I’m not talking parenting fails or parenting tribalism. I’m on about the mum-bashing type of Facebook updates and Tweets that you see, alluding to some sort of parenting / non-parenting divide in the world.

Terrified I’d become one of *those* mums, I restricted (or, attempted to restrict) gushy status updates about my new baby. Equally, I held myself back from posting running commentaries about my child’s sleeping / eating / sleeping / eating habits. Mainly, it wasn’t that interesting to me – let alone anyone else – but I was also aware that I didn’t want to annoy people without kids. 

But something dawned on me this weekend. And it’s a funny thing because it’s not something I’ve particularly realised before now.

I am a mum. I have a child. I have all the battles and elation and emotions that come with being a parent. But it’s not ALL I am. My relationship to Frog doesn’t completely define me. And you know what? I think my friends know that.

The so-called “parent vs non-parent divide” is just in my head. And on Facebook. And on various websites that are seemingly set up to diss parents who go on about their kids. But in real life, is there really a divide? Not in my world.

I went to a wedding at the weekend. It was brilliant. I watched one of my loveliest friends get married to a brilliant bloke and, afterwards, I partied with parents and non-parents alike. We were without our three year old, so anyone who didn’t know us wouldn’t know we were in the “parent category”. But I chatted with guests who had kids, danced with toddlers on the dancefloor and swilled wine with people who aren’t parents.

At no point did the fact I was a parent put me in some kind of box in the room. And at no point did I put anyone who wasn’t a parent into that other box.

I didn’t talk about whether they wanted kids, were trying for kids or had no interest in becoming parents. We chatted about the gorgeous food, how amazing it was to see our friends so happy, the genius choice of a Katy Perry song as the first dance and what was happening on the news that day.

Conversations were wide-ranging and non-limiting. There was no sense of competition or judgement or, well, anything negative at all. And I don’t think that was just because it was a bloody excellent day.

To a certain degree there is a sense that you join a “club” when you become a mum. When you meet other mums I guess you’ve automatically got something in common, in that you’ve both got a kid.

But, sometimes, that might be all. Conversations beyond your role as a mum might be limiting, because there’s no other common ground between you. And, in just the same way, you might have LOADS in common with someone who isn’t a mum (or a dad).

At this wedding I was chatting to someone who asked me about my daughter. “I love the pics you put of her on Facebook – she’s so cute!” she said. “Oh no – I’m sorry about that!” I replied, immediately thinking I was one *those* mums. “Not at all – I like it!” she assured me. “I think they’re lovely.”

And that’s it really. She wasn’t offended by my pictures in just the same way I wasn’t offended by the updates about my mates’ nights out or impromptu trips to the pub, that are rare for me these days.

If a friend has had a bad day at work I don’t immediately think, “Blimey, she knows NOTHING about a bad day” just because she hasn’t got kids. And I don’t pity the people who don’t have kids, because they’re “missing out” on all the good sides of being a parent.

We’re all people after all.

Or maybe that’s just me. What do you think?

*Obligatory cute kid picture*

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Do you ever feel like you want to take a break from the internet? Ever feel the need to hole yourself away in some kind of peaceful commune, living 1980s style in a land without Facebook and Twitter, Pinterest and Google+, Instagram and blogs?

Because I do.

I’ve been feeling it a lot more recently. Maybe it’s because it seems the entire world is online these days, or maybe it’s because my own particular community of bloggers feels really busy right now. Or maybe it’s because – and this isn’t entirely my fault – I’m simply spending too much time on the internet.

I am self-employed. I earn my crust as a broadcaster for a commercial radio brand, a writer for various publications and a blogger. Every single one of these sources of income involves being online. For radio, I run the morning Twitter and Facebook feeds. For blogging – well that’s kind of obvious. And for writing, much of the places that publish my work are online magazines. And, amongst all of this, many of my clients (for blogging, presentations and workshops, copywriting etc etc etc) find me online. If the internet didn’t exist, neither would much of my work.

