These Are Not My Memories

And they shouldn't be yours either!

Original design by @ruangdesain-byra, modified by me. I do not know this sweet family and I’m sure the wife just loved her husband’s silly hat.

My mom loved a good family photo. If someone posted a cute pic on social media or sent via text, you better clear your cupboards and wipe your desktop clean because a coffee mug, mousepad, blanket, phone case, wall plaque, coasters, and a set of pint glasses with that picture blazoned on it was headed your way.

Occasionally she would go old school and print it out and frame it. Like this one I came across when I was visiting my dad for spring break.

Wow! Cute family even with those big, weird smiles. Is that mom in pain? Or angry? That looks like the old downtown Seattle Macy’s Christmas star. Awww, that’s sweet. A joyful, little family taking in the holiday magic. I bet it’s their tradition. I hope the chestnuts roasting on an open fire give them gas.

But why did my mom have a photo of this idiot family doing the things I wished my family did?

OH!

Those idiots were my idiots!

I was so distracted by this seemingly pleasant moment in time sponsored by the Downtown Seattle Chamber of Commerce, I didn’t even recognize my own weird, sometimes painful, sometimes angry smile. The only time my family and I tried to take in the downtown festivities, it turned out to be kind of a disaster. And yet— you’d never know that from this cute photo. I was totally picking up what this photo was putting down.

My mother has incepted my memories!

Here’s the truth about that night:

It was December circa 2017. Bart and I thought it would be fun to take the child downtown to look at lights, have dinner, eat junk food, ride the carousel, visit the Teddy Bear Suite at the Fairmont Park Hotel, see the gingerbread creations at the Sheraton, and crowd into Pacific Place mall at 6PM sharp to be covered in fake sudsy, snow while the tinny sounds of carols played through a subpar sound system and stranger’s elbows jammed into our kidneys as we collectively raised our smart phones TO CAPTURE THE MEMORIES.

The child had other plans. He didn’t want to go. He wanted to watch YouTube. It was cold outside. Why couldn’t he look at lights on YouTube? Gingerbread is gross. Maybe another time? Like tomorrow? He’s tired. There’s so many Christmas lights right on our street. And he has lots of teddy bears all over his room. Can’t we just order a pizza and be done with it?

But Bart and I can’t read a room so we said, INTO THE CAR WITH YOU and spent the 7 minutes it took to drive downtown explaining why it was important to go out and enjoy all the things, especially around the holidays. What kid doesn’t want to experience the commercialized magic Christmas? Well, my kid. It just wasn’t his night. He thought the teddy bears were creepy, gingerbread was indeed gross, cocoa was too hot and peppermint too minty. Seen one giant 160 foot Christmas star fastened to the side of a building and you’ve seen them all. No one was having fun that night. I think we even skipped dinner in favor of just getting the hell home.

But before we left, I forced everyone to take one selfie in front of that freakin’ Christmas star and goddamn it if I wasn’t going to post that picture on all the socials for the whole world to see. Look at my happy, festive family making some goddamn Christmas memories!

LOOK AT US!

Behold the magnificent family!

We’re just churning out the good times over here!

My mom and 87 Facebook friends loved that photo and six days later a deck of playing cards and trivet commemorating that moment arrived in the mail.

Every photo on social media tells a story. Some are fictional and some are very creative nonfiction. WE KNOW THIS! And yet, I always fall prey to these perfectly curated snippets, even when it’s my own face in the photos.

Scrolling through feeds, looking at the family photos of friends (and the 549 interior designers I follow on Instagram), I find myself thinking, Damn, look at them getting a head start on that whole making memories thing. We should renovate the laundry room and vlog about it or have bigger birthday parties or AirBnB the entirety of the Faroe Islands for all our friends and family to spend the month of December.

Don’t get me wrong. We do our thing. We have our traditions. We are having fun. But social media always forces us to compare our things to everyone else’s things. Even things we don’t care that much about! No one is posting a video of the screaming match they got into with their mother-in-law over the theme for their 1-year-old’s birthday¹. No one mentions how 3 out of 4 kids got severely motion sick on the 8 hour drive to Cannon Beach so you could snap a shot of your unimpressed family in front of the famous Goonie’s rock. No one tells you how detangling 193 strands of non-LED Christmas lights almost sends them to marriage counseling every November (Okay, well one person does at least.)

