Tag: Mary Tyler Mom

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Social Media 101: My Barbie Mea Culpa

Five days ago I wrote a post about the bald Barbie facebook page that had been crossing my feed quite a bit in the two weeks prior to that.  As the mom of a girl who died of cancer, lots of folks assumed I would be interested. That was a safe assumption.  Receiving those posts from friends and readers didn’t annoy me — it was clear that folks thought I would appreciate the idea.

What did annoy me was the idea itself.  Barbie is an icon of unattainable and unhealthy ideals of beauty and she becoming a plastic symbol now preaching acceptance of young girls like my daughter made my stomach turn.  YES, children with cancer need acceptance and support, but I stand firm that they need research more.  Dolls are great and can be therapeutic.  I get it.  But one in five of the girls diagnosed with cancer will die.  Their parents and families will forever mourn their passing.  Much in the same way that plastic Barbie  dolls will forever clog our landfills.

So I wrote about it.  Sitting in my pajamas, click clacking away on my lap top, Mary Tyler Son blessedly occupied with new Christmas and birthday gifts, I wrote about it.  Me, a computer, a sofa.

I opted to use an image in the post that is the facebook avatar of one of the groups promoting the idea of the bald Barbie — there were several groups when I wrote the post.  Within an hour or so, the administrator of the page somehow became alerted to my blog and wrote several comments.  Her tone was respectful, though her arguments, in my humble estimation, were weak.  At the time of my post, the page had approximately 5K facebook likes.  There was some excitement on Day 1, as the administrator of the page linked to it on her bald Barbie page, calling it “negative” and “against our cause.”

Early on Day 2, I heard from a childhood friend, a local news anchor, that my Barbie v. Cancer post had been picked up by Jeff Crilley’s Rundown. What’s Jeff Crilley’s Rundown, you ask?  Yeah, I had to Google it, too.   Apparently, Jeff Crilley is a pretty powerful guy.  Another friend referred to him as the “Faith Popcorn of trending and emerging topics.”

Crilley runs a PR shop, all journalists, all the time.  He publishes a daily “Rundown,” a subscription service that offers story suggestions for journalists around the country of trending topics.  Mr. Crilley, somehow, probably because of the healthy traffic that was generated, listed my Barbie v. Cancer post as a story to watch and cover.

By Tuesday night, several small media outlets around the country started running stories about the call for a bald Barbie to raise acceptance for girls with cancer and other illnesses that result in hair loss.  One gal (I can’t bring myself to call her a journalist) in Salt Lake City identified me as the “leader of the anti-bald Barbie movement.”  Really? Huh.  A movement?  And here I thought it was just me in my jammies on the living room sofa expressing an opinion.

Tuesday night is when things started getting heated.  More stories started appearing.  All referenced the bald Barbie facebook page that I had featured.  Their numbers started exploding.  The bald Barbie pages I did not feature saw no change.  Flatline.  Threads on the featured page became so heated that folks championing “the cause,” as it is so ridiculously referred to, started advocating that folks who disagreed with the manufacture and marketing of a bald Barbie should be shot.  Wow.  Yeah, that is when I promised Mary Tyler Dad I would make my exit from visiting that page anymore.

By Wednesday, Day 3, bald Barbie was national news.  God bless the Huffington Post who ran a story where I was referenced as Mary Tyler Mom with a link, rather than “one blogger.”  As Tuesday’s stories made minimal reference to there being an opposing view to the bald Barbie, I started to see the irony of the situation.  Here I was — one mom, one lap top, one pair of pajamas, one sofa — influencing national news.  And with kind of, sort of the opposite effect I was hoping for (though I love all the discussion of pediatric cancer, even if it is sanitized and romanticized).  Oops.

Turns out, America loves herself a Barbie.  Even a bald one.  The bald Barbie facebook page I featured now has over 110K likes.  In four days. Posted by one of their administrators a couple of hours ago:

Okay I am trying not to slam people’s facebook pages with clutter. However, we have been getting complaints about people’s posts. I will say this we love our supporters and hope our growth can keep up. However we grew to over 111,000 in 4 days! We all have families, and some full time jobs. We are not able to catch everything immediately. If someone is completely rude and ridiculous hit the reportbutton to Facebook. Please just contact us if we do not see it. In the last 4 days we have had many media requests internationally and nationally. So it has been very overwhelming to us all how fast this has grown. This has been a more than full time job for all the administrators involved, so please be patient with our growing pains. Thank you for your patience.

As I feared, the original intent of the bald Barbie — raising awareness for childhood cancer and other illnesses that result in girls losing their hair — has been swallowed by the pink breast cancer movement.  Many of the folks responding to this idea, and they are now all over the world, are women who have been affected by breast cancer.  Many more are calling for proceeds to be donated to the Susan G. Komen (I would add “for the cure”, but I’m pretty certain they would slap a lawsuit on my ass if I did that, so I won’t) foundation. I had a hunch that would happen when I first posted on Monday and it brings me no pleasure.

