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When Mama added me on Facebook
Part of a series on our moms—or about being a mom—for Mother's Day
The worst kind of break-up happens in the form of a very public changed relationship status and is discovered by all your friends on Facebook even before it reaches you. The only way it could possibly get worse is if you find out about it through a text message from your mom saying, “Why does his relationship status say single now? Did you break up?”
Such situations have reminded me exactly why, in the first place, it took me weeks to accept a friend request from my mother.
Nothing goes unannounced
On what she thought was my first day at work, my mom posted a status message that had my sisters calling me up with a, “Why didn’t you tell me you got a job already?”
The controversial post, which was visible to anyone and everyone on the internet, read: “Feeling empty-nested now. My youngest, Jica, left early this morning for her first day of work!”
Two years and one semi-moving-out day later, my mom is now with puppy. On their first night together, she made sure to update all the concerned parties via text message about how my pet cat terrorized “poor puppy Molly” who spent most of the evening too afraid to go about her business in the garden.
“I feel like I have a new baby in the house… Actually Molly’s a joy to have around. But I think I have to hold back so I don’t get too attached to her,” read my mom’s heartbreaking message in reference to her friends’ pet Shar-Pei who passed at 11 human years old.
Ever since my mom discovered Facebook (and later on Viber, iMessage, and the hash tag), she, like the rest of us, has made a habit of sharing anything and everything that happens in her life. It would seem that her intention is to make sure nothing goes unannounced.
Touch-screen challenged
On a daily basis, my Messenger inbox is flooded with updates from my mother. She has made over ten different groups with varying recipients within and outside of our family covering topics about everything from inspirational quotes and cat memes to her latest mishap on the road or the list of books she plans to read when she retires.
My sisters and I keep telling her that she can save a group and go back to it but she keeps making new ones. She is living proof that Facebook is not as user-friendly as they say it is.
One time, in her signature damsel-in-distress fashion, she had dinner out knowing that she may not have had the cash to pay for it. I found out about it because she texted me after she was successfully able to pay the bill. The lengthy narrative ended with a “#Living Dangerously.”
I responded, telling her that’s not how it works, and promptly provided an example of a proper hash tag without spaces in between the words.
She repeated the message, this time ending with a continuous “#LivingDangerously.”
“Correct!” I said. Amusing in her ignorance, she responded, “What happens next?”
The new intercom
Though she may not be as well-versed in the workings of online messaging and posting, my mom loves to text. Our mobile phones have become the new intercom system.
In our cozy, one-storey house, our bedrooms are next to each other with an adjoining bathroom. When I get home late at night, I receive a message from her asking if that was me who opened the front door.
It is also often the way we decide what to eat for dinner or what to do on a lazy Sunday afternoon.
One such Sunday during the highly anticipated Mayweather-Pacquiao “Battle for Greatness,” she was away on a business trip and unable to watch the live showing.
By 12:45 p.m., I already knew who had won but without fail, my mother continued to update us about the delayed telecast she was watching from miles away, complete with the proper hashtag, #SugodManny.
2,961 messages
She likes to compose long, detailed messages which she regularly dispatches to select groups with a varying mix of me, my sisters, her sisters, or close friends as recipients.
I find the thought of her spending over twenty painstaking minutes just to compose one message on the tiny keys of her Blackberry or the overly-sensitive screen of her iPhone both endearing and annoying.
There was a time that I would purposely reject her calls and intentionally ignore her messages—in one ear, out the next—but lately I have found that I enjoy her frequent updates and constant requests for me to tell her what time I’m going to be home or what my plans are for the weekend.
There are only two people who have exceeded the limit of 2,000 text messages per person on my phone. Naturally, the one with the most messages is my mother.
The worst kind of break-up happens in the form of a very public changed relationship status and is discovered by all your friends on Facebook even before it reaches you. The only way it could possibly get worse is if you find out about it through a text message from your mom saying, “Why does his relationship status say single now? Did you break up?”
Such situations have reminded me exactly why, in the first place, it took me weeks to accept a friend request from my mother.
Jica and her mom Maeyet in their cozy one-storey house
On what she thought was my first day at work, my mom posted a status message that had my sisters calling me up with a, “Why didn’t you tell me you got a job already?”
The controversial post, which was visible to anyone and everyone on the internet, read: “Feeling empty-nested now. My youngest, Jica, left early this morning for her first day of work!”
Two years and one semi-moving-out day later, my mom is now with puppy. On their first night together, she made sure to update all the concerned parties via text message about how my pet cat terrorized “poor puppy Molly” who spent most of the evening too afraid to go about her business in the garden.
“I feel like I have a new baby in the house… Actually Molly’s a joy to have around. But I think I have to hold back so I don’t get too attached to her,” read my mom’s heartbreaking message in reference to her friends’ pet Shar-Pei who passed at 11 human years old.
Ever since my mom discovered Facebook (and later on Viber, iMessage, and the hash tag), she, like the rest of us, has made a habit of sharing anything and everything that happens in her life. It would seem that her intention is to make sure nothing goes unannounced.
Touch-screen challenged
On a daily basis, my Messenger inbox is flooded with updates from my mother. She has made over ten different groups with varying recipients within and outside of our family covering topics about everything from inspirational quotes and cat memes to her latest mishap on the road or the list of books she plans to read when she retires.
My sisters and I keep telling her that she can save a group and go back to it but she keeps making new ones. She is living proof that Facebook is not as user-friendly as they say it is.
Mom entertaining guests at her birthday party while Jica uses a safety pin to repair a rip in her blouse
I responded, telling her that’s not how it works, and promptly provided an example of a proper hash tag without spaces in between the words.
She repeated the message, this time ending with a continuous “#LivingDangerously.”
“Correct!” I said. Amusing in her ignorance, she responded, “What happens next?”
The new intercom
Though she may not be as well-versed in the workings of online messaging and posting, my mom loves to text. Our mobile phones have become the new intercom system.
In our cozy, one-storey house, our bedrooms are next to each other with an adjoining bathroom. When I get home late at night, I receive a message from her asking if that was me who opened the front door.
It is also often the way we decide what to eat for dinner or what to do on a lazy Sunday afternoon.
By 12:45 p.m., I already knew who had won but without fail, my mother continued to update us about the delayed telecast she was watching from miles away, complete with the proper hashtag, #SugodManny.
2,961 messages
She likes to compose long, detailed messages which she regularly dispatches to select groups with a varying mix of me, my sisters, her sisters, or close friends as recipients.
I find the thought of her spending over twenty painstaking minutes just to compose one message on the tiny keys of her Blackberry or the overly-sensitive screen of her iPhone both endearing and annoying.
There was a time that I would purposely reject her calls and intentionally ignore her messages—in one ear, out the next—but lately I have found that I enjoy her frequent updates and constant requests for me to tell her what time I’m going to be home or what my plans are for the weekend.
There are only two people who have exceeded the limit of 2,000 text messages per person on my phone. Naturally, the one with the most messages is my mother.
