It's Hard to "Like" Unfiltered Photos

Today's post is brought to you by the letter 'P'. As in photo. I LOVE taking pictures. I actually take a lot less now than I used to. Mostly because Jeremy and Natalia just got sick of my stopping every two seconds to set up another picture. I finally had to have a coming to Jesus meeting with them telling them to smile, dammit. It makes me happy, so look happy. They still complain, but I have less pictures of the back of Natalia's head and more pictures where Jeremy looks like he is actually enjoying himself. I have a resting b#*@h face, but Jeremy has a resting serial killer face. We are all working on it.

These fun Lacow pictures eventually make it onto Facebook. Yeah, I have an Instagram account, but realistically I can only handle one social media account at a time. More than that is too much work. I don't count Pinterest as social media. It's actually where I go to get away from people. I can cruise all sorts of interesting things and I don't have to interact with anybody. An introverts haven. 

I pretty much wear a lot of my insecurities on my sleeve because I know I'm not alone. I totally get caught in the trap of obsessively checking Facebook to see who has "liked" my pictures and posts. My logical, left brain knows that this should not matter. My right brain wants to not only gather all the "likes" to validate my worth, but also compare my accumulation of "likes" with other

family "likes". I am cringing right now at how ridiculous this is sounding. Facebook has become the equivalent of passing notes with the "do you like me; check 'yes' or 'no'". The only problem is I get to lie to you on Facebook. I get to show you this candy coated version of our family outings. I'm not snapping pictures of the frustrated family moments when Jeremy and I have five "false starts" getting into the car to get going because we can't get our stuff together. Then we get down the block and remember we STILL forgot something, so we have to turn around and head back into the house to get it. This is when Natalia takes out her headphones to ask "What's wrong? What happened? Are you mad at me?" when Jeremy and I just want to quietly stew so we don't blow up. You know we are both blaming each other for not getting out the door in one fail swoop. I'm certainly not going to take a picture of him trying to find his hat (again) that he insists I moved (why would I touch his hat?!), and he is not going to take a picture of me angrily putting on lip liner while I blame him for going over speed bumps too fast. Does he KNOW how hard it is to put lip liner on in the car?! No. We are not taking our Facebook pictures of all this stuff. Maybe we should. It actually sounds kind of funny now. 

Okay, I promise I will eventually arrive at a point. Stay with me. 

So, about a year-ish ago Natalia set herself up with an Instagram account. Yeah, I made the same face you are making now. I let her go with it only because my sister was the "watchdog" for the account. I want to add that Natalia has also set herself up with a Snapchat account that she deleted herself. This is just to scare the pants off the other tween mothers. I can tell you your tweens ARE doing this. They do not need your help. Yes, you should panic now. 

Okay, back to the blog stuff. The Instagram account went well.... for a while. At first it was what you would expect from Natalia. Lots of pictures of cats in tights and dogs that didn't know how to "dog". Totally cool, right? Then she started in with the selfies. Okay. They were cute. They were selfies with her with a mustache, or her with a funny hat stamped on the photos. Natalia did start to show me her friends' Instagram. Some of her friends were posting things like "I bet you don't have the guts to tell me I'm beautiful. Like this if I'm pretty", and then they would post a picture with their hair flipped to the side and a coy look. Yes, there was filtering involved. No mustaches. 

Are you grinding your teeth now in that unconscious anxious way that the dentist had to give you the drool inducing mouthpiece for? Me too. Take a breath, because it gets worse.

Natalia showed it to me and we had a good "after school special" talk. I felt so accomplished as a mother. I was totally like, "Ha! That won't be MY child because she likes dogs that can say 'I love you' like a human and doesn't care about 'likes' on Instagram". Was I high?! It took about three months before she caved to the peer pressure and my sister called me with the "Have you checked out Natalia's Instagram" call. 

Crap.

Okay, so I look. First of all, I had to figure out what my password was and then try to figure out how to navigate Instagram. Then I had to wipe away my frustrated tears because I felt super old that I had finally lost touch with technology. My child was already smarter than me in the cyber sense. I had been outmaneuvered by a 10 year old. Dammit.

Once I figured out how to even LOOK at what has been going on, I catch up with what has actually been going on. Natalia has been posting things like "I bet you aren't brave enough to say I'm beautiful", or something like that. Crap! AND, her photos have gone from Moon Moon the Husky that can't "dog", to selfies that have been filtered, edited, and "improved". Crap! Set your tasers to stun because I have to take out a tween. I'm just going to take her out for like, ten years. Actually, based on all the "leggings as pants" college girls downtown, I'll take her out for 15 years. I'm just jealous because I can't wear leggings as pants, but that's probably another blog for another day.

Okay, so we had another talk, but more importantly I had HER shut down her Instagram account. I could tell you that it was because I wanted her to be responsible for shutting down the account, but realistically it is because I have no idea how to navigate that damn site, let alone cancel her account. I was fried for that day and didn't want to deal with the frustration of being beaten by technology..... again. 

We made an agreement that she is not allowed to have any social media accounts until, well, I don't know when. When I un-taser her. How's that? It is just too difficult to not get sucked into the "likes". I'm 39 and I get sucked into the "likes". I am filtering, cropping, and editing most of my pictures so you see only what I want you to see. That has become our society norm. I think for the most part it is not that big of a deal unless you don't know who you are yet. Tweens fall into that category for sure. 

