We had magic soil.

That’s what you have when you live on a city lot in a house that’s almost 100 years ago, magic soil. We could grow almost anything. Once we got started planting, we found ourselves deep in the world of experimenting with gardening and it was so rewarding.

Fast forward to a move to a newer home closer to the outskirts of the city, in a suburban ‘hood characterized by vinyl siding, white plastic fences, and a deep devotion to lawn care, and we found ourselves in a different situation. The phrase “underground sprinklers” has both delighted us—look! you set a timer and your lawn gets watered!—and completely stalled out any of our gardening visions. Our bodies have grown just a little bit older and the aches of life have made dealing with a sprinkler system and very unmagic soil not as compelling.

Darn the way new developments are built, right?! Top soil is removed and presumably sold, and the new ‘hoods are left with clay. Booger.

But at some point, around seven years deep into suburban living, we started to take baby steps in the yard and it has brought us delight.

It’s a simple delight to wake up in the morning and want to survey your plant babies.

Gardening hat goes on, and a walk around the yard is called for.

Doesn’t matter that we live in the ‘burbs.
Doesn’t matter that we have a handful of plants we’re encouraging.
Doesn’t matter that we haven’t initiated our grandest landscaping plans yet.
What matters is new growth, aided by a few soil amendments, lots of water, and some glorious Nebraska sunshine.

We don’t have magic soil anymore, but plants are always magic if you have eyes to see them.

I haven’t stopped looking at your Facebook and Instagram posts. Well, that’s not entirely true. I quit both platforms for almost two weeks and that felt hard. I am a person who is constantly seeking connections. My initial desire was to rid myself of extraneous information in order to live more fully in the 3D world. Instead of trying to get filled up by social media stories, I wanted to seek face-to-face interactions. And instead of creating art with parameters issued by Instagram, I wanted to see if words and pictures would float to the surface of my creative soul once more. I also wanted to move away from the FOMO (fear of missing out) and jealousy I felt when inevitably fun friendships and moments surfaced on your Instagram feeds. Was that too much to ask in a period of five weeks? What did I discover and why did my fasting period last only briefly?

That last question is answered by a broken washer and dryer. When our almost 20 year old washer wasn’t carrying out its duties properly, and then our refurbished dryer smelled like burning materials, we were done. Time for new equipment for our very non-handyman household. I researched and researched, but in the end I wanted to know what my friends and family’s experiences and recommendations were. So I turned to Facebook. As much as I love all of y’all out there, the vast feedback I received wasn’t all that helpful. (I’ll post an explanation on this below.) Breaking my social media fast almost meant I was fully back on board with online interactions as it takes a lot of willpower for me to stay away. BUT. My cousin Mark teased me by asking why I was online when I said I’d be off, and that little nugget of a challenge convinced me to go silent on the platforms again. Only, at that point I started reading whatever I wanted and only interacting on my type 1 diabetes support groups.

In the end, I did learn something incredibly timely about myself: I do not need to save the world.

That’s embarrassing to say out loud because, on one hand, I don’t believe I’m what everyone needs in order to be happy. On the other hand, I believe strongly in cheering on your successes, mourning your griefs, celebrating your birthdays, and rejoicing in your beautiful vacations. I LIKE ALL THAT. No, what I mean is that the sun doesn’t rise and set based on my attendance in your life. I missed more than a month of Facebook birthday celebrations and that was the hardest part of reading-but-not-participating.

My scrolling life, while still in play, changed as well. Without having dropped little comments on your queries for good pediatricians and without engaging in battles over what Christians should and shouldn’t do (on every topic under the sun, which is absolutely exhausting and at times utterly pointless), I wasn’t as invested in Facebook. I actually began to see Facebook as the dumpster fire it largely is. Aside from those moments of knowing a bit more about someone’s actual life, Facebook is a trainwreck.

I tend to be a sponge emotionally. It’s both my superpower and my likely undoing if I’m not mindful of protecting my mind and heart. I care a lot about people, and I’m calling Facebook—and heck, Instagram too, and definitely Twitter (which I backed out of because to me it feels like a punching match all. day. long)—dumpster fires. I’m the kind of empath who will check out everyone else’s posts and pet projects and terrifying new stories and I will soak that stuff up. I will not only weep over the deaths of children I know, but I will start carrying the grief of lost children in around the world. I want to not only fight the injustices of child welfare policies in my city or racial hatred taking place down the street, but I will be tempted to pick up the fight for every other injustice I read about. I’ll be brought to tears by the meals, childcare, lawn mowing and floor scrubbing of my phenomenal church family, but then I’ll also get verklempt by all the other stories friends are posting as well. In short, I’m not built to handle so much. My sponging tendencies mean that the world according to social media is far too much world for me.

When I halted my social media posting, I began to question why I posted certain things. I’ve maintained a blog since 2001; I’m no stranger to sharing my life publicly. The blog served (still serves actually) as a journal for me. It’s my own space on the world wide web where I can write whatever I want and post whatever images I like. There’s a freedom in that. As an extrovert and verbal processor, I could write quips on Facebook daily and I enjoy the interaction with friends. Life is funny and it’s fun to share that stuff! But do I need to? No. If the cost is my emotional wellbeing then it’s a resounding no. (Note: if you’re a dear friend and you’ve wondered why I’ve messaged you so many times in the past month, well, here’s your answer. Verbal processor here!) Also, why am I posting to Instagram? I am absolutely confident that a large percentage of my loved ones post to document their lives. However, if I’m being honest with myself, at times I’m posting to prove my worth:

I’m a good mom. See? We did fun stuff this summer.
I like cool things. See? We ate at this restaurant.
I hang out with really great people. See? We did this. And this. And this.
I have an awesome husband. See? He did this.
I have an awesome kid. See? She did this.

