There are at least three reasons why I am sick of texting with my children.
1. They don't answer for a long time.
2. They don't answer at all.
3. Texting takes the place of meaningful conversation.
Frustration notwithstanding, I have found a litany of reasons to keep my mouth shut:
They are the busy, young adult people.
I am the Neanderthal mom.
The communication ball is in their court.
I'm lucky they're communicating with me at all.
Finally: I refuse to be the needy, I-demand-you-talk-to-me mom.
Only, just because I have needs does not mean I am needy.
Does it?
I think of my children and I think of the quality of our early years together, long before there was such a thing as a text, much less a cellphone or even a Starbucks, when intimacy was created in direct, face-to-face communication.
I recall the value and richness in such regular, intimate moments as bedtime, my 5-year-old daughter and I lying side by side while she told me about her best friend, Sara, her hurt toe and her loose tooth.
I think of signature moments with my firstborn, sweet naps on our big king-sized bed in the sun-dappled afternoon, where I learned by the warm, breathing body next to mine who my son was within the sanctuary of motherhood and unconditional love.
I think of my third child, sitting with me at the big window in the living room, watching the birds and the squirrels in the trees after his siblings were off to school. Errands in the car became a moment of shared quiet energy with this calm toddler I came to call the Zen master.
While other moments of family life related to food, shelter and clothing were critical for survival, these were the moments that defined the relationship. These were the one-on-one moments that lifted mother and child into a unique space and memory, a transcendent place that both held us and grew us. These were the moments that continue to sustain an understanding of each of my children now.
I'm not saying we return to this level of intimacy. That could put me in a very bad category of mothers, while also discounting the child's need for autonomy, individuation and let's face it, texting, which can be a wondrous thing when you want to get out of a meeting.
It's just that we (I?) need some semblance of the depth of relationship that I, as keeper of memories, know is possible, that goes beyond the usual perfunctory questions and sound bites: "Did you get the job?" "How do you like your new apartment?" "Are you coming home for Christmas?"
The other night my 22-year-old son and I, on our way back from dinner with his dad, happened upon just such depth. It was a nice night. Neither of us had plans for the evening. And so, for an hour or more, we took to driving around our little town, up and down quiet neighborhood streets, hearts and windows open, chatting about life and love, his future and even mine.
I could scarcely breathe.
I could tell he was happy, too.
Same wondrous opportunity occurred when my daughter was home visiting from Montana. She was spread thin while she was here, hanging with her boyfriend, hanging with her brothers, hanging with other friends. Just before she was to take leave of home again, I texted her, yes, texted her, and asked: "Before you go, what do you think about having breakfast together?"
"I would love to!" she said, leading the way to steaming bowls of oatmeal side by side and the eyeball-to-eyeball, mutually satisfying quality of conversation that gets at the heart of the matter.
All of which leads me to believe that fostering a deeper connection with my children does not necessarily constitute neediness on my part.
Rather, it may actually be what we all need and want.
We just need somebody to call it.
Which is what gave me the courage recently to say to each of my children in separate conversations: "I'm wondering if, I don't know, once a week, we could do something intentional together, talk on the phone, have a meal, play a game, drink a cup of tea. It doesn't have to be painful or long. It could be eight minutes or five.
"Just not texting."
It was a suggestion to which they resoundingly agreed.
"Great idea!" my daughter said. "Sure!" said my son. "Absolutely!" said the other.
I think we know everybody wins here.
Not only does it make plain sense to nurture one of the most important relationships in human history.
But give just a little concentrated time to Mom, and the rest of the time, guess what?
Text ahoy.
