I got really sick of that whole “Dear Mom on the iPhone” convo that went on a few months ago. Lots of accusing. Lots of excuses. Truth somewhere in the middle. Nothing new there.
I don’t even have a smart phone, or a tablet, or any other way of connecting to the cyber-world when I’m out and about, so it’s possible I just wasn’t bothered because I didn’t feel personally targeted. Whatever the reason, I just didn’t have much to say about it.
I was so, so upset the other night at a ball game that I’m writing my own stinkin’ letter here, people. But, never fear– it’s not directed at all of you checking your phone when you’re out and about. Read on and I think you’ll see why I was so upset…
“Dear Mom on the iPhone,
Hey, there. We haven’t really met. Your son plays on the same team as mine, but it’s usually your husband who’s here at the practices. He seems friendly enough, though I can’t say I agree with his “lock the toddler in the truck while I have a cigarette” method of parenting.
Your boy seems to be a decent little ballplayer. I know he really wants to try out being catcher and Coach says he sure can– he just has to have his cup. Do you think you could help him remember that? Or make sure he has one? Eight-year-old boys can be forgetful and, well, they can’t get to the store on their own. I bet he’d appreciate your assistance.
Anyway, I also see you have two younger daughters. So do I! Your baby girl is adorable. Her red-gold hair is gorgeous.
And your toddler? A springy-haired delight, that one. She kind of idolizes my girls and a couple of the other sisters. She’s younger than them, but that doesn’t stop her. I love that spunk.
I was handing out lollipops to my girls and a few of their friends at the game the other night. Your daughter looked at me with such wide eyes full of longing. I told her I’d be happy to share with her, but she had to check with you or her daddy first.
She scampered off, curls bouncing.
You were on your phone, and that’s fine. I have no idea if you saw your son up to bat or not, but that’s not really any of my business. Your priorities are your own and I don’t know what you were looking at or working on.
But your girl.
Oh, she fairly danced around you, just trying to get your attention. She stood patiently to your right, just waiting. She tapped your shoulder, but you didn’t respond. She looked around for her dad, but he was in the truck. She tried to get your attention again and, seeing an opening between you and the phone, started to climb on your lap.
You elbowed her out of the way.
This sweet, dirt-streaked, playful two-year-old went to ask your permission and, frankly, waited more patiently than is typical for such a little one.
And your elbow met her cheek as you knocked her away.
You never even looked at her to see what had happened or what she had wanted.
She wandered off up that dusty knoll over there. You know that one by Field A? She seemed fine, physically, but clearly bummed.
I’m really hoping she was just bummed about not getting a lollipop.
But I doubt it.
So I’m just going to say it– when your phone becomes SO important that you will physically knock your child away rather than turn away from it? It’s time to power down, friend.
I’ll have the lollipops at the next game, too. I hope to see you there.