I wear many hats in my daily schedule. I play the role of laundress, event coordinator and that of head bookkeeper. I’m chief counselor, communications director, and although I don’t hunt, I do gather.
I have many tools at my disposal when it comes to organizing the daily schedule. I email colleges to get transcripts, I text the priest to schedule a confession, and I’ve been known to Facebook a friend to schedule lunch.
I used to be frustrated when my kids would TT (Table Text), and worse yet TWMT (Text While Mom’s Talking). Then one day I found myself responding to a text while watching a family movie, and when our Charlie noticed my TDFT (Texting During Family Time), he quickly ratted me out to his dad— the last soul on earth who doesn’t slide his fingers across a tiny keyboard to find out what’s for dinner.
I never truly realized how far I had gone until one day when I joined a group of ladies. “Has anyone contacted Annie about our upcoming event?” one of the women asked.
“I sent her a message on Facebook,” another quickly responded, “but never heard back.”
“Did you email her?” yet another inquired.
“No, but I sent her a text message, and nary a word.”
We all shook our heads a minute and pondered. Imean, what to do? “How about,” one of the women finally suggested, “we just call her. ”
We had become our children, and no one had sent us as much as an email notification to let us know.
Although I’d rather text one of the kids to bring home a gallon of milk than wait until he’s donewith football camp to make the call, I am still capable of using the phone.
I can lift the receiver, dial a number and chat it up with my mother like it’s my job. Why, I consider myself to be quite versatile.
My beloved spouse, on the other hand, (did I mention he doesn’t text?) is strictly a phone-call guy.
This presents a problem when the kids need to contact him, and it’s forced me to add a dispatcher hat to my mounting collection.
“Can you call Dad and tell him that I’m ready to be picked up?” a text read just last week.
“Hey, call Dad and have him pick me up a bag of Peachy-Os while he’s at the lumber yard,” another proclaimed the other day. And the monthly pick simply suggested, “Hey, will you ask Dad to pass the salt?”
What had we become? Facebookers, emailers, text-messagers?
Why, I shook my head in disgust. Knowing full good and well that my husband would never take on the task of learning the marvels of T9Word much less swipe technology, I had to revert my children back to actually making a phone call and putting the cell phone down during any and all face conversations.
Sadly, I didn’t take a good look at myself until a graduation thank-you card came back in the mail several weeks ago with a yellow sticker saying the recipient had moved and there was no forwarding address.
“Hey,” I said to Huey, “text Jared and ask him where he lives.”
“I don’t have his number in my phone.”
As we both pondered what to do, the envelope sat undelivered on the kitchen counter. “Are you ever going to send this?” another son inquired when he picked it up a week
later. By then, the envelope had taken on a wrinkled appearance and was worn on the edges.
“I sent Jared’s mom an email, but she never responded,” I said with bewilderment.
Then my beloved spouse sat his coffee cup down on it and gave it a caffeinated stamp of approval to further enhance its worn-out facade.
“What’s this?” he asked as he noticed the envelope’s grubby appearance.
“It’s a card for Jared’s family, but I don’t have their current address,” I replied. “Should I Facebook his dad?”
“Maybe,” my husband, the king of prehistoric communications, suggested, “or you could just look them up in the phone book.”
He may not live on the technological edge, but he’s resourceful. You’ve got to give him that.
Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book “Are We There Yet?” You can reach her at www.loriclinch.com.