The Culture of Anonymity

You don't have to look far into the bowels of the Internet (teehee, bowels) to find examples of nasty behavior:

• Heavy handed debate ("Let me bludgeon you over the head with my opinion! Change yours! CHANGE YOURS, DARN YOU")
• Name-calling ("Trout sniffer" and other less-than-G-rated names)
• General grammatical snark ("Way to make your subject-verb agreement disagree, moron")
• Unfounded character insults ("Get out of your parents' basement and say that to my face")

Most of this kind of meanie-butt rhetoric is simply the result of giving practically anyone and everyone access to a keyboard and a comment thread. Some of it, in rarer but still-scarily-valid cases, is less stupid behavior and more trolling.

For the uninitiated, trolling is defined as follows:

Being a prick on the internet because you can. Typically unleashing one or more cynical or sarcastic remarks on an innocent by-stander, because it's the internet and, hey, you can.

* Definition taken from Urban Dictionary (and not, say, Webster's) because reasons.

Trolling has achieved everything from being mildly irritating to egging people on to commit suicide, and although you might not be guilty of the most egregious branch of this sort of asinine behavior, you're probably guilty of it to some degree.

What's that? You'd never be so awful toward your friends or family? Okay, you've got me there. But have you made blanket insults toward strangers? Celebrities? Politicians?

You may have said them to an athlete, like these New Yorkers did to former Yankees second baseman Robinson Canó. He's now playing for the Mariners (and a bigger paycheck), and Yankees fans didn't like it.

Check out what these fans said on camera... and what they said after the interview takes an interesting turn:

 

 

Okay, I'm not stupid. I know you're probably not going to watch the video. So, if you didn't, here's a quick rundown:

 

The Tonight Show interviewed Yankees fans man-on-the-street style and asked them how they felt about Canó leaving for the Mariners. Each interview started with a general "you suck" sentiment from the fan and, after directing their comments at a large picture of Canó -- wha-bam -- the actual Canó steps out from behind the picture.

 

The reaction of these guys is priceless, ranging from embarrassment to surprise to a bit of apologetic behavior ("Hey, you know I love you, man"). Their sneers softened up a little bit. Why? Maybe it's because they saw that their jeers were directed toward an actual human being, not an emotionless photograph.

 

The Internet's done that to all of us, in one way or another.

 

We're quick to bash people, insult their intelligence, attack character, hurl venomous names... as long as it's behind the safety of a keyboard. What if the object of your insults (and yes, that includes Bill O'Reilly, Kim Kardashian, Barack Obama, and even that one girl in high school that still makes your life a nightmare) wasn't just on TV, wasn't just plastered all over your news feed, but was in the same room as you? What if he/she were standing right in front of you?

 

Okay, I'll grant you that you may still not like them very much. You might even be courageous enough to tell the object of your tirades that you don't like them. You might give them a piece of your mind about why you don't like them. But would it contain the venom that you're so easy to spew over the anonymity of the Internet?

 

Let's face it: it's easy to be nasty these days. After all, we don't really have to answer for that back-handed comment toward that guy on a Facebook thread. He's never met you, and anyway, dude's a bona fide idiot. He lives in Montana. Will you ever go to Montana? And even if you did, what are the odds you'll run into him at a Walmart and he'll (1) remember you and (2) beat you up in a back alley for that one time you were less than nice?

 

I'm not saying you shouldn't ever disagree with someone. And let me be absolutely clear: disagreeing with someone ≠ "hate." But it wouldn't kill you to be civil. Oh, what's that? They aren't being civil? They don't deserve a kind word? Then how about taking the higher road and showing them how it's done?

 

I swear, any more arguing and I'll turn this wagon around. You're going to bed without supper. And Christmas is canceled. You want to try for your birthday, next?

 



A Parable: When Things Are Awful

And now, an eye-rolling statement: Taking care of babies requires a lot of work.

 

(You're either rolling your eyes because you've been there and know it's the understatement of the year, or perhaps you're rolling your eyes because if you have to hear one more time from your pugnacious parenting friends that "wah wah, having babies is hard," you're going to hurl your tablet/laptop/phone into oncoming traffic. But I digress.)

