NextDoor, Facebook, and Why I Will Never Delete You

I've made up my mind on my beliefs. I know what I believe about God, politics, violence, gay marriage and many other hot button issues.

That doesn't mean I've stopped listening, though.

In our part of Fort Worth, we have a social media website for neighbors called NextDoor. Ideally it's a place where you can share information that builds community. In the perfect situation, you would use the website to recommend a local plumber, to share information on a municipal concern, and to get to know your neighbors better.

In reality it's nothing like that.

There are a number of people who post about missing or found pets, and I always read their posts with care so I can watch out for the dog or cat. Others promote their garage sale, which is nice because they share pictures.

By far, the majority of the website, though, has been reduced to petty grumbling. Currently there's a 100+ comment stream about code compliance officers.  Basically the city is asking for volunteers to help alert them to code violations in our neighborhoods. This has opened the door to people throwing around words like "Nazi", "Big Brother," and "criminals." Irritated, others have commented that they will now cancel their account.

Not me. 

On Facebook I have a wide variety of "friends." Many share my outlook on life.  Many don't. I have a few friends that post opinions that consistently make me uncomfortable. Some use their Facebook page to spew hate, inciting others to delete their imaginary friendship.

Not me.

With the increasing personalization of society, it's easy to surround myself with people that only agree with me.  I can choose to read news that only enforces my views on the world. I can subscribe to blogs that share my opinion.  I can limit social media friendships to those who stand on the same soapboxes. I can schedule my social appearances, attend my church, and spend all my free time surrounding myself with sameness.

But sometimes I get sick of my own voice.

www.sxc.hu

Instead, I want to listen. I want to hear all sides of the story. I want to be exposed to opinions that make me uncomfortable. I want to read the comment stream that dissects petty complaints.

Listening to the other side reminds me of the size of my world. How small my world is when mine is the only voice heard and everyone agrees with me. When I hear you share an opinion I disagree with, I am reminded of the existence of other views and voices. I pay more attention to what I am passionate about when I hear others share their passions. 

I remind myself of the humanness of everyone. I am connected to real people and not just the imaginary "other side." I recognize how different our worlds are when you are passionate about the concrete on your pathway matching the concrete on your driveway. 

When I am exposed to the stories and concerns of others, I realize my concerns today won't be my concerns tomorrow. One day soon I won't be worried about homework or kissing injured knees.  My life with change.

I conciously listen to the other side of the story, but sometimes my ears get tired.

On the neighborhood website, I noticed a pattern with a particular user.  This gentleman was quick to grumble about any topic listed. It began to wear on even me, who was initially happy to read his views. I kept sharing with Adam how annoyed I was at this particular man's postings and complaints. I mulled over blocking his posts so I could avoid him altogether, but that didn't feel right.  Instead, I resorted to thanking him.  For every post, similar to Facebook's "like" button, there is a "thank" button. Every time that neighbor posts something, I go in and click "thank." At first he continued his three posts a day barrage of complaints, but I am happy to report that is no longer. Instead, his postings now are mostly positive and helpful.  I do realize this is a mixture of killing him with kindness and being a smart-aleck, but it made me feel better.

I truly do want to hear other sides to the story. I want to surround myself with different rather than same-same. I want to constantly expand my horizons and my world view. I want to put a face with that issue. I want to remember that the "other side" is real people and not just a "bunch of lunatics." However, my compassionate listening can only go so far when faced with constant complaining.  I might just have to thank you and move on to the next topic.  However, I won't ever delete you.

A Day in the Life

Yesterday was a normal day in the Boyette household, but I was trying to explain the craziness to friends and realized that our normal isn't anyone else's.  So here are the laughs and crazy events from yesterday.

Our first adventure yesterday was a trip to Dollar Tree.  I had to buy stickers for our garage sale and the kids were allowed to select one toy each.  Paul, predictably, got a squishy ball.  Claire selected some magnets called "Snake Eggs" which make a noise when you clack them together.  She immediately renamed them dinosaur eggs and was delighted to explain their magic to us.  Then she dropped them in the car.