Bragging is not my only reason for posting. There are many times I post something my husband did because I’m incredibly grateful for his kindness, or the beauty of the flowers he picked out for me has stunned me. I like to post events with my daughter so I don’t forget them, and I do like to show the fun travels or adventures I’m having with people I love. That’s all fine! But I’d be lying if I acted like my motivations were pure all the time. And I’d also be lying if I pretended like I wasn’t hurt by the times where I’m not invited to the party or where my kid is not accomplishing what your kid is. I long to not be blown into heart spaces of less confidence or less joy, but there it is: sometimes social media illuminates the gross parts of my soul.

Reducing social media usage is wise. My guess is that it’s wise for all of us to pause and ask ourselves why we’re participating and what we’re giving up in the process. I have a phone in front of my face a lot because I can do a lot on this device. I use it for work—both paid and unpaid, for staying in touch, and for entertainment. But I also misuse it, and it detracts from my family life mostly. I am eager to be necessary and connected, but I find that my Facebook and Instagram usage ends up creating false importance and false connections. I am not going to pretend to have this all figured out—if anything, the waters are more muddied now than ever. For one thing, if I write something on my website and actually do want to share it with the world, how do I do that? Answer: by utilizing social media. I long for work and friendships with lasting meaning though, and I’m more than a little tired of scattering pieces of myself all over these platforms. Where do I dig in? With whom do I invest my heart and my friendship? Where do I expend my emotional energies? And how to I protect my mind, my family, and my time?

Before I write about laundry, I want to express that I’m talking about myself here. If sharing these thoughts compels you to apply a critical eye to your own social media usage, then that’s great. If you’re content with what you’re doing in life, that’s also great. I’m not questioning what you’re doing but I am questioning myself in order to make wiser choices in my days.

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Quick post script about washers and dryers. It’s true that older models are likely a lot longer lasting than the items on the market today that have digital components that are more complicated to fix. However, my older machines are dying and it’s no longer cost effective to pour money into them, especially when Jeremy and I are not skilled enough to repair them. I have been reading about Speed Queens for YEARS and they were top on my list until I discovered that the current models on sales floors aren’t so great. Go read about it yourself. You’ll also find that Speed Queens are tough on clothes and since absolutely no one in my house has a job in agriculture or landscaping, we don’t need a bruiser of a machine. Speed Queen devotees, I hear you, but seriously, read up on the models you can buy in stores today and make that call for yourself. I read review after review of machines and we finally pulled the trigger on Electroluxes after asking a multitude of questions at a local store with salespeople that know their stuff. One of the biggest reasons we went with these machines was that the doors were reversible. Our washer hookup is on the right, our dryer vent is on the left, and there was no way I was going to deal with battling doors every time I moved a load of laundry. Bad elbows and no hands means you consider these things. A huge shoutout to my girl Maralee whose advice was of chief importance here. (She also always remembers to protect my elbows in the name of longevity and I love her for it.) Maralee knew I’d need doors in the right places, and she also was emphatic that I get pedestals so the front-loading machines would be at a less back-breaking height. I’m only now beginning to take good care of my body, so Maralee, I love you for thinking this issue through with my needs in mind.

And that, friends, is the conclusion to my washer-dryer decisions. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to throw some wet laundry into my new snazzy dryer.

I call this shot, “Waiting for the Dog to Go Potty.”
Also known as, “The Place I Stand 3-5 Times Per Day.”
Latest contemplation, “I’m Glad I’m a Human and Don’t Have to Poop in Zero Degree Blizzard Weather.”

There’s something so satisfying in the quiet after a party is over. Everything echoes of the warmth and love that existed a few hours before. Counters now clean were filled with platters of comforting foods. The empty sink and wet dishcloths cleaned glass upon glass. The dinner table still bears a centerpiece but now only a few crumbs remain to remind me of the feast enjoyed by all who sat here. Memories of family and laughter and moments are all tucked away in my mind after a good Thanksgiving was held. I’m grateful for this space because it can hold these people. And these people are worth remembering.

Some of you may not know that I partner with my dear friend Maralee to photograph images she can use for her blog. Maralee advocates for children and covers a variety of topics including foster care, adoption, infertility and much more. I’m in a stage of life (hello, seminary!) where I’m shooting less so I enjoy getting an “assignment” from Maralee from time to time. (To be honest, Maralee has combed through my archives so many times she knows my blog far better than I do.) Yesterday I ended up retrieving six wool balls from my dryer and positioning an almost-unused dusting mitt in order to provide images for her post on Norwex.

I should add that I adore Norwex. I’ve been using their Envirocloth and window cloth faithfully for a few years now, and so far it’s meant that MANY of my cleaning products are sitting high on a shelf collecting dust. That’s a win for me and—guess what?!—now I can clean them with my handy-dandy dusting mitt. I hosted a Norwex party recently with the stated goal of earning myself a mop. I did earn it and haven’t even used it yet… ‘cuz that’s how I roll sometimes. I haven’t swept the floor either, so there.

If you’re interested in Norwex, you can buy items through Maralee.