i(Phone) Hate Myself For Loving You

(I bet you have Joan Jett in your head right about now, don’t you? Sorry, friend.  Sort of.  🙂 )

So Dan and I went on a date a couple of weeks ago.  We try to make this a semi-regular occurrence.  After all, it would be good if my husband and I still recognize each other when the kids are grown, right? It had been awhile since we had snuck a date night in, though, because the back-to-school time of year is busy for us all.

I put on heels.  Dan put on the shirt I laid out for him. We climbed into his truck and headed off to dinner.  Burgers were on the agenda.  I dug in my purse as he took off in the direction of town, and then disaster struck.

I couldn’t find my phone.  No smooth teal case met my fingers as I plunged the mysterious recesses of my “mom purse.” How was I supposed to send a text? Or check the weather?  Or Instagram? So I panicked.  You all know that moment of panic when you can’t find your phone, right?  Or maybe you don’t.  Maybe you are mentally healthier than I am, and you and your phone are not virtual Siamese twins.

Dan’s parents were watching the kids at our house, so we called them to see if they could find the missing phone.  They could. Apparently, I had left it sitting on the kitchen table as I rushed out of the house before my 6-year-old’s guilt trip could derail our date night. “Oh no,” my mother-in-law said sympathetically, after she located the phone for me.  “Forgetting your phone. That’s the worst.”  But, I realized, it actually wasn’t.

Turns out, forgetting my phone on date night is something to be thankful for. Dan and I often make fun of the groups or couples who are sitting around a table together, each separately engaged in their own phone world.  They look ridiculous.  The only problem is, more often than not, we are them.  We are guilty, too.

But that night, because I wasn’t on my phone, Dan didn’t use his, either.  This forced us to speak to each other. (Well, when we weren’t watching the Brewers game, anyway.)

And I was reminded that we can survive without our devices.  After all, our family just proved this for nearly two device-free weeks before the school year started.  (More on that here.) Sure, my kids staged a near-revolt, but we made it through. And it was even enjoyable.  We played games, got outside, went to ball games, waterskied, visited museums, built giant towers out of plastic cups…

 

Hey, whatever it takes. We emerged on the other side closer as a family, and without that lovely claw hand that comes from permanently grasping your phone. The one that Dan thinks humans may soon be born with.  Gotta love evolution.

Next up is girls weekend.  Every year, we head up north for a girlfriend getaway at my friend Peg’s family cottage.  It is one of the most anticipated weekends of the year.  Even for me, a self-declared introvert (Read about my introversion here.), it is a can’t-miss event. We pack our cars full of warm (yet cute, of course) clothes, drinks and ridiculous amounts of food, and we invade the Northwoods, leaving our husbands to hold down our respective forts.

Last year, though, I looked around the cottage as we all sat in a big circle in the living room.  The fire was roaring in the fireplace.  Ten of us were cozied up in front of it.  All. On. Our. Phones.  Online shopping, reading the news, posting photos of all the fun we were having to Facebook. Whatever. It was pathetic.

So this year, I am bringing a little gift to girls’ weekend.  Ladies and gentlemen, the Phone Bed.  The very one pictured at the top of this post. We can set the basket by the front door for folks to deposit their phones into upon entering the cottage.  And then, every time you remove your phone from the bed, you have to put an extra dollar in the “kitty,” so that your friends might profit off your addiction in the form of cheese curds and beer from the local establishments.  I don’t know if I will be invited back next year.  Heck, if the girls read this before I get there, I might not be allowed in this year. But I’m going to give it a shot anyway. Wish me luck.