Wailing loudly, she searched through the toys and other debris in our backseat to find them but her seatbelt impeded progress.  I let her unbuckle at a long red light.  She still couldn't find them and kept wailing that they were gone forever.

I had to pick up an item at church so I rolled all the windows down, opened doors, and left the kids outside digging through the backseat to look for the dinosaur eggs.  Claire was crying uncontrollably and throwing toys at Paul.  Paul kept reassuring her that her eggs were not lost and even offered one of his toys to comfort her.  All the way home they made each other happy again by singing "BettieCarol, BettieCarol, BettieCarol Sherry!!"  (Just go with it if you don't know about this one.  Kind of a long story.)  They decided to make BettieCarol some cards and Claire said, "But it's going to be hard to make her a card because I'll have to say her name wrong to spell it.  I'll have to say it real slow."

Once home, the dinosaur eggs were forgotten and I had 15 minutes to make lunch before Adam arrived to eat with us.  Luckily I had already planned it so I whipped it together and voila, we had lunch.  We all watched Wheel of Fortune while eating and the kids enjoyed guessing the puzzles.  Often, Claire can beat Adam and me to solving one.

Paul sat and actually read a book to me. (He's started reading this summer!)  Then the babysitter arrived so I could go to the doctor for a checkup.

An hour and a half later, I walked back in the house and Paul, in full Spider-Man costume, looked at me and moaned, "Ahhhhh."  He said he didn't have enough time to play.  I said I would pretend to not be there yet.  I went to Claire's room and saw she and the sitter had draped a sheet over her door frame.  It was now a castle door and the babysitter was renamed "Belle."  She told me that she had been fighting with Spiderman, the castle guard, but was then informed that princesses don't fight so was now confined to the castle.

"Belle's" brother arrived to pick her up and we all sat and talked for a while.  Paul was doing cannonballs on the couch and shouting "Feces!"  Claire was saying something about fecal matter.  I was mortified.  Their father has taught them all the scientific words for poop and they take joy in sharing their knowledge with others.

I attempted to have an intelligent conversation with adults while the children interrupted with more fecal vocabulary words.  I had to send them to their room several times, but it's hard to shut down the poop talk when the guests are laughing.  I assured them that this was not a performance just for them but that the kids unfortunately are normally comfortable with talking about such topics.  The same girl who drew a giant heart on the driveway that says "Jesus loves us" was explaining that she likes to refer to the bathroom as the "defecation station."

I continued to be mortified, but when you are sitting at a kitchen table talking with friends who can clearly see the five loads of laundry waiting to be hung as well as the He-Mans and Ninja Turtles commingled on the floor, not to mention the kids who are dancing and talking about the bathroom, it's hard to pretend that this isn't your life.

After they left, I had fifteen minutes to get the kids a snack and get them ready for our next adventure.  Adam was using his truck to help move a swing set from one friend's house to another, so we made it a family affair.  Paul and Claire ran around our friend's backyard until Adam was ready to go.  We all chatted for a bit and then went on to the next house.

While the men reconstructed the swing, the mom and I chatted.  She didn't know we were coming, so she hadn't had time to prepare the house for company.  It's always comforting to see other houses in their natural state.  It reminds me that other people have dirty dishes and toys on the floor. 

For some reason, particularly in the summer, I believe that it's possible to have a spotless house, well-behaved children, and engaged intellects.  That is the standard that I strive for daily and fall-short of daily.  

In reality, I have a messy house and two happy, intelligent, caring children who share a love of fecal vocabulary with my husband.  Oh well, spotless houses and spotless lives are boring anyway.

