It all started with Dirty Shirley. She's loud and bossy. She interrupts everyone's conversation, tries to drown out Bon Jovi, and constantly leads us astray. Unfortunately, we've grown so accustomed to her that's it's become almost impossible not to include her in any family outing. We tolerate her loud sighs followed by the condescending, "Recalculating", because someone somewhere somehow convinced me that we can't function without her.
Not too long after the arrival of Dirty Shirley came her distantly related cousin--on steroids. You might know him as the Smart Phone. Smart Phone--kind of a condescending, self-serving title, don't ya think. And if that title weren't enough all by itself, that Smart Phone comes with a Genius button. And just like most geniuses, trying to communicate with it just makes me feel stupid.
With the Genius button, I'm supposed to be able to speak into the phone and tell it to call one of my contacts. There's even a car mode. Dirt Shirley oughta like that! Just to spite her, I give it a try.
I'm behind the wheel, navigating the one-way streets of down town rush hour. I push the Genius Button.
ME: Call Frank.
Genius: Did you say call Kate?
ME: Call Frank.
Genius: Did you say call Carmen?
ME: No. Carmen sounds nothing like Frank. Call Frank!
Genius: Did you say call Drake?
ME: I don't even know a Drake. There is no Drake in my contacts. CALL FRANK! Dammit!
Genius: Did you say call Janet?
Dirty Shirley: Recalculating!
Apparently that street wasn't exactly heading in the same one way I was heading. What can I say? I guess I'm just not smart enough to manage navigation and communication, even with the aid of the latest life easing technology.
I realize and appreciate that my tech savvy family is trying to corral my A.D.D. brain into organizational submission. However, my daytimer and #2 pencil never need charging and my 3 ring full of loose leaf wide ruled never experiences a paper jam. I push the buttons on my land line phone, it doesn't push mine and my Rand McNally Road map never sasses me!
If this blog actually gets posted correctly, please share your own tech disaster, if only so I don't feel so alone in the universe. However, I hear there's a solution for that too. Our new computer has something called a Skype button.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
Something Right
He's been badgered, picked-on, hen-pecked, nagged, and tormented. He can't seem to get a word in most of the time without being interrupted or corrected or talked-over. He knows--completely against his will--every girl power song by heart, including all the lyrics to the Mama Mia soundtrack. I feel for the kid, but I have no idea how to change this situation. Come on, as a newborn, he came home from the hospital --wrapped in a pink blanket-- to a house full of Barbies and baby dolls. I honestly don't know if he'd know how to act if all the estrogen was somehow magically sucked from our home. He'd probably plug in Kelly Clarkson or Taylor Swift, just so he could function normally.
During his short 12 years, the kid has been dressed as girl, had his Buzz Lightyear tent turned into a princess castle, and forced to compete in Dance Party 2 showdowns. He's had his Lego sculptures pulverized, his Star Wars marathons cut short, and his boyscout uniforms turned into Halloween costumes. He's had his brows plucked and his hair gelled. And through it all, he has remained such a guy! His favorite part of AFV is always the crotch shot section. He wishes everyday were Independence Day, just for an excuse to blow stuff up. Heck, last week he watched 4 full days of televised car auctions, interspersed with sports, of course. Only a guy could handle that, let alone enjoy it!
And yet, even surrounded with baby dolls and Barbies and Justin Bieber, Frank somehow figured out how to be the best kind of boy and the best kind of brother. His sisters don't know how good they've got it. Recently several of Kate's college friends and Sophie's high school friends have figured it out, though. They all want to marry him. I think when Frank grows up, he's gonna have to move to Utah.
It's curious that out of all my children, Frank is who has brought home the most demerit cards. ( For those non-Catholic parents, the demerit card is Catholic school's card stock, tangible admission of guilt, stamped by teachers and presented to parents, displaying a record of misbehavior,eventually resulting in the dreaded DETENTION!) I don't get it. My girls, God love them, are a bit opinionated, overly social, somewhat bossy, and just plain loud. How do they get away with it and he gets demerited? And on the rare occasion when the girls do get the card stamped, it's NEVER their fault! Of course! Even when one sister "shared" her answers with a friend or another "tossed, not threw" a desk across the room in defiance...or rather difference of opinion--it was never their fault.
Last week I received an email from Frank's teacher. The subject line read simply, "Frank." I quickly added up in my mind the number of demerits I had recently initialed. As far as I knew it wasn't detention time...yet. Cautiously, I opened the mail. By the time I was done reading, I was grinning from ear to ear. His class had enjoyed a guest speaker for the past week. At the end of the week, Frank--without prompting--approached the speaker and expressed his genuine appreciation for her time and expertise. He was so humble and grateful that his teacher, overhearing the conversation, was moved to tears and immediately thanked Frank and emailed me. Now, that's a Proud Mom Moment.
I've said before that I'm completely clueless as to how to raise a boy. I'm still not sure if I'm parenting right. I'm serious when I say that I think God gave me good kids because he knew I wouldn't know what to do with naughty ones. And for that reason alone, I know that even if I'm not parenting right, I MUST be doing something right. Nevertheless, Frank is doing a lot of things right! If only there were a trophy for that.
During his short 12 years, the kid has been dressed as girl, had his Buzz Lightyear tent turned into a princess castle, and forced to compete in Dance Party 2 showdowns. He's had his Lego sculptures pulverized, his Star Wars marathons cut short, and his boyscout uniforms turned into Halloween costumes. He's had his brows plucked and his hair gelled. And through it all, he has remained such a guy! His favorite part of AFV is always the crotch shot section. He wishes everyday were Independence Day, just for an excuse to blow stuff up. Heck, last week he watched 4 full days of televised car auctions, interspersed with sports, of course. Only a guy could handle that, let alone enjoy it!
And yet, even surrounded with baby dolls and Barbies and Justin Bieber, Frank somehow figured out how to be the best kind of boy and the best kind of brother. His sisters don't know how good they've got it. Recently several of Kate's college friends and Sophie's high school friends have figured it out, though. They all want to marry him. I think when Frank grows up, he's gonna have to move to Utah.
It's curious that out of all my children, Frank is who has brought home the most demerit cards. ( For those non-Catholic parents, the demerit card is Catholic school's card stock, tangible admission of guilt, stamped by teachers and presented to parents, displaying a record of misbehavior,eventually resulting in the dreaded DETENTION!) I don't get it. My girls, God love them, are a bit opinionated, overly social, somewhat bossy, and just plain loud. How do they get away with it and he gets demerited? And on the rare occasion when the girls do get the card stamped, it's NEVER their fault! Of course! Even when one sister "shared" her answers with a friend or another "tossed, not threw" a desk across the room in defiance...or rather difference of opinion--it was never their fault.
Last week I received an email from Frank's teacher. The subject line read simply, "Frank." I quickly added up in my mind the number of demerits I had recently initialed. As far as I knew it wasn't detention time...yet. Cautiously, I opened the mail. By the time I was done reading, I was grinning from ear to ear. His class had enjoyed a guest speaker for the past week. At the end of the week, Frank--without prompting--approached the speaker and expressed his genuine appreciation for her time and expertise. He was so humble and grateful that his teacher, overhearing the conversation, was moved to tears and immediately thanked Frank and emailed me. Now, that's a Proud Mom Moment.
I've said before that I'm completely clueless as to how to raise a boy. I'm still not sure if I'm parenting right. I'm serious when I say that I think God gave me good kids because he knew I wouldn't know what to do with naughty ones. And for that reason alone, I know that even if I'm not parenting right, I MUST be doing something right. Nevertheless, Frank is doing a lot of things right! If only there were a trophy for that.
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