tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25326731754116482332011-04-21T14:36:04.632-07:00True tales from the not-always-tame suburbsSue Rigghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03187777735626181354noreply@blogger.comBlogger21100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2532673175411648233.post-24192633983862522252008-02-20T04:45:00.000-08:002008-02-21T18:46:16.923-08:00The cell phone bill came. Always a time when the teenagers scurry like cockroaches. And <em>YIKES, </em>this one was a doozy.<br /><br />My daughter somehow managed to have over 20,000 text messages! How is that even humanly possible? It took me about 10 minutes just to page through the bill.<br /><br />If my math is correct, that's 680 messages a day - or over 1 message per minute for 10 hours straight! (Thank you ATT for unlimited text messaging plans! Otherwise a giant rock might have accidentally fallen on her phone.)<br /><br />"I think you should leave your phone home during school," I suggest.<br /><br />"Why?" my daughter exclaims, with a look of horror. "I don't text during class. Only lunch."<br /><br />"That's impossible. I don't believe you could havee made all those calls without doing some during class."<br /><br />With a look of sheer indignation, she huffed, "I didn't. Don't you believe me? It's because I was sick."<br /><br />My eyebrows go up. Granted she was sick, but she was sleeping 14 hours a day. And now I'm afraid to look at the last few months to see if I was missing an escalating pattern.<br /><br />"It's <em>fine, </em>Mom."<br /><br />(Did you know that in the teenage vernacular, "It's fine" means bug off, leave me alone, stop bothering me?)<br /><br />I might have screamed if I wasn't laughing so hard.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2532673175411648233-2419263398386252225?l=not-so-sane-suburbs.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sue Rigghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03187777735626181354noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2532673175411648233.post-7610525859515149402008-02-17T05:21:00.000-08:002008-02-17T16:15:41.768-08:00As incongruous as it may sound, the whole concept of blogging was somewhat of a fuzzy concept I've always associated with people who had nothing better to do - that is until last night at my son's hockey game.<br /><br />Ok, so he wasn't playing due to a shoulder injury - so rather than having my face pressed against the boards and yelling myself hoarse, I actually had a decent adult conversation with a friend who's obviously far more blogger-savvy than I am.<br /><br />Because I don't get out much (an occupational hazard with 3 kids and a home-based business that allows me to work in my PJs until noon most days), by the time I do, I'm nearly bursting. Out spill stories of the trials and tribulations of being a working mom - and I guess, they're somewhat entertaining because my girlfriend suggested I try posting (I'm also convinced I'm probably going to be cursing her in a few weeks, as I can already see how addicting this could potentially be). Already I have a dozen swirling around in my head, but I'm not sure if I can sustain this typing until the caffeine kicks in - my fingers feel fat.<br /><br />More soon.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2532673175411648233-761052585951514940?l=not-so-sane-suburbs.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sue Rigghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03187777735626181354noreply@blogger.com2