I lost my wallet

Today was such a perfect, perfect day.  I woke up extremely early (4:30 I think) and was able to mark several things off my to-do list before the sun was even up.  I took Paul over to his friend Declan's house and I just sat on the patio talking to my friend Alli.  I just sat and enjoyed the breeze and chatter and it was wonderful and perfect.  The boys played together and didn't have one fight.  They got along so well we decided to go to lunch at Chick-fil-A so we could eat and they could play more.
When I sat down in the booth at Chick-fil-A, I noticed the gap between the seat and the back cushion and thought to myself, "That hole is perfect to lose a wallet in.  I have to pay attention so I don't lose mine."
I lost it anyway.  Somehow my wallet fell out of my purse and I know it was exactly in that spot because I always check a table before I leave.
I took Paul to Aldi and went to the check-out and realized my problem.  Immediately, I grabbed Paul and took him back to Chick-fil-A.
It is funny to me that in situations when I am stressed more than I can express, the children seem to function normally.  On the drive over I'm praying, breathing deep, and calling Adam to cancel my cards.  Paul started asking me about the Revolutionary War and did any guys from Texas fight with George Washington and did any Texas guys die? And what about those red guys? I continued to take a deep breath and explain a bit about the redcoats and their loss of the war as well as how Texas wasn't always Texas....
At Chick-fil-A the employees were so nice and helped me search.  One lady even went through multiple trashcans searching for it.  I offered to help the lady sort through the trash, but she wouldn't let me.  I knew for a fact that I hadn't thrown the wallet away but held a dim hope that someone took my cash and threw the rest away.  Paul and I paced the parking lot and I ended up leaving my name and number in case they found the wallet later.
While Adam was on the phone cancelling my bank card, our neighbor kept calling him.  He finally clicked over and found out a policeman was at the house with my wallet.
When I left Chick-fil-A, high school lunch was just beginning.  Both South Hills High School and Southwest High School are within a mile from the restaurant.  Apparently someone picked up my wallet, took out the cash, and threw it to the ground.  Immediately afterward, two honest girls from South Hills High picked the wallet up and drove it back to school, where they returned it to the campus police officer.
The campus police officer thought about calling Bank of America, but changed his mind and just drove to our house.  Our neighbor was home and called Adam.
So today I am grateful for:

1. My friend Alli who let me just sit and talk.
2. The people who found my wallet and only stole the cash.
3. The high schoolers who turned the wallet into a police officer.
4. The employees at Aldi who held my purchases until I could come back with money.
5.  The employees at Chick-fil-A who dug through trash and worked hard looking for my wallet.
6.  The Fort Worth police officer who returned my wallet to me.
7.  The neighbor who called Adam.
8.  Adam, who took his lunch taking care of his wife's forgetfulness.
9.  Paul for refocusing me when I was stressed out.
10.  My friend Melody who called during this fiasco and said a prayer for my sanity or the recovery of my wallet, whichever could happen first.

The whole situation was my fault and could have been avoided with a little more attentiveness, but I am so thankful that in the midst of it all, my wallet was only missing cash and I don't have to try to recreate my identity through membership cards and credit cards and all the other important cards that live in my wallet.  I am blessed.

Female Fun in Fort Worth

Yesterday was beautiful.  Not just the weather, the entire day.  My family strolled through the day without a care in the world and no agenda until Adam took the kids camping.  They are currently asleep on the TCU baseball field.  I like camping, but when given the option of going camping or spending some time by myself, I choose myself.
Last night I met my friends Stacy and Helen at Rodeo Goat for burgers and fun.  Stacy and Helen both went to high school with me, and oddly, they still don't mind being seen in public with me.
After burgers, we piled in my car and went downtown for Main Street Arts Festival.
I love festivals in downtown Fort Worth.  I know how to get around, so instead of wondering which way to walk or decide on a defined route, I get to focus on people. It makes me happy to be in a familiar place full of people because I know I will meet fascinating folks.
Since I was driving, I also gave Stacy and Helen a mini-tour of downtown FW, Boyette-style. ("That sign says Burnett Plaza is for tired moms.  That is FUMCFW.  The guy that owns that restaurant makes sandwiches for  homeless ladies.  Best burgers in town at Blue Tower.  Police Cat Fluffy lives there.  Library!")
Here are some photos of our adventures:

At this point, we had just parked the car.  Woohoo!  After at least 15 minutes of sitting in traffic we got a parking space! (Yes I know it's kind of lame to take a picture after parking a car.)

