It never fails. When I'm on the phone, my kids go batshit.
It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what this is all about. It's partly about taking advantage of me when I'm at a disadvantage to keep them in line. And, I think it's a safe bet that - like tomcats who mark their territory by spraying all the boundaries of what they deem their territory - my kids consider me their territory not to be shared with faceless callers.
At least they don't spray. But what to do?
My great grandmother has been dead for almost forty years. I have an ever so faint memory of her face and have long since forgotten the sound of her voice. But I have a couple of stories about her from family lore that are indelible.
"Miss Nora" , as she was called (it's a Southern thang... if you live long enough, old broads get to be addressed as if they are young virgins again. It's as much about our twisted love of irony as it is our respect for aging matrons. My mother moved back to NW Florida last year and I couldn't help but notice on my summer visit that she has graduated to "Miss Reba" around town. I'm guessing the polite townfolk of Panama City don't know 'Miss Reba' is an avid Pink Floyd fan and cusses like a rapper when our beloved Texas Longhorns lose anything.)
But i digress... Miss Nora (g-granny) had three children, including my grandmother (Cleo - and that name would require an entire Digressions column). Like most... oh who's kidding who.. Like ALL kids - they were rowdy, especially when their mother was on the phone - even back in the jurasic period when this story took place.
Miss Nora was a take no prisoners type. And, I am so sorry she didn't get around to writing a parenting book. Her method for avoiding phone call interuptus was to keep a pile of various household items by the phone to use as projectiles. Books, shoes, the contents of her purse, a gamey looking hunk of leftover meatloaf, whatever was handy ... and she just pelted the hell out of 'em until they shut up or went out to play.
It's tempting idea, but child abuse laws have changed over the past 80 years - for example, we now have them. So, I'm completely stymied. I've tried timeouts, threats, dirty looks, wagging fingers, "positive" alternatives to avoid making this a negative experience (insert eyeroll).
It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what this is all about. It's partly about taking advantage of me when I'm at a disadvantage to keep them in line. And, I think it's a safe bet that - like tomcats who mark their territory by spraying all the boundaries of what they deem their territory - my kids consider me their territory not to be shared with faceless callers.
At least they don't spray. But what to do?
My great grandmother has been dead for almost forty years. I have an ever so faint memory of her face and have long since forgotten the sound of her voice. But I have a couple of stories about her from family lore that are indelible.
"Miss Nora" , as she was called (it's a Southern thang... if you live long enough, old broads get to be addressed as if they are young virgins again. It's as much about our twisted love of irony as it is our respect for aging matrons. My mother moved back to NW Florida last year and I couldn't help but notice on my summer visit that she has graduated to "Miss Reba" around town. I'm guessing the polite townfolk of Panama City don't know 'Miss Reba' is an avid Pink Floyd fan and cusses like a rapper when our beloved Texas Longhorns lose anything.)
But i digress... Miss Nora (g-granny) had three children, including my grandmother (Cleo - and that name would require an entire Digressions column). Like most... oh who's kidding who.. Like ALL kids - they were rowdy, especially when their mother was on the phone - even back in the jurasic period when this story took place.
Miss Nora was a take no prisoners type. And, I am so sorry she didn't get around to writing a parenting book. Her method for avoiding phone call interuptus was to keep a pile of various household items by the phone to use as projectiles. Books, shoes, the contents of her purse, a gamey looking hunk of leftover meatloaf, whatever was handy ... and she just pelted the hell out of 'em until they shut up or went out to play.
It's tempting idea, but child abuse laws have changed over the past 80 years - for example, we now have them. So, I'm completely stymied. I've tried timeouts, threats, dirty looks, wagging fingers, "positive" alternatives to avoid making this a negative experience (insert eyeroll).
^%$% me ! None of it works.
Perhaps Nerf projectiles? Just thinking out loud...
Perhaps Nerf projectiles? Just thinking out loud...
