When Sam gets in from work, we often go through the same conversation where I ask about his day. Sometimes he asks about mine, sometimes he doesn’t. That’s the thing with sharing the mundanities of my day on Twitter – He already knows when I’ve had a bad day, or when Arlo has napped well and I’ve had more opportunity to get online.
I never used to tweet. I used to follow a few people and occasionally read my timeline on the bus home from work. My Twitter usage increased dramatically after Arlo was born. No longer the time to browse the web or read at length, Twitter provides perfect bitesize snippets of news and entertainment. Enough to keep me feeling up to date with the world. And now I have subject matter worth tweeting about, to me anyway.
Sam mocks my Twitter usage (playfully, of course). Sentimental tweets are prime targets to get in a sarcastic dig. The same goes for this blog, except I’ve set up a photo post tag so that he can filter out all of my waffle and get straight to the content for which he would only ever be visiting here.
Today we had a lovely ordinary afternoon. The three of us playing in Arlo’s room – blowing bubbles, playing catch with Arlo’s football, and giggling away at Arlo blowing raspberries on my face. Arlo became captivated by a bin bag, listening to the rustling sound made when he touched it. The bag is full of clothes that he has grown out of (Arlo’s room also serves as storage/general dumping ground because we have squirrels residing in the loft and they don’t want to share). When Sam said, ‘That’s your memories in there, Arlo’, for a split-second I was surprised at the rare verbalisation of a sentimental comment. Until I remembered Twitter and the comment I’d made earlier in the day about memories and being sad when Arlo grows out of his clothes.
Perhaps one day you will find our family communicating solely by typed word. And with that scary thought I am logging off for the evening to spend time with Sam.
(In case you were wondering, Sam has already got in his comment about this entry. He said, ‘How postmodern of you’, just before I hit ‘publish’).