That said, I know I’m not alone in this. Many of us rely on some kind of online presence these days to earn an income. This is normal in our digital, multiple social media platformed world. It’s a world I’ve been heavily active in for more than two years now, since I first started blogging. So why am I suddenly so tired of it?

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not about to delete my blog or take a year long Twitter sabbatical. I’m just wondering if there isn’t some way I could re-ignite the passion, so to speak. I love writing this blog, it’s my own personal corner of the internet. All mine. I love every single element of my work – the radio, the writing, the interaction with other people – it’s just that sometimes it all feels a bit, well, loud.

Whenever I try to explain blogging and Facebook and Twitter to my mum, I say it’s like being in a room full of people. You have to interact and chat with the other people in that room to get anything out of the experience. But, just as in real life, you get other people with loud voices and their own conversational interests. That means that, sometimes, being online can feel a bit shouty.

On shouty days, rather than sharing the amazing things going on in other people’s lives and feeling inspired by the incredibly creative types out there, I feel intimidated and exhausted. On those days I feel like I can’t be bothered to interact, because everyone is shouting louder than me and I won’t get heard anyway. That kind of negativity isn’t healthy for anyone – and it’s certainly not “me”. I like to think I’m a naturally positive, happy person. I don’t like feeling tired and apathetic.

So I’ve come up with a few rules to try and combat the social media fatigue. Going offline for a while isn’t an option for me, because of my work, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a solution to make me feel enthused again.

• Limit my time online – It’s one thing taking the odd Instagram shot and another spending a full 30 minutes on Twitter while your child attempts to play with you. I don’t want to be *that* mum. So from now on, rather than worry someone might think I’m rude if I don’t reply to a tweet and engage in a conversation, I’m just going to put my phone away and not look at it. After all, Twitter won’t die if I ignore it for a while.

• Do one thing at a time – If I’m writing, then I’m writing. I won’t have Tweetdeck open at the same time and I won’t just pop over to Facebook to check I’m not missing anything. Whether it’s a piece of commercial copy, a feature or a blog post, I want to have a clear mind while I’m typing. And that’s why, from now on, I’m going to focus on one thing at a time.

• Have dedicated social media black-out periods – Friday and Saturday nights tend to be the two evenings when I spend proper quality time with the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine. If I’m with him, or with my friends, then I’m going to make a concerted effort not to have my phone within tapping distance.

• Learn that I’m not missing out – I have been known to get twitchy if I haven’t checked my emails, my Twitter feed, my Facebook notifications for a full day. I worry that the world may have stopped turning for 24 hours and I’ll be the last to know. This is stupid. If people need me that badly they can ring or text. And if I miss some kind of online spat or juicy celeb gossip then who cares? I mean, seriously – it just doesn’t matter. At all.

How do you combat social media fatigue? Any more ideas for me?

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What a photo looks like when it's not prettied up by Instagram

This was the sign that mocked me for 24 hours last weekend.

The photo is desperately ugly, showing my clunky keyboard in all its 1990s glory. That’s what happens when you take a picture on your phone, without using Instagram. This is just one of the things I realised during my 24 hour ban.

The blackout was necessary as part of my show on Heart. (So hellish was it, that I blogged about it there too. Clearly, I felt deprived of blogging to write about the same subject twice in as many days.)

The challenge came after I expressed a total lack of surprise at a story in the news last week. Apparently lots of people would rather do without heating and running water than the internet. Seems obvious really. I mean, I use the internet for pretty much everything, but I can always put on a jumper if the heating goes down or run outside to the nearest massive puddle if the water stops.

My colleagues were aghast though. “You use the internet all the time?” They asked. “Couldn’t you go without it for even a day?” They asked. “Are you addicted?” They asked.

*ahem*

So to prove that I wasn’t addicted, I joined up with Aly who blogs at Plus 2.4 and began an internet blackout that lasted from 8pm Friday to 8pm Saturday. In the name of science, the ban extended to the entire family. No gaming for the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine. No Spotify for either of us. No YouTube Wheels on the Bus action for Frog.

I thought it would be easy.

