Ode to Cell Phones

I hate cell phones. We have reluctantly adopted them as a necessary evil since we have five kids, and the four still in middle and high school are all involved in after school activities.

When my oldest son left his in the back pocket of his jeans, then ran the jeans through the wash, I was righteously furious.

A week later I did the same thing.

I was nervous about being without the phones, but not having the extra money to go out and buy new ones, we decided that we could wait to replace them. We would just have to plan more carefully.

Blake, my husband, and I mapped out the week. Friday, in particular, was a busy day. Jimmy, our varsity soccer player, had a game on the North Shore, and Blake was scheduled to go to Maine to help his brother-in-law pull in a boat for the winter. (Fortunately, David, our cross country runner, had a team retreat that weekend, so he did not need to be picked up.) We decided that Blake would go to Jimmy’s game, and I would meet him there with the twins (who were not playing that day). Lizzy, our oldest, goes to college near the school, so she would also meet us there. We would all watch Jimmy’s game, and from there, Blake would drive to Maine, while the rest of us would go out for a bite to eat.

Friday’s schedule was complicated by having to pick up medical forms for the twins that had not been faxed to the school by the doctor. It was 3:30 by the time we retrieved the forms and headed toward the highway. The 3:45 game was 40 minutes away. I got onto the highway—and stopped. Rush hour had not figured into the plan, so I resigned myself to the fact that we would miss the first half of the game.

We stopped and started and crawled, and when we passed the exit for 93, it was clear that we would only catch the last quarter. By the time we came to the exit for the school, I was muttering.

The driveway for the school is one-way, and leads to the top of a large hill where there is very little parking. I squeezed the car into a small spot, and we got out and sprinted to the field where we found a girls’ Junior Varsity game in progress. Stunned, I asked a spectator where the boys’ Varsity game was. After a blank stare, we walked back toward the car, looking for someone who looked like they might be able to help. I saw a woman who seemed like she “belonged” and asked if there was another field.

“Oh yes! There’s Iron Rail field—but it’s across town. Do you have a GPS?”

We have a 1995 Ford Windstar that is being held together with duct tape and Bondo. No—we do not have a GPS. And we don’t have cell phones.

“I have to go to the bathroom, Mom,” Danny said., “Bad.”

“Bad-ly—and I do not care!” I screeched out of the driveway. “We are going to the college! We’ve missed the game, anyway. We’ll meet Lizzy there."

I missed the road to the college.

“Oh look,” I gushed. “We’ve just driven in a circle. Isn’t that lovely.”

Next to me, Sarah was sobbing.

“Mom (hiccup), you’re scary when you’re happy!”

“I still have to pee—really bad.”

I do not swear, but at that moment, I could not think of any words with more than four letters.

At 6:30, we pulled into the college parking lot, right next to Lizzy who had Jimmy with her. Sarah fell out of the car crying into her arms, and Danny was doing the potty dance. Lizzy, who does have a cell phone, called Blake who, though he has already headed off to Maine, turned around and met us, just to make sure everyone was OK.

Saturday morning found me at the phone store. The clerk was sympathetic, and since it was time for us to upgrade, the price was right.

I still hate cell phones. But the buzz in my pocket is comforting.