Inside the old Fire Station No. 1 is Fort Worth's smallest museum.  150 years of Fort Worth all celebrated in one room.  Here Stacy reaches for the stars and hopes for 150 more.

Helen who is a marathon runner.  If you call her that, she'll blow it off like it's no big deal, but this lady runs marathons!

I decided to sit side saddle and try to make the cheesiest picture possible.  

Here was our first new friend.  We all got to touch that awesome hair!  Really, anyone that spends that much time to perfect a look deserves applause.

This was our friend Willie at Green Mountain Energy.  Stacy actually filled out an advertisement form (she loves the environment), so we got to talk to him for a long time.  Another lady came up and was patiently waiting to ask if she could have some candy.  Helen and I tried to fill her purse.  She acted like she was really hungry and this was the only food she was going to get.  We kept urging her to get more, and then even Willie said, "Girl, you help yourself."

The lady that took this photo for us missed how to use the flash.  Oh well.  We are supposed to be the Wild Bunch.

Street preacher.

One of the highlights of the night was the street preachers.  As a person of faith myself, I am always fascinated at how differently the message of God's grace sounds from a street preacher.  Also, I have to applaud these people who feel that the only way they can save the world is by doing this.  They suffer ridicule but are still out on the corner preaching.

I didn't get to have a long conversation because Stacy and Helen were with me and I had embarrassed them enough, but I would have liked to compare notes.  If their goal is to share the consequences of people's actions, I think they got me beat.  I don't do that.  But if their goal was to share the message of God's love, I would be curious to how many people they were able to engage in conversation or to offer love to.  Because for me, sharing God's love last night included lifting a stroller over a curb for a frustrated dad, offering my koozie to a starving artist, sharing Willie's candy with a hungry lady, admiring an afro, offering compliments and admiration on artwork, and actually looking for people to engage in conversation with.

All the street preachers were on one quadrant and at each corner, they had a different tract about going to hell.  I made sure to get all of them for my pal Jason.  The best one was a "Get out of hell free" card.  At the last corner, when I engaged the preacher in conversation, I complimented him on the marketing brilliance of creating a tract that looked like a Monopoly game card.  He asked where I got it and I pointed to another corner of the square, where the African-American man that gave me the card stood.  The preacher said, "Oh, I don't know about him.  He's not with us."  That was so interesting to me, because these guys are standing about 20 feet apart doing the same thing, and they hadn't talked to each other?  

Then the street preacher asked me if I had been saved.  I told him I was a big-time Jesus lover.  He looked confused.  "I love Jesus.  Big time.  Go ask my friends."  He looked very uncomfortable like he wasn't sure if I was lying or not.  I guess people don't often come up to him and admit to being a Jesus lover.  I enjoyed throwing him for a loop.

I can't wait to hear how the camping trip went.

Blog-hop

Our friend Ardis is having guest speakers on her blog. For some crazy reason, she wanted me! Here it is: http://thefreemanfamilyadventure.blogspot.com/2011/02/guess-speaker-blogger-reader-numero_22.html

Zoo friends

This is Paul with his friend, Ella. I guess I should call her his girlfriend. Ella and her sister, Maya, were in music class with us this semester. We made fast friends and do something nearly every week. Yesterday we went to the zoo where Paul took care of Ella. When her hat blew off, he put it back on and here he is making sure she doesn't fall.
Cute in her own right, Ella calls Paul, "P-Paul."
Maya, is the same age as Claire and they like to dinosaur roar at each other.
On another note, did you know that Jesus loves dinosaurs? At our home, Adam has taught the kids to pray with their hands held up to their chest, like a T. Rex with tiny hands. After we say our blessing, the kids and Adam raise their arms and roar loudly. Our prayers are said with reverance, but then followed by a roar. I'm sure Jesus would laugh if he were at the table.