In Which We All Nearly DIE.
A-Day Blessings

Tweet me this

The other day I was on Twitter, poking around and trying to figure things out. Y'all, I am too old for Twitter, I swan. Facebook is still sort of bewildering to me. It's LOUD up in there. But I have a Big Exciting Project coming up soon, and for that I have been instructed to learn to tweet like the happiest of birds.

So there I was, poking Twitter, trying to keep Sophia from fulfilling her life's goal of eating the keyboard, and I muttered something aloud about how UnTwitterable I am.

"Mom?" Tre called from the kitchen (where he was preparing lunch for him and his brothers DO NOT JUDGE ME, HIS WIFE WILL LOVE ME SOMEDAY), "do YOU have a Twitter account?"

He said it sort of like I had just announced I'd just received my high school ID card - a mix of disbelief and oh, that's sort of sad and delusional.

"YES. I DO. Sort of. I mean, I have this account with these other women. So there."

"Oh. So it's not like YOU have an account." He returned to the meal, no longer interested in me and my feeble tweetage. I left my efforts and wandered into the kitchen to poke instead at the lunch he'd made.

"What's Twitter?" Max asked, filling water glasses.

"It's microblogging. You can only post 140 characters at a time."

"AAAAAAHHHGHH!" screeched Raphael as his plate and food somehow FLIPPED off the table and ONTO the floor.

"Clean it up," I said, as I am wont to say to Raphael SEVEN TRILLION TIMES A DAY. He started scooping food onto his plate. "And wash the mess off the floor," I added, as I am wont, etc.

"Don't you blog ENOUGH?" Max asked.

"Eh. Not according to Amma." I replied.

"It's not like she has her OWN account," Tre pointed out.

"I have to SCRUB THE FLOOR like some sort of SERVANT," Raphael moaned somewhat cheerfully from his position under the table.

From her perch on my hip, Sophia screeched and yanked a fistful of my hair. HARD.

I dunno. I may be a little slow to find my way around Twitter, but something tells me the that my life is tailor-made for this nonsense.



Why does scrubbing the floor automatically equal "servant" for dudes? Jeffrey says this and so does Will. Is it some sort of Cinderella Complex programmed into the male psyche?


Twitter? Really? You have tweeps? (Those are your peeps who twitter). It's shocking how fast the dominoes fall once you go down that road of technology...

Lisa in NJ

Twitter is the bomb for people who don't really have time to blog but need to get the "stuff" out of their heads!!! I love my twitter!!!

The One True Josh

I think twitter is best summed up here (language warning for sensitive types):

I still think twitter is really only cool if you're posting from mobile device. Since I still use a phone made of wood and twine, I'm not willing to do that. Life is too short to type on a PHONE fercryinoutloud. Maybe once the boy gets past the throwing-things-in-the-toilet age we can talk about a fancy device or something.

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