Zen and the Art of Motherhood

Here goes another confession. Yeah, I know, what else is new?

Call me old fashioned, but I'm horrible with cell phones. I'm notorious for my uncanny ability to lose mine. When I do find it, the battery's usually dead. And on that off chance that its in place AND has power, its probably stashed at the bottom of my purse so I never hear the stupid thing go off.

Today was no exception. A couple of days ago it wouldn't charge so I neatly (not!) put it away. I admit, with kids screaming, dogs running off and dinner burning, it just wasn't at the top of my proverbial pile.


Too bad for me, when I went to find it, it was nowhere.  Kaput!

And right now I could really use that normally insignificant hunk of metal. You see, our home phone (yeah, I know a lot of you in the younger crowd may consider this in of itself archaic) is having issues.

Every time I pick up the phone, it shouts back a static sound at a decibel level way too high for human ears. At first I thought it would go away on its own, but after a day of causing irreparable damage to my eardrums, I decided to take drastic measures.

I called the phone company.

I was greeted by a lovely voice (automated of course), then prompted to several other equally automated voices. Then the real fun began. I got to the part where I was supposed to give my computerized friend some simple answers.

Simple? Right. Between the static and the three year old screaming in the background I guess I wasn't making myself very clear. I kept getting the Hal of automated systems saying, "I'm sorry, I didn't get that. Could you say it again?"

Well after the fifth time around, I began to get a little testy. That's when I found myself screaming at the top of my lungs. The neighbors stared, the little guy cried, wondering why mommy was acting so crazy. (Don't worry kid, in time you'll get used to it.)