I distinctly remember my mom ‘s inept ability at operating our VCR. As a know-it-all teenager I felt completely superior technologically and if I kept any of that into my adulthood when trying to help my mother on her computer last year…well, God has completely humbled me. My hi-tech nemesis? The cell phone. I first recognized my technological insufficiency, when I was surrounded by teenagers and I pulled out my cranberry colored Samsung flip phone to send a text. The mere sight of my phone raised some eyebrows and then when I began pushing the number “4” button three times to get to the letter “I,” everyone smirked. My children outright laughed. At that moment, I knew once again I was becoming my mother in yet another aspect of my life.
In an attempt to modernize, I updated my communicative device with an Apple iPhone. How exciting it was to just hit a letter on my phone and it actually be the letter. I think I’ve gotten quite savvy, at least by my standards, with my phone; reading with the kindle app, facebooking, taking notes, using the calculator, and of course texting. And although I will not be classified as a techie anytime soon, I feel I’ve grown in the area of texting immensely. My biggest problem is my lack of being able to multi-task while using it. For some reason my brain does not allow me to do anything else while typing on my phone. If I input a contact, I have to stop walking and devote all of my attention to the recent name and number. If I need to reply to a text, I pause like a deer in headlights holding the phone about 12 inches from my face and “point” out letters with one finger. Alas, multi-tasking may not be my strong suit. My friend Cora, explained it best when she said, and I paraphrase, “Mothers can only multi-task mindless acts. If it requires thought, it’s the only thing she can do.”
I have proven that this is not only fact in my life, but is also wise counsel. First, I was texting while toasting waffles the other morning and completely shoved my fingers between the roof of the toaster oven and the burner–ouch! And then the most convincing evidence came two days later…
Brian had been out of town all week and on the day of his arrival I was taking all six kids to a swimming party. Getting out of the house is not an easy job, let alone add the need for sunscreen, bathing suits, towels and a picnic lunch. The stress of the day was compounded when Brian texted me to tell me his ride fell through so he and his co-worker needed to be picked up in Los Angeles. I told him I would figure it out and let him know via text who would be there, the time, etc. I arranged for my 20-year-old nephew, also named Brian, to pick him up. As I was restocking the diaper bag and shouting the needs of what still needed to be done, located, and loaded into the truck to the kids, I forgot the sage counsel of my friend and texted Brian. A quick note was all I sent him so he would know what was in store…not only for the ride home, but for later that evening if you get my drift. I’m feeling a little smug at this point, things seem to be falling into place, lunch is packed, kids are dressed, and I’ve stoked the home fires.
As I’m walking into my kitchen, my nephew says, “you sent that text to me.”
I thought I was going to puke. He was completely nonchalant, I could have moved on with the day, but no-that’s not how I roll.
“Really,” I asked. Like he could have made this stuff up.
My only retort at the time was, “well this is kinda awkward.”
“Yes,” he said.
Then to make matters worse, I launched into the “well-you-knew-we had-sex-anyway” speech.
Could I make this any worse? Why yes, yes I can.
I then feel the need to send him another text. And by him, I mean my nephew. Have I learned nothing?!?! The next one read, “reason #73 why you shouldn’t sext: you never know who might get it.”
Seriously? Why do I do say these things? Most people probably do know who they are sexting, it’s only idiot me who can’t talk to others while selecting a recipient for their risque dialogue.
As I hung my head in shame, I immediately thought of our VCR as my sister and I tried to explain to our mom how to set the program to record Days of Our Lives. Duh! Technological dunce, right? Irony is the humor of God.