I remember it well. In the kitchen cabinet above the radio lived our families’ orange prescription medicine bottles. Valium being one of them. My Mom’s Valium. Even as a young girl, I knew that it was a difficult day if my Mom took a Valium. It wasn’t a regular thing, thank goodness, but I just knew: Mom’s wit’s end = little pill.
I grew up in the 70s. My formative years were full of playing outside, Brady Bunch reruns, pet rocks, disco, and this awareness that some moms took pills to get through their days. It was never something I discussed with my Mom. Probably because when she died I had not yet become a mother myself. One of my greatest regrets in life is that I never communicated with my Mom, as a mom, about being a mom. I so wish we had known each other as moms.
This was also the era of Jacqueline Susann’s Valley of the Dolls. I definitely remember that movie being exotic and taboo in 1970s middle America. The moms joked about it. I could hear their laughter waft up the stairs during their monthly “club” nights, which were hosted in our home twice a year. Those were the best nights. There was something so awesome about hearing my Mom and all the neighbor ladies laugh uproariously til the wee hours of the morning. Like, really, really loudly. LOUD. Just what was so funny?, I used to wonder. And the next day would bring leftover nuts and cheese balls and treats and French Silk pie from Bakers’ Square when it was still called Poppin’ Fresh Pies.
Poppin’ Fresh Pies was hip hop before hip hop even existed, yo.
Last Thanksgiving I made what I thought was an astute observation at the holiday dinner table when I said, “Facebook is our generation’s Valium.” Silence. Dead silence. I still think it’s true. A quick wiki search informs us that Valium is the brand name of Diazepam, a benzodiazepine. It was launched in 1963 and was wildly successful. “Benzos” as they came to be called, replaced the much more sedating, but still wildly prescribed group known as barbiturates.
NOTE: As awesome as this gal is, she is not my Mom. And a chicken dinner will go out to anyone who can tell me what is happening on this gal’s head!
Like it or not, a lot of moms in the 1970s and 1980s got through their days with a little help from their friend Valium. As a mom myself now, I totally get it. I mean, I am the mom of one (less Donna) and there are days that the little bugger frustrates me no end. Imagining my boy and three other little ones running around with little or no help from Dad? BAH! I would totally lose it.
Enter Facebook. Cue the angels singing. I know not everyone is on Facebook. And I know everyone doesn’t use it to the extent I use it, but in the social media circles I frequent, Facebook is totally and completely the new Valium. Without the pesky chemicals or necessary prescription.
Think about it. Why is Facebook so pervasive in our lives? Why do thousands upon thousands of Facebook pages exist devoted to motherhood and parenting? Because we need it and it serves a real purpose. We need to be connected. Here are just a few that demonstrate the point that mothering can make you feel a wee bit off balance:
- My Children Think I’m Perfect
- Sarcasmom
- Insane In The Mom Brain
- You Know It Happens at Your House Too
- The Mama Union
- Moms Who Drink and Swear
- The Incompetent Hausfrau
- The Bitchy Housewife
- Scary Mommy
We need an outlet to vent about the little ones who try our last nerves. And while these pages can be vastly different from one another, we need a place to go when our kids stomp and tantrum and melt down and get under our skins in an unhealthy kind of way. We need a place to fret about the poop that landed in our bangs, but we didn’t notice for three hours. We need a place to laugh at ourselves when we drive our kids to school in pajamas with a towel on our heads. We need a place to document the epic meltdown that just occurred in the Target that left us reeling and this close to losing our shit after watching our kids lose theirs. Or even just a place to connect when we’re doing our best and it doesn’t feel quite good enough. Moral support from others deep in the trenches.
Moms need to be connected. Facebook is our drug of choice, the vehicle that brings us all together. The ultimate koffee klatch, if you will. But just like Valium, it has drawbacks. We run the risk of being more communicative with the screen than our kids. Dependence is a very real possibility. I know if I take a few hours away, folks are looking for me, worried about me. In turn, I start to get a little fidgety. What’s happening, I wonder? Oh! I need to share this!, starts to feel really important.
Yeah, there are definite drawbacks. And truth be told, I am way more dependent on Facebook than I ever believe my Mom was on Valium. Her once a month life line on an epic-ly bad day is my daily necessity. Like keyboard caffeine.
“Hi, my name is Mary Tyler Mom and I am addicted to Facebook.” “HI, MARY TYLER MOM,” is what 11,947 say in unison every morning as I power up the iPad and check Facebook before the weather, news, or anything else of import. Yeah, Facebook is definitely the new Valium. At least it’s my Valium.
And as much as I love the Facebook, I love my blog ever better. Get notified of every posting with a subscription. Here! Now! Free!
Type your email address in the box and click the “create subscription” button. My list is completely spam free, and you can opt out at any time.
Mary Tyler Mom 