I Tweet, Therefore I am.

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Y’all. I’m supposed to be fasting from social media right now.

See? See how well that’s going? This is me… fasting.

Allow me to explain:

When I started the Congo fast because my evil friend Kate suckered me into it without my full knowledge, comprehension, or understanding, and I did it out of the goodness of my heart and because I am totally spiritual and my goodness this is all a load of hooey.

ANYHOW. When I started the Congo fast w/ Kate for our Sunday school class… I thought… Well. Food. I have to fast from food for 40 days. That’s nearly impossible and as we all know I have caved like a Neanderthal about twenty times in the 40 days, but who’s counting?

As God is my witness, I thought the tortillas were going to be it.

But, as Kate has so patiently reminded me, also about twenty times, the Sunday school class does exceed 40 days. So, what are we gonna do for the other portion? Just sit around and talk about how fabulous we were for fasting?

Ok, so along with Chris Seay’s A Place at the Table, we read this gem:

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I use the word “gem” because I have so few of them now, BECAUSE JEN KEEPS TELLING ME TO GIVE STUFF AWAY.

Ok, seriously. Here’s more explaining: We decided to also tackle, along with food the other items that Jen mutinies against. There right there on the cover for you: clothes, spending, waste, stress (har har har), waste, and MEDIA.

MEDIA.

YES IN ALL CAPS.

Guys. You can take my clothes and help me recycle and give me a budget and make me eat corn tortillas ’till the cows come home (that we can’t eat)

BUT YOU WILL HAVE TO PRY MY MEDIA FROM MY COLD, DEAD HANDS.

Here is the very real conversation I had with Kate about this whole media thing, yesterday:

Kate: I’m fasting from media and it’s going okay. How about you?
Me: *leans forward to the microphone* I cannot recall.

That’s a pretty fabulous Ollie North, right? And for those of you who are too young to understand my cheap mimicry of the general and his memory recall issues, what I REALLY said is something like this:

Me: NOOOOOOO. This is so HARRRRRRD. I’m eating rice and beans – you can’t make me NOT watch Netflix TOOOOOOOOOOO.

The wailing, I tell you, was heard one county over.

I ask you, what about all my quips? Where will the quipping go, if I cannot post about it? It will be like I don’t even exist.

Really. How can I live without the tweetings?

What if my children do something adorable? (rare, granted). Or the cat? What if the CAT does something adorable (hourly). How will I live without talking about it?

So, here is my announcement: Our Congo fast and its 40 days is over this Sunday. After that, I will be walking away from my computer for a week.

I will miss you *she waves weakly* Don’t you worry about me… *fading away* I’m sure I’ll be… just… fine *drops to the floor in a heap and makes sure her pose is flattering for a selfie*

Social media, y’all. It’s addictive stuff. I mean, really. If a tree falls in the forest and no one takes a picture of it for Instagram, does an angel lose his wings?

Or something like that.

Now, the only people I have yet to tell are the children. They’ll be joining me in this fast. No Netflixes. No Wii Rockband.

The cries will be heard from two counties over.

Pray for us.

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So… Snuggle Up to Saturday.

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“Mommah, you are my best best BESTEST friend.”  Red.

“Actually, she der is a mom.  Not a friend.”  Blonde (aka The Lawyer).

“Well.  She’s da best mom.”  Red.  He is clearly winning this argument.

And yes, I do know that, really, I am not supposed to be the friend.  I am da MOM.  But for right now…  I’ll take the cuteness.  And that afternoon, driving home from the grocers, my Red decided to give me a hug.  Don’t worry, he was still buckled in and all.

You can easily give hugs with your words.

Later that day, Red and Blonde are working with crayons and massive piles of paper at the table.  I am making dinner.  Red draws his twuck; Blonde leans over, inspects it.  I hold my breath.

“Dat’s a dumptruck right der!  Good job, Red!”

“Thanks!”

Just that simple.  It hugged my heart,  I tell you.

Every morning, I slip a post- it note into my husband’s lunch bag.  Most of the time, they are simple notations of why I love him so:

  Specific: “Thank you for fixing the water heater.”

 Observant:  “My goodness I could eat off this floor!   You rock.”*

 Southern:  “You are the butter on my grits.”

 Saucy:  “You are the melty butter on my grits.”

Most Effective:  “You are hot.”

These notes are not brilliantly crafted, I tell you.  They are written at 5 am, so it’s a good thing they even make it IN the lunch container.  But I think they make the point.  He needs all the hugs he can get, scrawled on post-it notes or otherwise.

But here is the best part:  when I scribble those short hugs, it creates a great (and needed) amnesia about any frustrations we might be dealing with in our household.  He likes to decorate our house, for example, with his very large and very prolific shoes.  Like, everywhere.  Those post-it notes somehow make the shoes hide away.

It’s magic, I tell you.

In all relationships, shoes are gonna be scattered.  They should be put away properly, of course, I know.  But really?  They are just shoes.

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Yes, it’s possible I’m a symbol.    But I am also just a very expensive shoe.

* I think it’s important to state, for the record, it was the bathroom.  He cleaned it like a true engineer.  It took over an hour.   I believe he had an actual processing system doo-hickey** going on.  He used other words like, “optimize,” and “quality assessment.” Our bathroom never had a chance.  He cleaned that thing top down, from left to right, and I think there was some weird serpentine sort of “due analysis of environmental factors” as well.  I have no idea what that means.

I did not test my eating on the floor theory, but I COULDA.  It. Was. AMAZING.

**Technical term. Pretty sure.

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