In Favor of Being Facebook Friends with Moms

Kris Jenner Shows off her Home Office

Out of my five closest friends, three are Facebook friends with their mothers and two are not; one is enthusiastically friends with other moms; one is enthusiastically not friends with other moms; three said they are “sometimes” friends with moms, or it “depends,” or they resort to Facebook’s greatest gift: the ability to limit your profile for those whom you choose.

Well, I am friends with my mother and with other mothers. Here are some of their recent status updates for those of you who deny yourself the opportunity to flood your feed with life at 50:

“Not only in my bed, but in my face! Could they get any closer? Ever feel like you’re being watched? Best feeling ever – these guys! Winnie and Theo – the dynamic duo!” -my mom, on our dogs.

“Mother nature is not cooperating, and we are CANCELLING tomorrow’s 5:45am class due to snow and anticipated ice on the roads.

You can ride with me on Wednesday night 6:30pm instead!” -a status a mother was tagged in, on tomorrow’s spin class at Flywheel. 

“Tulane Reunion Dinner” -a mother, on her Tulane reunion dinner. 

“So happy for Patricia Arquette. Smart soulful amazing actress. inspiring, HUMAN, strong mom in Boyhood. she’s hot with great REAL boobs. And, she nailed it. I love that movie!” -a mother, on Hollywood feminism at the Oscars.

“You are my bestie, you are my life. I love you more than you will ever know. 18 years ago you came into our lives, a beautiful pink little girl, and it was forever changed for the better. You have grown to be an amazing young woman and I am so proud!” -a mother, on the Picstitch she made for her daughter’s 18th birthday. 

“Being spontaneous is fun. Menopause the musical” -a mother, on adult entertainment. 

Perhaps this is what deters two of my friends from friend-ing their mothers, and three of the five from warily accepting the friend requests of others. They don’t want to deal with the over-sharing (how can we think about menopause when most of us pray for our monthly periods?), the over-posting (keep in mind that it took half an hour of sifting through the profiles of five women – that’s six minutes per woman – to find five one-liners because there were so many from which to choose), and the over-invasion (also keep in mind I didn’t search for the comments these women make on their friends’ posts, on their friends’ daughters’ posts, and on their own posts, especially)?

When my Facebook was less than a year old, my cousin Katie came over with her family and the two of us decided to bake a cake, as I had a habit of baking cakes and thinking that was the thing to do in eighth grade. [Ed.: Same.] Katie and I baked this cake, and we cut it open when it came out of the oven, and I said, “Boy, is it moist down there!” not realizing the innuendo at work.

Katie laughed – she was older and no longer a virgin, not that that’s something people necessarily have to hear once they lose their virginities – and we decided I should make it my Facebook status. I, giving negative shits, made it my status. Five minutes later my house phone rings and it’s my grandma who tells my mom about my “inappropriate” Facebook activity. I defriended my grandma after pleading “It was a joke, Mom, I swear!!!!!” but didn’t let that experience stop me from accepting the friend requests of other octogenarians and menopause-approaching women, many of whom have volunteered their uteri in creating my closest friends.

Other than the grandma incident, I’ve never had a bad experience as the Facebook friend of someone 40+. Thus, I’d like to make an official plea in favor of being Facebook friends with moms.

When those paragraph-long posts show up on my news feed, I never once think of scrolling past. I read them all, every word. I find them comforting and endearing. Perhaps it’s because they’ve come to replace run-ins at the fro-yo store on Thursday nights or the bagel store on Saturday mornings now that I’ve fled the nest. Perhaps it’s because at college, we’re so primed to routinely feel self-conscious that we don’t even realize we are. Perhaps I live vicariously through the babble of mothers who filter their Instagrams too much and their Facebook posts too little. After all, when’s the last time you read a status about a girl and her menstrual cycle?

I’m starting a movement: Friend the mother. Love her posts. Actually, “like” her posts. Chances are, she’ll always like yours back.

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