It’s a question we hopefully grow out of with braces and teenage acne. And a question we definitely cease asking ourselves once there are chubby babies around whose eyes light up every time they see us and who don’t care what our breath smells like in the morning.
But thanks to the advent of Facebook, some of us find ourselves stuck again in the playground sandbox, wondering that ethereal question once again. That threatening little like button lurks beneath each thing we say, daring people, just daring them, to show their like.
And leaves us trying to get past it when nobody does.
Now I’m not a complete sucker for facebook. I personally think it’s helped to menialize meaningful relationships, turning friendships into pokes and short publicly aired messages. But still, we all want to be liked.
And the phone calls don’t help. Yes, I said phone calls. Several people called me to tell me they like my blog. Called? Phone? What is this, the 90’s?
And the worst are the people I bump into who tell me they like it. In person? Really? What is this, the 80’s?
So I suppose the bumping and the calling and the site hits should convince me people do in fact like me. Yet that threatening like button still beckons, like a potential friend holding the bright blue shovel you’re wondering if she’ll share.
But I am not seven anymore and I don’t play in the sand. I’m a thinking, logical adult, and I know that the calls, the bumping, and the site hits mean people probably do, in fact, like me. Me being my blog. Plus, having a husband who gushes with like for anything I produce helps.
But after a long weekend (do we need an added vacation day to call a weekend long? Two days is plenty long to me), when I lost my patience way too many times at my whiny, phobic, inattentive, self-starving precious little darling, that my self-questioning surfaced again this morning.
When he took a look at me and said “Mommy, go to work today much.”
And it didn’t help when he looked over at his father and said, “You go to work a little bit.”