So, you’re welcome, bald Barbie “cause.”  I did you a solid.  And I learned a lesson.  One mom with a laptop and an opinion is a mighty powerful force. Word.

 

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“Kraft och Omtanke” to You

Since posting Donna’s Cancer Story, I have been contacted by hundreds upon hundreds of readers who have been moved, influenced, inspired by our girl.  This has honestly been one of the most humbling experiences I have known.  And, damn, if I’m not gonna need six months to respond to everyone, but I will. 

One reader, a gal named Louise from Sweden, who found Mary Tyler Mom through the Portrait of Adoption post about Donna’s Cancer Story, wrote to me about the inadequacy of words to express what she wished to express to me.  Condolences, support, thoughts, and blessings didn’t quite hit the mark for her.  Instead, she wrote, “kraft och omtanke,” which loosely translates from Swedish to English as “strength and consideration.” 

Louise didn’t explain what it meant in detail to her, but I got it, regardless.  Strength and consideration is what bereaved parents need, she felt.  What I liked about this expression is that it didn’t involve sympathy or a need to reason or explain what happened to Donna and what happened to us as a family when Donna was diagnosed.  Lousie’s wish for us was simple and clear — strength and consideration.

Since she wrote in late September, I have found myself using the phrase when I am contacted by other bereaved parents.  “Strength and consideration,” I write them as I sign off, and let them take it for what it is.  To me, the wish of strength is clear and obvious.  The wish for consideration is less so, perhaps. 

When you look up the word consideration in the dictionary, this is what you find:

  1. the act of considering; careful thought;
  2. something that is to be kept in mind when making a decision;
  3. thoughtful or sympathetic regard or respect; thoughtfulness for others;
  4. a thought or reflection;
  5. a recompense or payment, as for work done; compensation;
  6. importance;
  7. estimation; esteem.

There is so much to mine in these seven nuanced definitions of what is seemingly a simple word.  Last night, on the Mary Tyler Mom facebook page, another reader posted a photo of her new tatoo — two acorns with the ‘choose hope’ mantra next to them.  It was beautiful and kind of fierce.  She wanted it on her wrist so that she would see and be reminded of the message to live life with hope; that hope is a conscious choice to be made every day.  Anyway, I digress. 

In the thread under the ‘choose hope’ tattoo photo, a reader asked others to wish her luck for the upcoming holiday season.  Her daughter, who was born on her own birthday in November, had died at three years old on Christmas Eve.  As you can imagine, November and December must be hell for this mom.  For me, Donna’s birthday is much harder than her death anniversary, or “remembery” as her playmate coined it this year.  (Remembery is my new favorite should be word.)  Donna will never be five or six or seven or anything higher than four.  To have these milestones so attached to a universally recognized holiday, as the reader does, must just suck. 

I wished her strength and consideration.  Our thread continued, as she asked after the consideration part, wanting to better understand it.  I gave her my interpretation, which was that I took consideration to mean understanding with compassion; that Lousise in Sweden wished for me and for all bereaved parents strength and a compassionate understanding of the grief we carry.  Grief is a burden, you see.  It is heavy. 

When I write to other bereaved parents, the Terrible Fraternity, I call us, sometimes I use the Swedish version, and sometimes, when I don’t have another computer or phone handy to look it up, I simply wish strength and consideration.  I don’t explain it, just let people come to their own understanding of what it might mean.

The more I think about “kraft och omtanke,” I understand it more fully and appreciate its universal significance.  Who amongst us doesn’t need more kraft och omtanke in our life? 

I mentioned the humbling nature of the responses I have received and so often, when a reader gives me the gift of their own story, I am simply stunned with wonder and respect for them.  So often, in the comfort of my own head, I ask myself, “My God, how do they do it?”  The irony, of course, is that the reader wrote with the exact same feeling about me, “My God, how does she live with the grief and loss of Donna?”

So to you, reader, whatever your situation, I wish for you kraft och omtanke. 

If you grieve, kraft och omtanke. 

If you have miscarried, kraft och omtanke.

If you didn’t receive the parenting you deserved, kraft och omtanke.

If you are unemployed and there is no hope for work on your horizon, kraft och omtanke.

If you are caring for an autistic child, kraft och omtanke.

If you are a single parent, kraft och omtanke.

If you exist within an abusive relationship, kraft och omtanke.

If your self-esteem doesn’t exist, for whatever reason, kraft och omtanke.

If paying your bills every month is a stressful situation, kraft och omtanke.

If your car broke down in a rain storm, kraft och omtanke.

If you have five children under the age of ten and are a SAHM, kraft och omtanke.

If you are bullied, kraft och omtanke.

If you bully, kraft och omtanke.

If you feel no one understands you, kraft och omtanke.

If you’re stuck in a hundred different ways, kraft och omtanke.

If your name is Gwyneth Paltrow, kraft och omtanke.