Okay, so I was on The Chive today and I saw a post about a girl who went back into her Instagram account and re-labeled her posts. This is the link to look through her pictures and how she was honest about what was really going on. The pictures look candid, but she comes clean that the pictures often took about 100 takes to get "right". She would go without eating for most of the day, the pictures were paid for by promoters of clothing or tanning products, and she was only 15! I am going to go through these with Natalia because she (and I) look at these types of pictures and think "Oh my. I should go to the gym so I can look like this. This body is normal and I am just falling behind. She looks so happy because this is what happiness looks like". I'm glad I read it. What makes me really happy is this girl was 19 when she edited her posts. She sounds like she is really on the right path. I love a happy ending, don't you?

This stuff is really dear to my heart and this is why: I have much younger sisters. One is obsessed with selfies, the other has had fluctuating weight issues all of her life. I have a dear friend who was severely anorexic and I thought that she might actually die. Most of my life I thought if I gained so-and-so amount of weight my husband would just up and leave me. Like there was a magic number that when I reached that amount he would about-face and say "Peace out". One day I was thinking about what my "worth" was all about and I realized the worst thing that could happen to me at that moment was for me to go blind. How would I be able to gauge my worth if I couldn't see? How would I be able to know that I had a nice car, looked pretty, was thin, had cute clothes, a cute house with a purple door? Scary, huh? I can tell you that our daughters see that stuff. We don't have to tell them anything. Those insecurities are out there like ugly Christmas sweaters. They announce themselves. 

Okay, so what do we do about this? I can tell you all the right answers, but that would be akin to my edited pictures on Facebook. How about I show-out the "pictures" of us trying to leave the house for the umpteenth time? Okay, so let's say the right things. Moms, we all know what to say. We all read that Pinterest good mommy crap all the time, and then post it to Facebook. Ha! Aren't we funny?! I can tell you that I make a face every time I put on my jeans right now because I am 15 pounds over my normal weight and can't fit into most of my clothes. I crop my photos so you don't see that. I am going to try to stop making that sour face. I have also started working out and quit raiding the Halloween candy. Damn candy for being gluten free. 

I am not going to pitch a fit when Natalia dresses herself and "fixes" her own

hair. See what I did there? Look at those quotes. Lose the quotes. She fixes her hair. It is her hair to style and she is learning how to do it. I need to back off. She is not a "Gap kid", nor is she heading out to a photo shoot. We are going to Fred Meyer for heavens sake to pick up cheese and then a bunch of stuff that wasn't on our list because it was on sale. I should be happy with her washing her hands, like once that day. 

I am going to listen with my mouth closed. This is a big one because my mouth is a big one. I mean, look at this blog. Wor-dy! I am a fixer so I feel like I have a lot of advice to give. Natalia has ADHD, so she ain't go time to listen to my dissertation on how calling out line-cutters in sixth grade will define the moral background of her life in her thirties. Yeah, she doesn't care. She just wants to vent. I've learned to ask "Do you want help, or do you just want to vent?" It helps me know what I'm in for. Most of the time she just wants to vent and then a hug. One good thing about being 15 pounds overweight right now is my hugs are a lot softer. Natalia won't remember that mom couldn't fit into her jeans when she was in sixth grade, but she will remember sitting on the mommy chair while I hugged and held her. 

It really bothers me when people don't like me, so I'm not going to try and sell Natalia the notion that she shouldn't care. She's going to care and it's going to

hurt. It's about perspective. She (and I) need to focus on the quality people who do like us. I tell her that if people don't like her it's because they really don't know her. Also, there is my strawberry ice cream analogy, which I found out she absolutely hates. I tell her that people are like strawberry ice cream. Not everybody likes strawberry ice cream, but that doesn't mean it's bad; it's just not for everyone. It's fine. I use ice cream analogies a lot. Jeremy reminded me that when we were dating the first time when we were 14 I told him that he was also like ice cream. I like ice cream, but when you have it every day, all the time, you are going to get sick of it. Nope. That did not go over well. He one-upped me by telling me that I was like cancer when we broke up our freshman year. He said just when he thought he got rid of me, I came back again. See, my analogies are yummy and cute. His are horrible. Jeremy and I were laughing about these stories walking back from the Little Big Town concert this week while Natalia looked at us like we were crazy. 

Okay, so let me try and wrap this up. I'm certainly not judging the kiddos that have social media accounts. Natalia's friend lives in Singapore right now and has one to stay in touch with her friends in the states. I get that. I let Natalia have one to see where it would go. Well, it went where I feared it would go. Not because there is anything wrong with her, but because she is just a normal tween. It's a lot of pressure for all of us. Even now that she doesn't have a social media account doesn't mean that all those desires to be accepted and keep up with her peers have magically gone away. Nope. Those are still there. I just know that Instagram fed the beast. I want her to know the pictures aren't real. Most of all I want her to know daddy and I are here to listen with our mouths closed, and provide as many hugs as necessary until we have to lock her away for 15 years because we can't figure out how to navigate her social media accounts. Sometimes you have to take the easy route.