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Today I had the good fortune of driving my sixteen-year-old son to an appointment thirty-five minutes from our home. Now that the boys are driving, our time together in the car is priceless. Seventy minutes with just him alone was jackpot-worthy. I couldn’t wait. We took our seats, fastened seatbelts, and I watched as he held onto his cell phone swiping and scrolling and typing away.
If you’re from Florida, don’t blink, because if you do, you’re sure to close your eyes in summer and open them to the start of school. What? When did this happen? It’s August! Miami—and to quote our very own hometown celebrity Lisa Petrillo—is “uninhabitable” in the summer so imagine bypassing the bathing suit for a clingy, polyester uniform and suffering a mild stroke in PE while lugging books and backpacks to the steamy, hot car. But that’s not what I’m going to blog about today. No one cares much about Miami these days, though I will talk about a hot car.
Our twin boys return from sleep away camp in a few hours. Wishing for their return means wishing the summer away, and closing their cabin door means stepping into a home which feels distant and awkward. Experience prepares us for the requisite how to’s: how to prepare for that big game and big exam. But what prepares our kids (and us) for re-entry into a comfortable, yet foreign land? Just because we want them home, doesn’t mean they want to be there.
Do you have kids? If so, you must follow Grown & Flown. Their site and blogs are the most informative and meaningful out there. Grab the hankies, because "parenting never ends." Check out my most recent blog featured on their site about how I keep "track" of my kids when we can't be close.
We just returned from the seventh grade class trip, and although I would love nothing more than to chillax (chill-relax as the kids call it) on the couch, many of you are expecting this blog about our adventures.
As the parents of twin boys, my husband and I have tried to instill in our children the difference between right and wrong, while fine-tuning the delicate balance between holding their hands and encouraging them to fly.
Today I took my thirteen-year-old son to the orthodontist. This particular office is the hub for thousands of neighborhood kids caught in the trappings of orthodontia. The waiting area is teeming with parents and teens; the office is an assembly line of open mouths and flailing arms. Surveying the room, I was struck by this: every person—adult or child—was on his or her phone. I observed this for a solid fifteen minutes anticipating some interaction. There was none. Now that modern technology has made having a cell phone the equivalent to a portable computer, it is no wonder these devices have become extensions of our limbs.