"Oh, I don't text," she sneered. "I'm not, you know, like fifteen." She fancied herself too above-it-all, too busy actually living to spend time Facebooking or Twittering or blogging. I mean, really.
Then, her youngest son spent some time in the NICU, and she realized how very, very nice it was to use her ancient cell phone, and how therapeutic it was to write his story via email. She got a Facebook account to make this process more accessible, which eventually morphed into a blog.
Her son has been home and wrecking havoc for some time now, but the blog and the Facebook, and the Twitter, and yes, Lord Help Us, the text messaging have become important. In fact, this technological sixth sense has usurped prior activities, including basic human hygiene (more on that momentarily) and clean floors.
So, thus, a moment of silence for the passing of this girl's Technological Luddite-Hood. She has crossed the final threshold: She now own a PDA.
With her new PDA, she can read all of Mrs. 4444's Friday Fragment contributions, as well as bring her own to the oh-so-technologically advanced table. Join her, won't you?
Enough with the third person! Yech. Is there anything more disturbing than people who routinely refer to themselves thusly? When I first moved to Maryland, I applied to teach English at a local high school. The principal referred to himself in third person throughout the interview: "John South runs a tight ship. John South is very impressed with your references. John South wonders if you would like to be a member of our Freshman Academy."
I replied, "Nancy Campbell has another interview tomorrow, but she will be sure to get back to you."
It took all of my effort not to run out of that school as if I was being chased by Zombie John South:
***I learned yet another valuable lesson from my friend Janet. When I saw her a few weeks back, I noticed her rubbing her long, beautiful black hair with baby powder.
"Why are you doing that?" I queried.
"It sucks up the grease so I don't have to shower awhile longer."She gave her hair a good shaking, and sure enough, it appeared clean and smelled nice to boot.
There are times in your life when you hold brilliance in your hand. Suffice to say, my hair smells remarkably like a fresh diaper these days. (Note: if you choose to try this yourself, heed my warning and rub it in really well. Otherwise, you look dirty and a bit like a coke fiend.)
Owen was sitting next to Joel, giving him hugs and kisses. He patted him gently on the head and cooed, "I love you Joely." Then, without pausing, he turned to Paul and asked, "Are you going to take my picture now?"
As mentioned before, we purchased new cell phones. They do everything but make piping hot french fries. I downloaded a free ap for various ringtones. Out of all the possible selections, I chose Miley Cyrus's "Party in the U.S.A". Paul, of course, questioned my taste. I told him to ask his co-workers if this song was A) Awesome or B) Lame.
He got two responses: "I've never heard of that song." and "I like that song but I'm too embarrassed to tell anybody."
Well, Paul. I think somebody just got served. That's a ringing (sorry) endorsement if I ever heard one.
I've been running into the mother of a former student a lot recently. Her daughter is doing early-application to a prestigious school, and I said to her today, "Well, just trust that she'll end up exactly where she needs to be." The mother's eyes welled up a bit, and she said, "I know that's true. But letting go is the hardest thing I have ever done."
It made me think that with all of the chaos and noise in my life with the toddlers, they are still mine for awhile. When the day comes that I will drive away from their college campuses, and look at those empty seats in the car, it will hurt. A good hurt, perhaps, but it will ache nevertheless.
I'm yet to understand the daily bravery it takes to parent teenagers and young adults. I'm sure God does it that way on purpose.
Happy Friday to all. Stay dry!