FaceWhat?

It's official. I am a member of Facebook.

Apparently I had created a profile some time ago without fully realizing what it was I was doing, and since then, messages requesting my friendship have been popping up in my inbox.

For a while I blew the messages off, never deleting them, just not knowing what to do with them. Then one day, I decided I would dive in.

I realized that I had created a profile a while back which sat there blank, not a single picture or description graced my pages, there was no face to go with the name, but still people wanted to be my friend.

It was perplexing.

I got to work uploading pictures and describing a few highlights of my life, then I began to browse. I searched through the profiles of my friends and began to notice how many friends they had. Soon my measly collection of 15 friends seemed to be an instant signal that I was in the "loser" bracket on the sliding scale of popularity. I became a little panicked.

Suddenly I was transported back to some other time, some other state of mind, way before kids, husbands, mortgages, and maturity, and I felt determined to add as many friends to my collection as possible.

I browsed rapidly through everybody else's support systems, took the suggestions provided by the facebook team (who know me so well), and even did some organic searches just trying to increase that ever-so-desirable popularity. I couldn't send out the requests fast enough, it didn't matter who the potential friend was. I even request friendship from a man who coached football with my husband. I'm pretty sure we met once. I'm pretty sure that's grounds for friendship.

And then I waited . . . a friendship request sent to my own brother still hasn't been approved. I feel like the last kid picked for a game of dodge ball. Earlier today I checked my friend list. . . 43 . . .pathetic.

Then, I glanced out the window at my two little guys playing together, and saw my sweetly insane baby girl holding out her sippy cup saying "moke," over and over, then suddenly I was plummeted back into reality.
THANK GOODNESS.
How had I let that drive for "popularity" overcome me like I was a 12 year old school girl proud as punch of her new training bra? To my three little kids, and my 1 loving husband, I am pretty darn cool, at least most of the time. As long as I win their popularity contest, that's good enough for me!