Call me. I dare you!

Is it rude to text someone you haven't talked to in several months? I love texting. So convenient--except when driving--and so sneaky! Short & sweet.

There was a time when I talked on the phone a lot. My sister and I had our very own phone line when we were in high school. Doesn't sound like much these days when everyone, even my seven-year-old niece, has a cellphone, but it was HUGE.

Of course getting a cellphone later in life only made me talk more. In my car, walking down the street, in the backyard, at a bar. You know.

But then something happened.

Satchel.

I can remember the phone ringing when he was just a few weeks old. I wanted to KILL the person that made it ring. My baby needed absolute silence because all I cared about was him getting his nap on.

In the event that my phone rang and I (happily) answered it, chances were that my conversation would be cut short by Satchel's cry, tug, bowel movement, whatever.

I got used to it.

I adapted.

I embraced email. I've always preferred the written word, so it was fine. Except when it wasn't. We all have stories of simple statements turning into insane dramas due to the nature of email--no tone of voice, facial expressions, gestures, etc. to put words in context. But whatever. Email works great for the most part. At least with people who use email. (I imagine the world of IM is even better, but I have yet to embrace it due to its inaccessibility during the 8 hours I sit in front of a computer M-F.)

To supplement my email communications, I also have this blog. It's great for letting my immediate circle, relatives, and even complete strangers know what's going on with us at any given time. In fact, I pretty much rely on my friends to read this so that they will continue to find me interesting. Especially after they call me and realize I have zero conversational skills.

Case in point: My old college roomie called me a few weeks ago. (Months, maybe?) Here's how our conversation went:

Her: "Hey mamacita, what's up?"
Me: "Not much!"
Her: "How's work?"
Me: "Fine!"
Her: "Still skating?"
Me: "Uh-huh."
Her: "So how are the boys?"
Me: "Great!"
Her: "And Warren?"
Me: "He can walk to work!"
Her: "Oh..."
Jiro in the background: "I just pooped in my pants."
Me: "Uh, I better let you go."

(In Jiro's defense, we all had a stomach bug.)

Can you believe she hasn't called back? Not even when she's been in town? I can.

There are some people who continue to call me despite my personal failings, usually out of necessity. Mostly Warren and my mom. The occasional friend. I am still a pretty good listener. Although it is hard to listen when the kids are within 50 feet.

In the above example, I was hiding in my room to talk. Jiro, who pooped his pants in the living room where Warren was sitting, got up, walked through the kitchen and the dining room and into my room to personally inform me of his situation.

Sometimes in the car the monkeys will keep each other entertained and I can sneak in a few minutes. Other times I have to try and have a conversation while being pelted with questions from the backseat.

Case in point: My friend called while I was driving the monkeys to the pool. While I tried to listen to a funny story she was telling Satchel started with this line of questioning...

"If you die, can you still see?"
"How do you actually get in to heaven?"
"Have you ever been dead?"

And that is just par for the course. When lacking any hard-hitting questions to distract me with, the monkeys simply resort to hitting each other, hard. And screaming.

So for those of you out there who are reading this and wondering why I never call you, now you know.

For those of you not reading this who I really should call, I will. Soon! But it might just be for a minute.