The generation gap of cell phones

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . March 11, 2010 . 6:25PM

Last night, my phone rang and something told me not to answer the call. Not that it was a bill collector, or a survey, or even the pizza guy telling me he couldn’t deliver for some lame reason that would cause wailing or gnashing of teeth. No, I’d been sick since Saturday and didn’t feel like talking. I barely looked at the phone and willed it to stop ringing.

It ignored me and did what phones do. Glad to see someone around here has a work ethic, because this week I want to crawl in bed with a hot man and a bowl of soup and watch The Golden Girls while I lament about how our bodies break down and it’s not fair that mucus comes out of so many orifices of the body at a rate that is unequal to the rate of liquid I’m putting into my body.

I picked up the phone and saw that it was mom, which was good because I’ve been wanting my mommy for days. I answered and was immediately accosted with the accusation that my son was NOT responding to text messages.

Let this sink in for a minute.

My 9-year old…is not responding…to his grandmother’s text messages.

Now I get to explain why this is a huge deal.

AJ has a cell phone. He’s had one for almost 2 years of a 2 year deal. He does extra chores, beyond his regular ones, to help pay for the $10 his contract costs us every month. He takes his phone with him to his friend’s house and it has come in very handy. His phone has music on it and games and it keeps him from getting too bored.

Recently, Leon and I had made the decision to allow him to have text messaging. He is only allowed to text me and Leon and those who are in his address book. Those people include family and close family friends. He may only text them with their permission and ours. This is a strict rule. He is learning sentence structure and proper communication skills as well as spelling and it seems to be helping.

When I told my mother that AJ was getting unlimited text messaging (to avoid any potential charges and because we have it on a family plan), she groaned. My mother has held out on text messaging for years. In fact, when anyone would mention text messaging, she would groan, glare at us and say “Well, don’t you dare text me. That costs money!”

My mother is not an old woman. She is not yet 50. However, she is incredibly frugal and does not buy anything that is not on sale. She gets angry about how Abercrombie has their name on all of their shirts and that my sister and I do not necessarily share her ideas on thriftiness. She has held out on the peer pressure for text messaging from friends and other family members for ages. My sister and I have begged her to get text messaging for years.

Nope. It wasn’t happening.

3 weeks ago, I mentioned that AJ was getting unlimited messaging and that he would be sending her messages.

Say what you want about the woman, but she’s a devoted NeeNee.

She called last night TICKED that she’s been text messaging AJ like crazy and he won’t text her back.

Love. It’s a funny thing.

As the child grows…

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . November 11, 2009 . 10:49AM

When AJ was little, he had mad empathy. When other babies would cry, he would wail like crazy. This has never left him and I’m inclined to believe it’s part of his temperament. He’s always been the caretaker in this house, and I think it’s because he sees that when one of us is sick, we all take care of that person. It is how we handle sickness or sadness or stress. Since he was very tiny, he would play the nursemaid when Leon or I was sick. I still remember him fetching me lukewarm water in the bathroom cup when I was nursing a migraine because he’d seen Leon bring me water for my aspirin. I believe he was as young as 3 when he started.

When Leon or I am sick, he hates to go to school and when he is here, he will bring ice packs, aspirin, wet washcloths and as many hugs, kisses and cuddles as we will take. There are many nights that he went to bed on a Friday night at 7:30 because I was sick with a migraine and laying there. He would lay next to me, patting my hand, and would eventually drift off.

There is a certain sense of guilt that comes with having chronic pain–that burden that you place on the people around you. The feelings that you may have of feeling like less of a person some days often express themselves at the weakest moments and not always in the best of ways. They often present in anger, misery or irritability. AJ is immune to that when someone is sick.

This isn’t to say that he doesn’t have his egocentric “me me me” side, because he certainly does, but it has never been as strong as I expected. And I’m watching him shed it rapidly and sooner than the developmental scales predict and I wonder about the kind of man he’ll become, and how quickly it will happen. Will I ever be ready for it? People keep telling me to have more children. My guess is that they recognize that there is so much love within me for this little guy that it breaks me.

