At my company we have a social network. It’s kind of useful. At times definitely amusing. Like the time we all made up stories about velociraptors and Chuck Norris. (Sometimes in accounting you have to make your day a little more interesting.) For the most part, the site is used for professional reasons. No, really it is.
Today I saw a poll come in requesting information for popular pastimes among the K-3rd grade set. That was from the educational part of the company. Of course I scrambled for my keyboard. In about 30 seconds so had another 3 mothers apparently. That got me to thinking, why is it so interesting to talk about our kids? I could tell stories about them for hours, and I am sure anyone else who has a child, or a pet for that matter, probably could too. My mother spends at least 10 minutes out of a phone conversation discussing her cats. Which is fine by me, I love listening!
Motherhood is amazing. (I am sure fatherhood is as well, but, not being a man, I can’t compare.) It can turn a young woman without a maternal bone in her body into a gushing, babytalking mom with a perpetual worry line. And that can be me. I long to talk to the other mothers I work with, hear all about their kids and compare funny stories or vent about pre-teen attitudes. I used to have a coworker who sat at the desk next to me, thankfully she had three young grandchildren of similar ages to my kids, and we would go on for hours. I’m sure everyone in the vicinity was bored to tears.
It’s a phenomenon similar to what seems to happen when groups of men get together. They don’t even know each other and yet they become life long buddies in a matter of minutes over the ball game (doesn’t matter, pick any sport) Moms can pick each other out, and not just because of the dark circles under their eyes. We finally have a common ground and it feels good. Maybe that’s why it’s so enjoyable to swap stories.
Sometimes it’s not really much of a story, just a funny saying, like when my daughter said she wanted to tell Jesus he had nice hair. Or when she told my oldest and I that her boyfriend was Abraham Lincoln. (She isn’t going to live that one down any time soon.)
What funny stories about your little rug rats keep you smiling throughout the day? Do family members scramble to get out of your way when you enter a room in fear of your anecdotes? I’m sure mine do!