Hashtag Your Life
To all my Twitter holdouts, let me just say I understand your lack of interest in this post. I used to roll my eyes when people talked about Twitter. But then I saw the error of my ways. All I can do is pray that you, too, will one day join me in the virtual hug that is Twitter.
For those of you who have experienced a conversion, I know I’m preaching to the choir. I realize that you already live a 140 character life.
Now, my husband is one of the aforementioned Twitter holdouts. Mark is a tech savvy guy; he loves gadgets, computers, and all things nerdy. And yet, he claims to see no use in having his own Twitter account. I’m working on this.
Mark is not anti-Twitter for other people, though. I mean, he lives with me. If he were intolerant, things could get ugly. He reads my Twitter stream all the time, and looks over my shoulder when I laugh while reading. He also volunteers ideas.
You should tweet that.
Did you tell Twitter about…?
One day he said, “When you tweet that are you going to add one of those pound sign something-somethings?”
I patted him on the head, and said, “It’s called a hashtag on Twitter, honey. Not a pound sign.”
No, I was not anywhere near that condescending, but we did get a laugh out of it since never in the history of our relationship have I been even one iota more savvy than he is about anything technical. So now it has become a thing we do: we add goofy pound sign references to our inane conversations.
It’s not unusual for one of us to yell, “Pound sign: FAIL!” when dealing with irascible kids or a household mishap.
I started thinking about how, in my role as wife and mother and keeper of order in the home, I repeat myself a lot. And I am tired of it. I am really, really tired of saying the same things all day, every day.
My mom used to call these things “Sermonettes.” We would joke that she should just number her sermonettes instead of wasting her breath. So when someone complained about dinner, instead of launching into “This-is-not-a-smorgasbord-and-I’m-not-a-short-order-cook-you-will-eat-this-and-stop-whining,” she could simply shout “Number 87!”
I used to laugh at her. Now, I get it. I so get it, Mom.
I’m very modern, though, with the Twitter and the Internet and the blogging. Instead of sermonettes, I decided I would hashtag our lives.
I got out a marker, some poster board and my trusty paper slicer, which was given to me by a well-meaning relative who assumes that all stay-at-home mothers sit around doing craft and scrapbook projects (bwahahaha, says the woman with two unfinished baby books on the shelf), and I made some hashtags. I now leave them around the house, or hold them up, instead of wearing out my vocal chords.
The fact that my kids can’t read yet puts a small kink in this plan, but so far it’s working really well for my husband.
What follows is a hashtag-themed photo essay. Enjoy.