 

Taking care of my almost-three-month-old requires the usual sundry tasks:

• Changing wet diapers
• Changing diapers that are not only wet, but filled with unholy amounts of gastro-pyrotechnics
• Letting him sit in a shallow, somewhat soapy tub while he playfully flings water everywhere (known as "bathing" to those who are slow on the uptake)
• Sneakily squeezing in a nap for myself under the guise that he needs a nap, too, so why not knock the two out at the same time
• Feeding him an ever-increasing amount of milk/formula while chanting "Chug! Chug! Chug!"
• Giving him baby-approved things to play with, switching it up often so he doesn't holler at me for being bored
• Getting him to go to, and simultaneously remain in the state of, sleep
• More typical day-in-the-life things that presently escape my sleep-lacking memory

 

Since Lawson was born with a bilateral cleft lip and palate, I can add another daily task to the docket: Taking out, cleaning, and re-placing his NAM device. His NAM (nasal alveolar molding) device is a retainer-type appliance that is held in place with medical tape and orthodontic elastic bands, and it helps coax the pieces of his lip together so the surgery (which is scheduled in early August) goes more smoothly. He's also now got what David and I affectionately refer to as "tent poles" attached to the NAM that will help to shape his nostrils pre-surgery.

 

The NAM device: a must-have for this season's fashion.

 

And since the NAM is just like that awful retainer you had when you were in middle school, it has to be cleaned regularly. At least twice a day (sometimes more if we're dealing with spit-ups of biblical proportions), I have to:

• Remove the existing tape (as needed; sometimes I avoid this until it's bathtime)
• Take the NAM out of Lawson's mouth
• Rinse the NAM with some cold water, ensuring it's clean
• Use a damp washcloth to clean the inside of Lawson's mouth (mucus, milk build-up, etc.)
• Place new tape on Lawson's cheeks, if needed
• Put ointment on the nasal pieces so they don't irritate when they're in his nose
• Hold the little fella down and put the NAM back in, securing with the elastic bands and ensuring it's in place
• Console the little dude, who at this point is pretty upset at the whole ordeal

 

As you can imagine, it really, really sucks to do this. It just sucks all around. It sucks for me to hold my son down and pull an orthodontic device out of his mouth, only for him to get it crammed right back in. Most folks who come by and watch us do it have a hard time doing so. Rightfully so; it's no picnic watching a baby act like he's getting his toenails ripped out.

 

Oh, I said I had a parable in all this mess, didn't I? Well, then...

 

I happened to have a revelation about this a while back, just after I'd temporarily tortured Lawson with yet another NAM cleaning. He'd been crying, as he usually does, going all red-faced, vein-bulgy, and communicating to me in no uncertain terms, "Mom, this is really the worst. I hate this. Why are you doing this to me? I trust you, and you do this? You hurt me. I hope you're ready for the therapy bill you're getting in about ten years. Have I mentioned that I hate this? And that I probably hate you a little bit for doing it to me (at least until my next feeding)?"

 

So, as one does, I communicated right back. "It sucks. I know you hate it. Mommy loves you, even if you can't see it right now. I know you're mad. It makes total sense to be mad. I'd be mad if that were in my mouth. But you know what? In a few months, you'll have an operation to fix it, and then you won't have to wear that awful thing anymore." Did he even know that I was crying just as much as he was? That it killed me to put him through this? He couldn't understand that a time was coming where he wouldn't have to deal with this anymore.

 

And I realized, in that moment, I was experiencing a microcosm of what God must go through when He gives us awful stuff. He's holding us down, taking out things (and/or forcing them right back in again) that are painful: Failed relationships. Financial woes. Debilitating depression. Losing someone you love. Not getting that job you dreamt of, or getting rejected from the grad school that you worked so freaking hard to get into. Battling a disease you did nothing to deserve. Watching someone else battle it. The list goes on.

 

God pushes us to our breaking point, watching us thrash about, screaming, kicking, and hating everything. We sob, we wail, we cry out in anger (and probably hurl a few choice four-letter words) at the One who did all this. He pushed all this on me. He took that away. He forced this on me. He hates me. He must love watching me suffer. This is probably what He does for fun.

 

What if He doesn't love watching you suffer? What if He watches us cry as we're broken, and He cries? What if He just wants to tell us what He already knows - that this isn't the end, that there will be better things soon, that there is a reason for all this terrible stuff, that His heart is breaking to watch us in misery - but you, in your limited ability, won't be able to understand it?

 

Lawson can't understand that he has an operation coming up. He doesn't know what I'm saying when I assure him that there's a reason he's put through this pain and discomfort. But I can hold him, soothe him, and he can understand that, but only after he pauses from his crying jag and takes in the fact that he's in my arms, he's safe, and he can relax. I can give him a bottle to calm him down, or a rattle to play with. Could he try to soothe himself by sitting on the changing table and crying it out? Probably, but it won't be as effective as it would be if I comforted him.

