I try to keep a handle on my use of social media. I try not to dwell too much on inflammatory articles people helpfully “share” and simply ignore opinions I don’t agree with. I’m simply too damn tired to charge at every windmill anymore. I also try not to compare myself/my life/my kids/my activities with others’. Sometimes that’s easier said than done, particularly if it’s a rotten week and so and so is out there posting from InsertParadiseHere.
That being said, sometimes I let it get to me. I had a bit of a problem with that after New Year’s Eve, of all things.
No, it wasn’t images of parties and fancy dresses and champagne and glorious food. I’m realistic. I haven’t stayed up until midnight in years. As I said in paragraph one “I’m too damn tired” for such shenanigans.
What bothered me were the images of my friends’ kids’ faces lighting up as they watched fireworks. My kids didn’t watch fireworks. They didn’t know there would be fireworks. They were in bed asleep by the time most of this was happening. Hell, they were asleep by 7:30. I didn’t even consider for a minute
letting them encouraging them to stay up. Stella was a bit off-kilter by this point in our holiday revelry and routine-shattering merriment. Fireworks were the last thing she needed, what with the noise and extra stimulation.
So my kids went to bed as usual that night. Will had to work. The weather was crap. We didn’t even grill out or anything. It was just a regular night at the old Bomb Factory. I didn’t feel bad about it until, as I said, I saw those photos of kids.
Am I a dick for not letting my kids watch fireworks?!
Oh. And Happy New Year, one and all.