And at times it was. Like on Friday evening when my husband and I settled down to watch a film. It was relaxing to be able to watch the film without feeling the urge to tweet about it. But it was less relaxing to have to choose a rubbish title because we couldn’t use the Love Film streaming service.

And everything took so long.

Need the number for the local Chinese takeaway? Of course you can’t look it up online. That’s cheating. You have to use Yellow Pages like you live in 1992. Except the Yellow Pages has disappeared so you have to actually ring a directory enquiry service. Expensive and time-consuming.

And then on Saturday morning, there’s no perusing of recipe blogs and websites to plan the meals and the supermarket shop for the following week. We were reduced to the one recipe book we own, The Student Survival Handbook from 2003. It’s no wonder we’ve had baked beans every night since Saturday.

In the supermarket there was panic. (Clearly a trip to the supermarket was required, as online shopping was out of the question.) Realising that he didn’t know if he’d yet been paid, the NLM went to check his account through the App on his phone. But of course, that wasn’t allowed either. So he had to dash out of the supermarket, leaving his trolley behind, and queue in the pouring rain for 15 minutes to check his balance at the cashpoint.

I missed about a gazillion cute moments. Every picture I took on Saturday ended up being deleted. Stuff just doesn’t look cool when you’re used to the Instagram filter.

And don’t even get me started about the lack of email ability. By 7pm I was desperate to peruse my inbox and check to see if any vital emails from clients had gone unanswered.

In the end I spent a great portion of Saturday asleep. While Frog napped, so did I.

I also cleaned the bathroom, weeded the garden, watched Free Willy 3: The Rescue (surprisingly good) and painted my toenails.

And when I rejoined Twitter and Facebook at exactly 8pm on Saturday evening? Turns out I hadn’t missed much.

But I won’t be doing it again out of choice for a very long time.

Could you?

The post Surviving without the internet (I think I’m addicted) appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

Photo Credit: "Facebook's Secret Message to Me", by Nate Bolt

My husband isn’t on Facebook. The (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine did have a page, but decided to close it down. “If I want to speak to someone, I’ll ring them,” he said. “I don’t even really know half the people on there anyway.”

He has a point.

Since I started the new job at the beginning of the month, I’ve spent more time on Facebook. I get into work at 5am and it’s one of the first sites I check. It says a lot about the age we live in, that often the “big” things people are talking about will be picked up by social networking sites before other forms of media.

But my new job also involves very early starts. 3.45am starts. The kind of starts which can induce grumpiness at the best of times, even if you love your job.

So, when I arrive at work and dutifully log into Facebook it may be unsurprising that I’m instantly repelled by many of the status updates I scroll down to read.

At 5am, when I have driven 45 minutes through rain to work (again, even if it’s to a job I love), wearing odd socks, looking like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards, I don’t want to hear about how perfect everyone else’s life is.

I don’t want to know how rich you are. Or how in love you are. Or how incredibly advanced and intelligent your children are. Or how many toys you buy them. Or how many holidays you’re going on. Or how thin and beautiful you are.

I just want you to shove off so I can carry on being normal in peace.

Because, I’m sorry, no one is perfect all of the time. I just don’t buy it.

Fair enough, you’ve had a pay rise. Shout about it. But don’t follow it up with an update about how your toddler has learned the dictionary backwards. And certainly don’t regale me with stories of your incredible breakfast-in-bed making husband on a Saturday morning. Who do you think you are? Gwyneth Paltrow?

I mean, really.

So, Facebook, I do not believe you. I think you are lying a little bit.

And if you’re going to lie, then I will too….

“Molly….is very excited after winning £10m on the lottery and seeing her formerly non-toddling toddler run a marathon this afternoon. Oh, and by the way, her husband has just had a £200k pay rise and is taking the family on a holiday to Barbados. So there.”

The post Do you ever lie on Facebook? appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

Of course, you could save me from all of the above if you just “like” my new Facebook page. If I get at least 5 “likes” by tomorrow, maybe I’ll reconsider the carrier pigeon. Thanking you in advance. The End.

Please save me from this pigeon

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