 

Perhaps, then, when we're put through things that are really the worst, we can surrender ourselves to God's arms, too. We can let Him hold us, comfort us, bless us through the encouraging words and actions of those close to us.

 

Then, just maybe, we'll catch a glimpse of that hope that's just around the corner from all this pain.

 

Pictured: Hope that's just around the corner.

 

One Ordinary Girl Rekindles a Talent. You Won't Believe What Happens Next.

This is all Timehop's fault.

Although, if we're really going to drill down the blame here, the fault rests squarely with my friends who have blown up my Facebook feed with Timehop throwbacks that piqued my interest enough to go, "Huh. Maybe I'll download that."

So I did. Shortly thereafter, I fell down the rabbit hole of nostalgia, discovering a link to an until-just-now forgotten blog of mine. I read a fair amount of entries, too, ones that detailed my previous blog-once-a-day resolution (which didn't suck so very bad, in all actuality).

Guys, I shamelessly adored my prose. It's embarrassing, especially since I lack any iota of self-confidence in any other aspect of my life (helloooo thunder thighs), but the thing is, I love writing. Even if it's writing about nothing, which is, well, y'know, most of the time. I enjoy creating with words, but I've discovered the caveat there: I don't like doing it when I have to. So, here I am, not having to.

What I did have to do, however, was set my almost-2-month-old son in his swing for a few minutes so I could write more than one paragraph at a time between rounds of

• Poopy diapers
• Pee diapers
• General cranky face scrunch-ups
• Rousing games of Get My Son To Grin at Me By Any Means Necessary **

** Generally involves an obscenely high-pitched repetition of "Hi!", belly kisses, grinning like The Joker, mimicking his own cooing, or any combination of the four.

The most adorable cause of sleep deprivation in the history of ever.

Naturally, having a child has been the biggest change that's happened over the past year-and-a-half. Lawson spends his day doing typical garden variety baby things: pooping, peeing, sleeping, guzzling, developing motor skills by grabbing onto an elephant toy in his little baby gym, practicing smiling, and waiting to spit up two hours after he's been fed/burped.

What separates this kid from the usual garden variety babies is his cleft lip and palate. When I was 20 weeks pregnant with the little dude, we found out that he was going to be born with a bilateral cleft (one cleft on each side of his nose). When you get that kind of news before your son is even born, when you're already worried about everything under the sun, that's really a one-two punch. We prayed, fasted, etc., in the hopes that somehow this diagnosis would have been just a misreading and that we'd see a facially complete baby boy when all was said and done.

March 23rd came, and so did our son. So did his bilateral cleft. Most folks would have been angry at God. At the very least, their faith in Him would've been shaken. Did I have a lot of questions for God? Oh yes. Was I angry, per se? No. In fact (and this is going to sound really weird when I say it), I love his cleft. It makes him unique. And, in about 2 months when he gets his surgery to repair his lip, by gum, I'm going to miss that cleft. That's the face I fell in love with. I'll be sad to see it go.

What I won't be sad to see go are the few difficulties that Lawson's had to face: wearing his nasal alveolar molding (NAM) device 24/7, not being able to suck down a bottle or breastfeed, sinus problems, etc. And without sounding so saintly, it could always be worse. Dear heaven, it could have been so, so much worse. Lawson's cleft is about the only thing that separates him from "normal" babies. He's smiling, grasping, cooing, focusing, and all the other things that babies should be doing at his age. For that, I'm abundantly, immeasurably thankful.

I was actually entertaining the idea of theming a blog around Lawson (to perhaps document the whole experience for parents that are dealing with this), and maybe I'll devote a few entries to his journey. But the thing is, the blogosphere is full of dedicated parents that are very good at documenting what's going on. That's not to say I couldn't do it, it's just, well, I think that there's more to my son than that. There's more to his life than that. There's more to my life than that. Heck, I couldn't even devote a blog to just plain mommy stuff (which is weird, since we now live in a world where you either are self-consumed with mommyness or you are self-consumed with hating those who are self-consumed with mommyness, e.g., Mommyish).

And so, here we are. Armed with a clickbait-y title that's sure to roll a few eyes, I'm sort of kind of back in the blog game. A game which, heaven willing, is more forgiving than Operation. Or Eat at Ralph's, for that matter.

TL;DR I started blogging again and had a kid while I was away. I might blog some more. I also like validation in the form of read entries and/or comments, because reasons.

Grand Finale

Well, here we are. Full circle. 365 entries later. Am I older? Technically. Wiser? Meh, perhaps. Have I learned a little from this experience?

