Freedom's Just Another Word....

We just returned from a few days away in New Hampshire. My family has a cottage in a teeny weeny little town (smaller than your average Walmart) on private land owned by a bunch of Methodists. It is virtually unchanged from how it looked over 200 years ago and generation after generation of families bring their children to tiny cottages with no air conditioning and questionable electricity, to ride bikes on the dirt roads, play amongst the pine trees, and swim in the swimming hole. All I can say is THANK GOODNESS I BROUGHT MY iPHONE.

Not because I Don't Do Rural--don't get me wrong. Sexyhusbandomine remarked after three days how easily I seemed to equate a Dip in the River to a Bath With Soap. I told him to worry when I allowed The Spawn to clean their teeth with tree bark. Or started Playing Banjo. Or Brought Home a Dog Named Yeller.

It is good that I had my handy dandy iPhone because in this place of innocence--this Land of the Lost sans Sleestax, the unthinkable happens: CHILDREN ARE ALLOWED TO ROAM FREE. Starting at about the age of six, their parents push them out the screen door and encourage them to roam the grounds... Without. An. Adult.

Let me just state for the record that I am a HELICOPTER MOMMY. I hover, I smother, I stand outside the bathroom door waiting for my cue to step in and assist with Kandoos. The only place my children have ever gone without supervision is TO SLEEP and that would have been a fluke because usually one of us is Right There on the end of the bed.

But Complicatedboy is seven and a half now and I realize my days of Choppermothering are numbered. So Sexyhusbandomine and I agreed that The Spawn can walk down to the church in the center of the grounds BY THEMSELVES. This is a huge deal for them-- and for me-- because that's about seven cottages away and not a Nanny for miles. But Sexyhusbandomine reminded me that some mothers send their children to places like CAMP. Or SLEEPOVERS. Or IRAQ. And while I was momentarily distracted with a full blown panic attack he set them on the road.

Luckily, before they set off, I had slipped Complicatedboy my iPhone and showed him how to place a call for help.

We followed after them five minutes later and met them by the swings, where Bananna was in full celebration mode, jumping around and singing "I Walked Down a Road By Myself!! We found Complicatedboy off to the side, VERY UPSET.

He had used my handy dandy iPhone-wanting to make contact-to boast of his accomplishment-to check in with his high strung Mother.

Everytime he had dialed the number I gave him, the phone in his own hand had rung.


Thanks to all of you who linked to my August Give-Away posted below! It is an honor to swap snark with you all. Winner will be announced soon-and don't forget to Email me with your choice of mug from our website at www.ournameismud.com & your shipping address if you posted a link on your blog.