-lives.

How do we maintain our sanity in a suburb of Seattle in a townhouse we paid too much for and work too hard to pay off?

I wonder.

Did you rebel? Did you come back? Did you settle down? And when are you buying your motorcycle to flip off The Man?