I'd say so. Granted, it's only a very little bit, but it's something to take with me as a souvenir of That One Time When Jacquie Blogged Once A Day For A Year. I've come to the following conclusions:

Folks don't care about what I have to say. Now, hear me out on this one. I readily admit that I've kind of done this one to myself. In order for people to care about what I have to say, I have to write things that are, well, worth reading. I didn't exactly hold up my end of that bargain. Sure, I wrote one bit of hard-hitting, buffalo-style, editorial piece on the Chick-fil-A debacle, but other than that? A lot of narcissistic drivel. Bleh. We've become so self-serving with the Internet. It's always about us. What's relevant to me? What purpose does this serve me? Me me me. And don't give me that look; I'm guilty of it too. A side effect of the human condition is looking out for Number One first. Now, if I were to do this whole thing over again, and I had a theme of sorts, this might've worked out a little more differently. Which brings me to my next point:

I'm not much of a writer. I figure that, in order to be a writer, a real, honest-to-goodness, genuine article writer, you have to enjoy doing it even when you don't enjoy doing it. You don't mind trudging to your computer once a day to write a fat lot of nothing because, hey, you're a writer. This is your bread and butter. You hate that computer. Hate it. But write anyway. I love writing when I know I've got something good to say. When I don't? When it's obligatory? It's a chore. It's the worst. Still, I hope to paint pictures with my words one day, yet again, very soon.

I enjoy being a free spirit. Like so many American adults in the rat race, I look at a computer all day at work. When I come home from said rat race and settle down with my piece of cheese, what's the first thing I want to do? Oh, that's right. Not look at a glaring computer screen. Maybe a pen-and-paper journaling gig is more my speed. And certainly not once a day. None of that obligatory mess. Nope, just let me have my hair in the wind and be free as the dang wind blows.

I'm glad I did this. Yes, it was obligatory much of the time, but to say that I actually committed to a sorta-kinda New Year's resolution for a full year is pretty exciting, I'd say. Maybe I've unearthed a few more nuggets of wisdom and truth than I know. It ain't been so bad, really.

Will I come back to post occasionally? Sure. When I've got something valuable to say. Until those valuable things come along, you just sit tight.

I'll be back.

Dag nabbit

Well, see, I was going to post this lovely entry to culminate my 365-day journey. As it is, our internet's not working. So, I've composed that heartfelt piece offline and it's waiting in the wings.

So, consider this a placeholder until we get that back up and running. BONUS CONTENT TOMORROW, GANG.

Penultimate

Tomorrow's my last obligatory entry in the ol' blogosphere. Can't say I'm not a teensy, tiny, maybe-a-little-bit-bigger-than-tiny bit appreciative that I've just about fulfilled my resolution.

But you know, I'm also a little bit proud of myself for maintaining the one-blog-a-day gig for a full calendar year. That's not to say that I've been writing hard-hitting journalism by any stretch of the imagination. I've learned a lot, though.

My culminating entry will be tomorrow. A grand finale of sorts, if you will. Get excited, stay tuned, and you cats have a great upcoming Friday in the meantime.

NyQuil Ni'cap

Sometimes, the worst kind of "sick" you can be is when you're not exactly unable to function. If you're laid up in bed with a debilitating stomachache, at least people feel sorry for you. They leave you alone (or help take care of you, whichever is your particular love language).

But when you've got the usual autumnal run of a sore throat, occasional phlegmy cough and general fuzziness, it doesn't matter much. Nope, gotta put on your best and you stick out your chest and go off to the races again.

And again. And again.

For this reason, I've taken the last available dose of NyQuil in the cupboard. It's not even a full dose, but I'm hoping it'll help me sleep. Last night was wretched, let me tell you.

Peaceful

Tonight, I didn't crack open my laptop in a mad panic that I was missing anything on the usual social media outlets. (I still haven't cracked open my laptop; this here entry is composed on my phone.)

Instead, I walked to Suwanee town center with David, enjoyed the fall foliage, ate there (Five Guys, heavens yes), walked back, played some old school Sega Genesis, and took a relaxing bath.

And you know what? It was amazing.

Because reasons

We need to get a corgi, for the sole reason of these six seconds:

Side note: If you happen to watch this and are not filled with an outrageous desire to implode from sheer cute, I question your humanity. And, to a lesser extent, my ability to be your friend.

*Flop*

Been in go-go-go mode all day, and with zero time to really prepare for the utterly nutso week at work that's coming up.

Silver lining: next week is Thanksgiving week. Hello, three day work week. Until then, I'mma make like Leonard and: