1) Even if they are super cute, on major sale and look ski-slope chic, do NOT wear fur-lined boots on an airplane while chasing a two-year-old. Your feet will get very hot. Like I need to take a cold shower when I got home hot.
I think I’m still hot.
2)Â Coming back from vacation to your SAHM routine is a heck of a lot better than going back to work the next day.
3)Â It’s a good idea to remind your husband to water ALL plants in the house while you’re away. Not just the one on the main floor. (Happy anniverary, hon.)
No, I didn’t get new flowers today.
4)Â Wake up really really early in the morning or put your kid to bed really really early so that you can watch all the back-logged episodes of Project Runway, American Idol and Nip/ Tuck that you missed.
5)Â Try to get to the grocery store the morning of your return. Otherwise, you’ll be scrounging around Starbucks for a nutritious breakfast for the little one.
I think I’m going to petition Starbucks to keep breakfast sandwiches on their menu.
In trying to figure out the best way to make, contact and keep new SAHM friends, I have to remind myself that everyone’s communication preferences are different.  My preferred method of communication is still e-mail – a holdover from my working mom days. But e-mails are harder to come by and typically the slowest method of communicating with an SAHM. (Unless such SAHM has a BlackBerry, and although the devices are picking up in popularity with the mommy-set, they’re still few and far between in my circle of friends.) So that leaves me with two options of communication: calling by phone or sending text messages. If I could avoid the phone I would. Thus, if given the option, I’d rather text first and call later.
But texting is a very different animal than e-mailing as I’m finding out the hard way. An incident earlier this week has left me with a sinking feeling about creating, sustaining and maintaining friendships through text messaging. Have you ever sent a text you regretted?
The target of my regrettable text probably knows me by face but not by name. She’s another SAHM in Chicago and we share certain things in common – yoga classes, mommy classes and courteous waves in such class parking lots. Perhaps one day we would be friends if put in the right circumstances. Like, what if by chance we were vacationing at the same place in the great state of Colorado? I could have tried to let this coincidence occur randomly and see if by chance we’d pass each other on the vast slopes of the mountain, but due to my lack of impulse control (remember these boots? yeah, I returned them, ok, moving on…) I decided to contact this almost-perfect stranger and send a little electronic envelope her way.Â
Texting rule #1: only text people who you are sure will know who you are when they receive your text.
It took effort for me to figure out her number (I’m really not going to go there because it pretty much makes me seem the world’s biggest stalker) and more effort to figure out how exactly to word a 50-character count message to someone I barely know from someone she likely doesn’t remember.Â
Texting rule #2: if you can’t articulate what you want to say in a text by using acronymns, don’t send it.Â
But it all seemed so funny and random at the time. What are the chances that two moms from Chicago would have their children signed up for the same ski school program many miles away? I mean, I saw her kid there (and scanned the sign in sheet for pertinent information, g-d I’m such a stalker). This coincidence NEEDED no, DEMANDED to be documented. So I did it. I rewrote the message several times and when I landed on a version that I thought was the least-SWF-ish I hit send.
Texting rule #3: if you think your text reads like it’s coming out of nowhere, then it probably is.
Crap. Crap. Crap. What did I just do?
It felt so normal to send a text to a person I know by face but whose number I was guessing. It seemed funny to bring up a silly chance encounter in 25 words or less via a little silver device. But I knew that when I didn’t hear from her for 24 hours that the damage had been done. After two days went by I tried and tried to “recall” the text. Did you know that you can’t do that? I didn’t until this week. By yesterday, I knew all hope was lost. My text fell into the dreaded “who the F is this?” category.
Texting rule #4: if you don’t hear back from a text within 30 minutes, consider yourself text-less.
Problem is, I’m kind of addicted to my new BlackBerry Pearl and because I’m really not getting as many e-mails as I did when I was working, I like to have a reason to use it. (Yes, I’m a tech geek just like all these other women, shoot me.) I like the triple-beep noise the device makes when I recieve a message back. I like how much easier it is to use Smart-type than a numerical keypad to type the letters. I like the immediacy and impersonal-yet-really-personal nature of the beast.
But when you text on a whim to a number you’re not sure will recognize you, you must be ready to face the consequences that the text might vanish into the technology abyss of the trash bin. And if you’re trying to make new friends by this easy-but-dangerous mechanism, you might think twice before you hit the little green send button or you’ll get yourself a great case of text message remorse.
Texting rule #5: When in doubt, become friends first, get the number via normal means and just pick up the phone.
Tag: text message, mom friends, SAHM friends
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Cross-posted at the Chicago Moms Blog, where I know my text messages would be recognized.
Long before the advent of digital cameras, phones with video and the internet, my parents would tell us to record the experiences of our youth to our memory. My dad would instruct us, “put it in the memory book.”
On our various sojourns to the western-most parts of the country we’d pass by the huge mountains of Colorado, awestruck at their beauty. We’d see buffalo roaming the great plains of Wyoming. We’d gaze in disbelief at the massive redwoods in California. We’d capture what we can on our old 35mm, but what I remember most about those trips were what we didn’t record, those memories we would talk about late at night near the roaring fire or in the car on the way to the next destination.
Those became the photos of my memory book.
I always thought along the way that the memory book was just mine to cherish, but as I grew, I realized my parents’ memories were richer and deeper than any my 10-year-old brain could remember. They relied on these memories as we grew older and vacationed less with them. (My current trip not included.)
Now, with blogs, flickr, podcasts, web conference calls, we don’t need to rely on our memories as we used to. Technology does it for us. We can click on the details, replay the memories on a whim rendering the memory book almost obsolete. As a parent, this is an incredible luxury; we don’t miss a thing.
But we cannot possibly capture the essence of a parental memory solely on a 14-second grainy video. I realized this yesterday when I put my son on skis for the first time. This was a moment I had dreamed of since I was a child – skiing with my child. And when it happened, the 7-megapixel photo couldn’t truly do the squeals and shrieks of laughter eminating from my son justice.
Memory: on skis, age 2
But at least it will help trigger my memory book should my mind fail me one day. I’m not above technology helping remind me why I became a mother.
I’m finding it hard to throw all rules and regulations of child-rearing out the window just because we are on vacation.Â
On sugar:
- For instance, I would strongly advise against giving junior an ENTIRE box of concentrated apple juice in one sitting. And you wonder why he’s bouncing off the walls at dinner.
- And if, by chance, he’s already HAD the apple juice, you are not allowed to then permit him to eat sugar cubes and offer him ice cream for dessert when at such dinner.
Â
On conversation:Â
- It’s not cute to teach a two-year-old how to say “shut your trap” just because you don’t like the DJ on the local radio station.
- It’s even less cute to talk about “how annoying your mommy’s being.”
On separation:
- When preparing to drop off junior at ski school, I would advise against the strategy of putting the words “new toy” and “when you’re done” in the same sentence.
- It doesn’t make it any easier to scream and groan and talk in melodramatic tones about how you’re NOT GOING TO LET JUNIOR CRY AT ALL EVER NEVER EVER.
On giving mommy-time:
- Offering to watch junior while mommy goes on the eliptical machine is much appreciated.
- So was changing that nasty #2 yesterday. Thanks for that.
Anyone out there think it’s funny that I got a call from work today and have been on the phone for the last half hour after I ranted and raved like this?
Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?
This is my first vacation since I became unemployed, and I can already tell the difference. No conference calls or nasty e-mails will threaten me! Begone nasty work dreams and voicemail checking!
It’s pretty laughable to even say I’m on vacation, since my post-work life has been pretty easy breezy (and because we all know what “vacations” with kids are like.) But I’m not in the depths of winter-hell in the Midwest and I can easily get out of going to the grocery store all week. However, I still had to go to Target today to get baby supplies. Some things never change.
But because I am priveleged enough to be able to look at this view, and I have my parents around to help, I’m kind of hoping to squeeze in some time to relaxation or re-focusing outside of my mundane routines. Which probably just means I’ll have more time to go shopping. (Here’s hoping for sales. Cross your fingers!)
Whatever the case, Target run aside (happened upon these ballet flats in the process so it wasn’t so bad), I’m breathing non-city air, I’m seeing what I think is actually the sun (it’s gone missing in Chicago) and I actually got to drink half a beer with dinner. Not bad, eh?
And I got my man, who managed to fall asleep on the plane just as we were landing. Who could ask for anything more?
Old man trouble, I don’t mind him at 20,000 feet.
