Often I find myself cruising through Facebook, it can be a snatched moment at the school gate or a glimpse in the morning before putting my game face on.
I find it mildly depressing…
It makes me feel inadequate…
In my opinion Facebook is a world of extremities where normality has no place. People are either angry, and I mean really angry and they hide behind a picture issuing abuse at the world; or they are sad, really really sad and they update a commentary on all things wrong with their life and hope for a series of comments containing *hugs*. And finally, there are the pictures, these are the ones that make me feel a failure as a parent, the ones of mummy sitting down with little Bobby painting egg shells whilst baking cupcakes with toddler Tara.
I can understand the anger, people like to vent and Facebook has provided a wonderful platform where we can pretend to be anonymous. I can see the sadness, maybe a friendship can spark from this and a *hug* could turn into a real life telephone call and someone could feel better at the end of the day.
I can’t understand the craft….
If I even attempt to get the paint out my children start to get high on the fumes and start racing wildly with paintbrush in hand flicking red paint on the cream wall and treading ink into the carpet. I attempted to make glitter decorations before Christmas and my stress levels went so high that I had to lay in a darkened room all afternoon with a G & T whilst the children were minded by the Disney Channel. I still see glitter in every crevice and nook and my cream arm-chair looks like it was pooped on by a fairy.
Where do they find the time?
Not only are Facebook friends crafting, but they all seem to live in immaculate homes with mood lighting and home fires burning in the background. The children look serene as they dab a piece of paint onto paper, they don’t try to paint a sibling or give the dog a new haircut whilst mummy tries to focus the camera and then edit it on instagram.
In my house….
Photos are banned, the rooms are decorated with drying shirts, the lunchtime plates lay on top of the dishwasher waiting for the elves to put them inside side. Piles of wet undies sit on the side waiting to be fed to the tumble dryer.
To introduce craft at this point would be simply obsecene.
To bake a cupcake would be madness.
As I said, I feel a little inadequate….
Respect to the parents that get it all done, now tell me – what is the bloody secret?