If you have the burden of providing, kraft och omtanke.

If you are a liberal, kraft och omtanke.

If you are a conservative, kraft och omtanke. 

If you hit a puppy in your minivan with your daughter in the back seat, kraft och omtanke.

If your toddler is working your last nerve, kraft och omtanke.

If your worry that same toddler will die of cancer, kraft och omtanke.

If you care for a special needs child, kraft och omtanke. 

If you’re not as pretty as your sister, kraft och omtanke. 

If you are a caregiver, kraft och omtanke.

If you love someone who is disappearing a little each day from Alzheimer’s, kraft och omtanke.

If you’re too old to cut your own toenails, kraft och omtanke.

If you or someone you love lives with mental illness, kraft och omtanke.

If you don’t know what to make for dinner, but your family is hungry, kraft och omtanke.

Strength and consideration, folks, to all of us. 

 

 

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The Apple of my Eye

I am really sad tonight.  There are tears spilling for someone I greatly respected, relied upon daily, and who brought me immeasurable joy.   Ironically, I never knew or met this person.   Steve Jobs, founder of Apple, visionary, and revolutionary died today.  Of cancer.  I hate that beast.

My grief, and yes, folks, it is grief, is disproportionate, of course.  Those who knew Mr. Jobs, worked with him, lived with him, and loved him will be feeling his death on a much more intimate level, but citizens of the developed world have been touched by him whether they know or understand it.  Like me.

I think of myself as a technophobe.  I am lame that way.  Technology intimidates me and confuses me.  I am lazy, and understanding a lot of technology feels like a burden in my already busy life.  All of that changed in May 2010 when Mary Tyler Dad, completely out of left field, gifted me an iPad for Mother’s Day.  It was my first Mother’s Day without Donna and it sucked.  But Mary Tyler Dad knew that, anticipated that, and wanted to help.  So he bought me an iPad.  I was the coolest kid on the block, as it had been out less than a month, but I had no freaking idea what I was supposed to do with the thing.  I didn’t understand it as a gift.  Yes, it was sleek, sexy, edgy, but was I gonna be expected to use the thing?  Yes, folks, I am a cranky, ungrateful wife at times.

Within a few days I made my peace with it.  Mary Tyler Dad did the heavy lifting and I explored.  Huh.  It was kind of neat.  Wow.  Look what it does.  Man, did you see that?  I fell in love.  I was smitten. 

At first, my interest in the iPad was a controlled flirtation.  Oh, yeah, I was interested, but I was interested in a lot of things.  There were days I barely used it.  Usually, I would pull it out in the evenings and shop for this thing called apps.  Mysterious things, those apps. 

Within weeks, the flirtation got a bit more serious.  Mary Tyler Dad would pick it up and I would wince a little inside.  We started dating nightly, the iPad and I.  It was a great date, I gotta say.  Always knew just what I needed and wanted.  I discovered things like Netflix live streaming, hulu+, and HBOGo.  My innocent flirtation had turned into abandonment.  I jokingly started referring to my husband as an iPad widow.   I would retreat to bed in the evenings with my tablet love and I would wake up with it, too.  When life got rough, as life is wont to do with me, it kept me company, nursing me through two miscarriages.  I watched full seasons of Nip/Tuck and Mildred Pierce and Boardwalk Empire and The Bachelor.   The iPad has been with me through much of my grief and it has been a welcome support.

At some point in time, Mary Tyler Son discovered it, too.  I now joke that he has custody of the thing and I have visitation rights.  But this is significant, and another indication of Mr. Job’s brilliance.  When my boy started using it, he was under two.  And yet he was using it.  At first, I helped, but within days, the kid had it down.  This is technology that is so perfect, so intuitive that a two year old can use it.  My poor 78 year old Dad just looks at him with equal amazement and envy. 

This year our charity has gifted several iPads to the Child Life therapists at Children’s Memorial and are now in the process of gifting one to a Special Ed. classroom in Joplin, Missouri.  iPads help people, you see.  The connect people.  They have changed lives.  It changed mine, I know for certain.  Ask my widower. 

My iPhone, bought this summer, permanently retiring my dumb phone, has changed me, too.  I am now officially wired.  This is good and bad, I understand, but it is.  I had never sent a text before June 2011.  Can you even believe that?  Not one.  My iPhone allows me to connect with my readers, you dear folks, through instant posts and photos as I walk through my day.  I like that, as I like you.  It helps me feel less alone and lonely, as grief can cause an overdose of solitude.  My iPhone allows me to capture Mary Tyler Son on a whim, through photo and video.  These are memories that will stay with me, as I call them up immediately with a push of a button and a swipe of a thumb.  I am now no longer the lame mother without a picture of my kid.  I have hundreds now. 

Thank you, Steve Jobs.  Cancer is a beast and I grieve for you, for yours, for us.  You have changed the world, sir.  You have made my world a better place, a friendlier place, a more connected place.  Well done, sir.  Well done.