Earlier this week I said I was going to share more often, then realized that I’m limited in what I can share. I live with three other people that are not on social media and prefer to stay that way.
My children (and my wife for that matter) are grown people over eighteen and certainly have the right to ask that I not spread their faces across IP addresses far and wide. I don’t even post their pictures to Facebook.
Zuckerberg is MISSING OUT. They’re a good looking bunch.
I may be biased.
We’re a private group by nature, I guess. I not only respect their wishes, I completely understand. But I’m old. My kids don’t have that excuse. (I choose not to comment on my wife’s age except to say we are the same age. So she’s old.)
I don’t see any harm in generically describing them here and there. For example, I could start one of those “crap my wife says” pages with most of what my wife says. She’s funny without even trying… or often understanding why. (Don’t tell her I said that.) Her gems can occasionally be found on my Twitter.
I have shared several stories this summer about my daughter and what’s she’s been going through, since it involved me as well, but she has an older brother that I haven’t talk much about. (I like to call him son.) It’s probably his turn. I’ll even break my rule and provide a picture… of us texting. Psyche!
I may have been overly concerned about him flying somewhere and I may or may not have sent him a few too many texts with instructions and questions. Instead of simply telling me he wasn’t lying in a ditch, this was what followed:
My son and I have a similar sense of humor. Which means he makes me laugh on purpose.
Although my family would rather I kept them out of whatever it is I do on my laptop, that’s not always going to be possible. If I was in the room when it happened, technically it involved me too. Especially if I had to pay for it, drive through traffic for it, or I had to eat something weird. (The latter happens more often than I would like.)
Everything is fair game, really, but I will continue to omit names and pictures for the protection of… mostly ME. I have to live with these people.
P.S. I don’t know what I’m worried about. My family will probably never read all these posts anyway.
P.S.S. Dear My Family: If you do actually read this, I’m craving pizza this weekend. NO MORE ASIAN FOOD for a while, ‘kay? Oh, and the lawn needs mowing. One of us should get on that.