I found this phenomenon especially disturbing after having a baby. We joined a parent support group comprised of families in our neighborhood who had also recently given birth. The idea was to help form your village without venturing too far out of your zip code. We immediately followed each other on social media and I immediately sunk further into feelings of inadequacy. I did not need help with that.

How great! This random family was off to Lake Chelan for a long weekend of water sports and wineries! (Along with 13 family members including both sets of eager grandparents who provided 24-hour support.)

How great! This random family was hiking Mt. Si with their newborn in a Baby Bjorn. (Actually it was Little Si—still impressive— and they only made it 513’ of the 1,576’— still impressive— before the dad got a massive blister and the baby got too hot.)

How great! This random family eats dinner together! Of course they do this every, single night! (They do not. Friends came over with a hot meal and forced them to sit down together to eat it. The recipe included cream of mushroom soup. The mom hates mushrooms.)

Want to see how easy it is to manufacture memories? Here’s some happy non-memory memories plucked straight from my phone:

Gosh, I love the holidays. I promise you my kid is smiling under that emoji, but 3 seconds prior he was not. Ooh, I was so frustrated! This is an adorable, staged photo opp at a mall, kid. When else will we have a chance to sit on a wobbly, dirty, prop sled and get a photo? It’s blurry and fuzzy because Bart was probably rushing to take it, thinking one of us was about to blow. He was sort of right. It was both of us.

Mommy, can you get butt lice? Because my butty itches.

Oh look! Family game night! Are we having a ball playing a board game or did Bart just spend 23 minutes setting up this game only for our son to decide he was bored and didn’t want to play after all? Guesssssssssssss.

Daddy, I’m bored. Let’s cover the entire floor with train tracks instead.

Is that a 10-year-old kid on vacation curled up on the couch reading a book (MY book!) or did I say, “Hey, put down that iPad and pretend to read this book so I can prove a point!” I had to crop out his iPad. And his Nintendo Switch.

Yes, of course I staged this! I am incepting you!

See how easy it is? I could literally do this all day.

Oh, yes, a picture can tell a thousand words. Maybe just not the words you’re reading into it. But that’s okay. Post those pics because one day, 40 years from now, your child might come across an image and think, Wow, what great parents I have, taking young, grateful me downtown to see the Christmas lights and cuddle up to a bedbug ridden teddy bear. I must have loved that!

That’s how the whole making memories thing works.

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, many creatures were stirring, especially this louse.

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Thank you for subscribing to and reading Middle-Aged Lady Mom!. Someone asked me recently why I write (It’s me, I’m “someone”) and the answer is easy to feel, but harder to articulate. That is great news for a writer!

But I tried to use my words because I thought it was a good question:

Reasons Why I Write:

• to make people laugh, especially when talking about the “hard stuff.” One of my “funniest” stories was about abortion. (Miscarriage and grief are also real side-splitters!)

• to make people feel “seen.” I like to write the stories I wish I was reading when going through the newborn phase. Or the toddler phase. Or when my mom died. Or last night when I woke up at 2 AM all sweaty and ragey. I want people to read my words and say, Meeeeee too!!!!! I’m also full of rage!!!

• to connect and make connections. Hey, man, we’re all just a bunch of Earthies out here looking for other Earthies. It’s in our nature. We have no choice. I like making connections as much as the next Earthie, but I also like connecting other people. Writing on Substack feels kind of like building your own little community and I love that.

• my mom said I had a “gift” and I shouldn’t squander it. Thanks, Mom. See how parents can really mess up their kids with one throw-away comment? I’m also gifted in the art of plain M&Ms consumption (I’m practically my art right now) and falling asleep anywhere, anytime. Why didn’t she encourage those gifts?

Why do you write? Or do any of the things you do??? DO YOU ALSO HAVE A GIFT??? Tell me!

XO,

Shelly

1. But I would read the crap out of it if they did!