I worry less about it when I see that I haven’t done an awful job and that my health issues haven’t affected him so dramatically. As he was going to bed tonight, he kissed my cheek, hugged me tightly and said, “I hope you feel better tomorrow, mama.” Then, he gave me the dimpled grin that melts my heart and he and his hoppy little weiner dog went to sleep.

Somehow, I think we’re all going to be alright…

A parenting confession

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . October 13, 2009 . 7:30PM

A.J. has done something that may come across as mildly eccentric to people outside of our family, since he was around 3 years old. Like many mothers, I often lost my temper with him at that age and used cliched expressions of exasperations.

One of those said expressions was “Are you listening to me? Turn your ears on!” I don’t remember my mother ever saying this to me, though she may have. Mom, you’ll have to to let me know on this one. However, A.J. had a particularly difficult time maintaining attention. He, like me, often daydreams and spends time in his own head.

There isn’t anything wrong with this as long as he’s getting his work done. For me, the overachiever, I’d do my work and then daydream. For him, he’d do half of the work and then stop and dream. “Turn your ears on” became his anthem.

One day, I was in the living room and I turned to snap at his little 3-year old self for some perceived slight. “A.J! What did I say? Turn your ears on!” It was then I noticed something odd. His chubby little hands went up to both ears and twisted them gently, like radio dials. He looked at me, with belligerence (the same look I give people when I’m offended) and stated in a firm tone, “Mama, I heared you. Dey on.”

My mouth flopped open. I sat on the floor and I folded that child in my arms. It was so like something I would do that I laughed until I cried and then laughed some more. The child had “turned his ears on.”

Now, here is where I failed at parenting. I never made him stop. It works. It gets his attention. When I say “turn your ears on,” he stops what he’s doing. He moves his hands up, twists his dials (ears) and listens to what I have to say. He’s 8.

I have no intention of correcting him.

I still want to pull him to the floor, smother him in kisses and laugh until I cry.

The emptiness of words

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . October 8, 2009 . 1:27PM

As A.J. grows up there are a lot of things from his childhood that are lost to us forever that we love in the minute. One of those things is the speech of our child. Our life will be much more empty when AJ starts saying words correctly.

For example:

Calvin & Hobbes instead of Calvin and “Hobbies”

I expect instead of I “suspect”

Spaghetti instead of “pahsghetti”

Pretzel instead of “prenzhel”

And the one we’ve already lost: Water instead of “Moder”

Yes…life is full of loss. The little smiles we share as they grow.

Friday Confessional: I don’t know how to let him go

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . October 2, 2009 . 9:19AM

I don’t know how to let him go. He’s not a baby anymore and it’s becoming more and more apparent that he’s growing up.

I remember the terror I felt the first time I realized that he no longer had the baby scent.

And then the first time he smelled. I mean really smelled. As in “go take a shower you smell.”

And the first time he actually met my mouth instead of my chin or my nose when he gave me a kiss.

And all the small things that I find myself now terrified of losing: his hand when he crosses the street, the goodnight kisses, when he falls asleep in our bed–his little hand searching for my shoulder and the sweet smiles in his sleep when I say his name and tell him I love him, the first time he’s embarrassed when I tell him I love him in front of his friends, or the first time he doesn’t rush to greet me when he comes home from school.

Every stage of his life has been my favorite. He’s my favorite. He’s always been my favorite. No one makes me laugh as hard as him. He has my sense of humor. Of course I’m going to think he’s hilarious. He’s thoughtful and serious and sensitive and laughs at fart jokes because they are hysterical. They are. I don’t care what you think. THEY ARE HYSTERICAL. Prudes.

I don’t know how to let him go. But I will because I love him with quiet desperation and care. And the day will come when he has to let me go, too. Loving someone means that you will eventually feel the loss that comes with letting go. And I’m scared to death.