ModerInternetation

Not too long ago I found myself sitting in a position similar to the one I'm in now: on the bed, Althea next to me, the glow of the laptop casting a strange blue-grey glow over my hands and front. It wasn't too long ago because, actually, it was three days ago on Tuesday.

Some of you may have experienced what I'm now calling excessive-compulsive computernettering.

As I look inward on this very special day (13 years sober), I'm touched by the knowledge that my compulsive self is still alive and, um... well? It's so easy for me to overdo *anything.* It's not a big deal, really, until it is.

On Tuesday I found myself crossing over the line with my 'net usage. If you are reading this it's likely you've seen the ebb and flow of this relationship of mine. I've made some grand sweeping statements, swearing off Facebook, or other online forums, then creeping back or exploding back on the scene.

My point? It's simple. Just like I've done with lots of other mediums in my life, I can take something and overuse it and overdo it until I've pummeled it into nothing. When I start writing things like this about misusing or correctly using distractions, I know I'm reaching the edge.

Sure signs I've reached the over-doing it with my online life:

• I bring the laptop to bed with me even when it's about time for me to sleep.
• I suggest Josh drives to or from Boston (even though I like driving) when we go because I know I'll get to use his iPhone "just to check" Twitter and/or Facebook.
• My fingertips start to feel as if they've endured electric shock from being on the keyboard and/or track pad for so long.
• I "miss" my daughters even though I've been in their physical presence all day long.
• When I'm away from the computer I'm thinking about something from my online life and letting my offline life slide in some way.
• I turn off the machine for just a few hours and I miss it, or I notice the dramatically fresh breath of sanity and space that so quickly returns.

So, yeah, that was on Tuesday that I realized I'd pushed myself well over the limit of sanity in my online use. The beautiful thing about being in recovery, though, is how quickly serenity returns. Instead of spending days full of guilt, shame, and remorse, I do a quick little prayer, "god, help me," and WHAP! I'm free. Balance returns almost immediately. Joy does, too.

And now I'm sitting in that same weird blue-grey glow of the monitor typing away (and checking Facebook and watching tweets roll in and playing with the most excellent feedly). But, I'm about to finish up this blog post and turn off the computer without even a twinge of "just one more." It won't cause me any anxiety to shut it off, and I won't feel the need to check in when I first wake up. I've been reminded of the proper use of this online life. Distractions are fine, in moderation. Playing around is fine, in moderation. Ice cream, cheesecake, and deep fried foods are fine, in moderation. You name the vice, and they are *all* fine, in moderation (except for drugs/alcohol, for me, because my body reacts differently than you normies out there).

I wanted to post this little blurp of a blog post because I know I'm not the only one who overdoes the online life. It's something a lot of people won't admit to because, like any misuse of distractions, it might imply weakness of will or character. Because it's something a lot of people don't like talking about, I feel compelled (in a good way) to talk about it. If you know what I'm talking about, if you've found yourself staring at the screen feeling there's nothing more it can give you but you need to check for more anyway, you are not the only one. You are not alone. I've been there and I'll be there again. And then it'll get better. It always, always, always gets better.




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for Josh

More than anything else, when I found you I knew you would be the perfect father for our children. When I met you, I knew. When I met you only online, even, I knew.

You said you didn't consider whether or not you wanted children because you didn't think you'd have the chance. I think that's what you said back then. But I knew.

You and I see beauty in each other when we aren't able to see it in ourselves. I don't care that that sentence is a stumbling, bumbling mess. You know what I mean. Even if our ability to read each other's minds has weakened (what? you don't know what I mean when I say, "that thing over there that sounded like the one with the dog and the cat?"), we understand each other.

Sniffy and nosey. The connection you have with the tops of our daughter's heads sums up so much about the beauty of your fathering. It's pure love. A deep, physical experience, straight into the metaphorical heart. I don't know if metaphorical is the right word, but, again, I don't care because I know you'll know what I mean.

Sometimes you act like you are one of the children. You tantrum right along side our almost-six-year-old. She senses that you are being a kid, too, so you lose control over the situation. It escalates and you can't get her to do what you want. You try to be firm, but sound instead like you are asking, even begging. But, guess what? It's beautiful. It is You. It is how you are, and Maya loves you for it. I do, too. She's not scared of you. It may put you at a disadvantage sometimes, but mostly it makes you the safest of all for her.

As I write this I hear you reading to Maya. Just the sound of your voice, the inflections, the great enthusiasm for the language of books. Just those simple things -- even as you incorporate that huge yawn into the story -- are gifts to our children. She said something to you and I heard Mmch Mmch Mmch (kiss kiss kiss), most definitely those landed on the top of her head.

So you can't nurse Althea. But already she knows your feel. With this baby number two, we're exploring a larger role in your parenting the infant. Your confidence is up about a million times. Mine, too. If you can just block out some of my ridiculous back-seat parenting, you know exactly what you are doing.

Ignoring my back-seat parenting. This is our biggest challenge, I think. I can't imagine how difficult it must be to find your own truth in parenting when you've got this force (me) with so many opinions about just how things should be. True, I've got some good ideas based on my time spent with them. But I can never, ever know what's right for you as father, as Josh, as Daddy. Just because I think Maya will respond to... or Althea needs... does not make it so. As you learn to tune me out more (our mutual goal), and as I learn to keep my mouth shut (my goal), you blossom.

Is this too personal for a blog post? For some people, it might be. But as @mrshl pointed out on Friday, we have our own public social networking relationship. (That could be a whole blog post, couldn't it? Couples online and the pros and cons of it?)

