DoofMom:  Why shouldn’t an eleven year old boy have a cell phone? I think he should have one — he’s going into 7th grade and he’s responsible.

the Dad:  hrmph

——————–

So after school today, Jare and I had this text message exchange:

Jare:  Hi Mom.

DoofMom:  Hi honey. How was ur day?

J:  Good. Wen do you get off work?

DM:  I get off @ 5

J:  How is dad?

DM:  Dad is ok I think

J: Is he at the store?

DM: I don’t know. Is his car gone?

(at this point, DoofMom is scratching her head — the Dad should be home with the kids . . . he didn’t say he was going anywhere . . . )

J:  Ya

DM: Is Gabby home?

J:  No

DM: Dad might be getting Gabby

J: But gabby is home and dad is home

DM:  Dad is home?

J:  Ya

DM:  Alrighty then

———————————

the Dad:  And this is why you don’t give an eleven year old a cell phone.

I’ve been wanting to start a blog for the longest time. I’ve invented many excuses as to why I couldn’t sit down and just do it: “I’m so busy” (who isn’t?); “I’ve got too much cleaning/laundry/straightening up to do to sit and write” (yet I have time to surf the web and read about a billion blogs); even “I’ve got to wash/deep condition/color my hair”. But the real reason I haven’t started a blog is F.E.A.R. Fear of you, my dear reader. Will I have readers? What if no one cares what I have to say? What if readers do come? What will readers think of me and my neurotic ramblings?

Here’s hoping that you find yourself in me and that my experiences as a mom resonate with yours — or at the very least, you find something to laugh about in me and my crazy life.