Text me later

There is a new App to help parents understand what their kids are texting. As you know, I have had issues in the past (CynicalMother.com) not being able to decipher certain abbreviations. Text Genie is available on Android phones. These guys are going to make a ton of money. Perhaps not as much as the fellas who created Angry Birds. I will admit I never thought about flinging birds at blocks before this came out. For some reason it was frowned upon in society. Well, not anymore. Store shelves are full of Angry Birds toys, games and clothing. Honestly, I don’t want to see a grown ass man wearing an Angry Birds t-shirt. It screams, “I live in my mom’s basement and buy comic books with my paycheck.” I also can assume your SpongeBob tee is in the wash.

I am pissed I didn’t create the text App. It has a catalog of over 1,500 abbreviations. Apparently, CT means “can’t talk” and koz is short for “because.” I wish there was an abbreviation for accept / except. I never know which version to use and am usually forced to pick a different word.

I read an article where research shows 63% of teenagers text. Apparently, according to the same study, 84% of parents have received a text message from their children and had no idea what it meant.

Basically, our kids won’t know how to spell, but at least we will know what the hell they are talking about.

Who you calling grandma?

My first born is nearly a teenager. They don’t warn you about this phase in the “What to Expect” book series. They get an attitude and pubic hair overnight. Another thing happens: mom is no longer cool. At his birthday party this weekend that became abundantly clear. I had a hunch this was happening. Last summer I took my two youngest for a walk. As I pushed the double stroller a few teenagers rode past on bicycles. One of the boys whistled. I thought “yeah, I still got it.” (Cue: Pretty Woman Theme) I strutted a few steps in my New Balance sneakers. Then, I heard the other two laugh and say “Yeah, real hot.” For a moment I thought about flipping them the bird. Then, I remembered I have to act like an adult. Besides, this isn’t 1993. They probably wouldn’t know what I meant. They only speak in code: WTF, TTYL, OMG, etc. I should have texted IDLBWAA (I don’t like boys with acne anyway)


So, this year I reluctantly agreed to a sleepover. It started with a few kids, but the guest list grew to seven. Gone are the days of themes. My son didn’t want anything drawn on a cake, decorations or favors. The kids walked in, threw their bags on the ground and disappeared. They devoured the snacks and soda within an hour and wanted more. I joked that this wasn’t Walmart and my shelves were only stocked with so much. Crickets. They called things “beast” which meant they liked it. If someone called me beast I would run an extra mile on the treadmill. I suggested they watch a G Rated movie. Each child furrowed his brow and glared at me like I was Willis. I reached my breaking point around 3 a.m. I stomped downstairs and demanded they stop arguing over video-games and go to sleep. As I walked away I heard, “We’re not arguing grandma.” They erupted in laughter. Oh hell no! I confiscated their IPod’s and phones. I turned off the lights, TV and took the remote controls. Then, I hiked up my granny panties and marched upstairs. I may be old, but I win.