When I found you in alt.music.soulcoughing I was drawn to you almost immediately. Smart, so so so very smart. Funny. Bitter. Clever. Did I mention, smart? SMRT? "You are the smart! You are the smart! S-M-R-T!" A writer. A musician. And, somehow, despite life's very cruel and deeply sad events, you remain one of the most tender, honest, and genuinely real people I've ever known. Genuinely real. What a terrible word combination. But, guess what? I don't care. You know what I mean.

So many qualities that makes you *you* are the exact qualities that make you a gifted father. Your: tenderness, intelligence, creativity, talent, impatience, patience, self-sacrifice, cat love, desire to please, learning to recognize your own needs, silliness, playfulness, childlike humor, mind-blowing sense of responsibility, snuggliness, joy, anger, frustration, wit, ambition, selflessness, ability to read upside down or for hours at a time, laziness, energy, enthusiasm, and most of all your expressive and ever-giving capacity to share and show and feel love.

Our children are lucky beyond description that you are their father. I am lucky beyond description that you are my partner in this journey called parenting.


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Extend the Family

Bringing up a child in a tv-free home with just me and full-time employee Josh wasn't always easy. It will be even more difficult with Althea (baby #2, the 9 week old) since Maya now watches a 2 (or 3) 20 minute shows most days. Maya started with television when she was 4, I think. I was very sick and Josh had to work. I put March of the Penguins on the computer so she could watch something while I was passed out next to her. That was the beginning of the end of her tv-free life. Part of why we kept her tv-free was because Josh and I are both huge fans of television. We were not at all convinced we would be able to offer the entertainment to Maya in any form of moderation. It turns out this is a great risk especially when things got tough as a parent.

Very committed to the idea of keeping Maya tv-free for a while, sometimes I'd get "weak" and want to just have a break. I'd go to a few people -- you'd be surprised how very, very few people in this world subscribe to this radical notion that a child's life might benefit from no screen time -- and ask for help and advice. The best answer I got was, "sounds like you need more support." When I'd get that twinge of oh-my-god-if-only-I'd-feel-comfortable-with-one-episode-of-Sesame-Street-so-I-can-have-a-freakin'-break, I'd remember "I need more support."

Fast forward to this past weekend we spent with my parents at their summer place. I remembered back to those days as a new mother sometimes struggling against the temptation to use the television as a babysitter. "I need more support." Well, over the weekend when we were all together it was even more obvious to me. The use of television as a sitter and needing more support is deeply connected. With my parents there, it was easy to slip off to the bathroom or even take on a project like cleaning out the car. Not a big deal to ask someone to sit with a sleeping newborn, or play with a cute bundle of squishy sweetness. Not even a big deal to ask them to change diapers since it was only an occasional thing. And, of course, they were great company to Maya (almost 6) who was full of things to say as they did their work on the property and in the gardens. My brother and sister-in-law were there, too, which was like icing on the cake.

Having a group of adults around, even just one extra, like I imagine they had generations before (or perhaps they still do in worlds different than mine) makes all the difference. That little moment of sanity, of being "off duty" for even five minutes at a time is all that it takes for me to stay in the groove of completely loving parenting. It's only when it's non-stop with no break and no break in sight that everything starts to crumble. And, it's doubly true with two children.

I think now of all the single parents I've known. Those parents who not only were the only parent involved--the partnership of a fully involved father makes the work much less difficult--but who also were without any extended family nearby. It makes me tired just thinking about it. Makes me want to run away and never come back just imagining what it must be like to be "on" all the time. And I mean all the time. Even if their child is in daycare so they can work, the child is still their responsibility. If s/he gets sick, who will pick them up? If the parent gets sick, who will take the child to daycare? The obvious list goes on.

When I was pregnant with Althea we considered hiring a post-partum doula. What this job entails is basically someone who comes in and fills the role I imagine was filled by extended family in the past. Laundry, cooking, watching the baby so the parents can sit on the porch with a cold drink for ten minutes, cleaning, shopping. Life. Help with life. But hiring a doula costs money. My parents offered to help -- they are generous that way -- and came up from Boston. But, then, they went home. And no matter how involved Josh is, most of the parenting is my job. At this point it's because of the nursing responsibilities. But, later, it will be because he works a "regular" job while my business is something I do in odd hours (whenever I can manage it). Our friends are all families with super involved fathers, but, for a variety of reasons most of running or managing the household does come under the mom's list of responsibilities.

What is the solution? Hiring a stranger to come in and help is an option for some (I'd do it if we could afford it). Staying close to family is another option, though mostly unappealing for so many of us and simply impractical for most. Living with our extended family would be ideal but, again, in my world that's rarely even considered. And, truth be told, I prefer it that way.

Perhaps one thing we can do is simply acknowledge how near impossible it is to do it all ourselves. Take help where it comes (a group of mamas here in Maine cooked and froze and delivered many great meals for our family after Althea was born). Ask for help when it's needed. And, whenever possible, spend time with our extended family (blood related or friends) to get those much needed few minutes wherever we can.

Just noticed I moved into the third person... classic classic classic. Yes. It's not easy doing it myself (not discounting Josh's role at all, see above explanation). And, it's not easy asking for help. The help my parents give us is more valuable than any cash we could spend (if we had it) on someone coming in to help. Their help is free, loving, and at times with only a bit of exaggeration it feels life-saving. So, thanks, Mom and Dad. :-)



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