Calling all numbers

So I received a new cell phone for Christmas. While this might not seem all that exciting to those of you out there who have owned cell phones since they were invented, it is big stuff in my purse. You see, my husband did not believe that I ever needed a cell phone. When I was childless and working full time, he told me to use my work phone.

Me: "What if I need to call some clients regarding their lessons?"

Tom: "Pull over and use a payphone."

When I gave birth and quit my job::

Me: "What if I'm in an accident?"

Tom: "There will be 30 other people around you with cell phones. Let them call 911."

Then, of course, came the Big Day. You know that day, the one of foreshadowing in books. The day where everything changes and the husband is proved wrong.

I was pregnant with my second child. We were adding an addition to our house. I came home from somewhere with Madison and found that I could hardly make my through one end of my house to the other because the dust was so thick. I packed up our things, and we hiked over to Grandma's house for the night. Sometime in the night, despite the breathing of clean air, Madison began running a temperature. We were sharing a bed, and her body was so hot we could have survived the roof caving in and dumping a ton of snow on top of us. This being Florida, that did not, of course, happen, and we suffered through the night breathing clean air.

The next day I had an OB appointment, and I left the sick child behind with her loving and caring Grandmother. I had my doctor's visit, and then I stopped at my house for more clothes. From there, I went to the drugstore to stock up on fever-reducing medications, and then I headed back to reunite with my ill child.

Since having a child, each time I left her, I panicked with thoughts of everything that could go wrong. One of those thoughts included returning home to find an ambulance in my driveway. So, no kidding, but that very thought was in my head as I pulled into my mother's street.

Where I saw right away, two fire engines and an ambulance in her condo complex parking lot. Immediately, my heart began thumping three times its normal rhythm.

Me: "It's not her. It's an old person. It's not her. It's an old person."

Then, I saw my mother walking down her condo steps with Madison in her arms. Behind her were paramedics.

I'm lucky I remembered to put the car in park before I left it in the middle of the parking lot and jumped out.

Immediately, two of the firemen intercepted me dead run, each grabbing me under an arm and talking to me in quiet, soothing voices.

Them: "Whoa there. Your daughter is fine. Trust us, she's going to be just fine. We really don't want to deliver a baby out here in the parking lot. Breathe. That's it, nice and slow."

She went to the hospital by ambulance, where she was treated for febrile convulsions. Her fever had spiked to 105. She had been lying in my mother's arms when she convulsed, and having witnessed the same seizures with me in my youth, my mother knew immediately what they were. She called 911, but they would not transport her to the hospital without parental permission.

My mother, of course, had no way to get a hold of me as I DIDN'T OWN A CELL PHONE.

So, instead, my husband got the call from the paramedics to give them permission to transport her.

Within two weeks, I had my first cell phone.

Him: "To use for emergency purposes."

I was not supposed to use it to talk on, and for the most part, I didn't. After Darcy came along, I was too busy changing diapers, running Madison to and from preschool, and cleaning up toys to worry about chatting on my cell phone. I was usually at home, where I had a landline that I could use. Thus the cell phone got minimal usage, and my 100 minutes for twenty-five dollars was just fine.

Then Darcy started school, and I began making friends with mothers who used cell phones. They called me. I called them. Because I was not used to having my cell phone, I missed over half the calls that came in.

Them: "Why don't you have your phone with you?"

I changed my message.

Me: "Hi, this is Cara, and I probably don't even have my phone turned on due to an old plan where minutes are gobbled up. But do take a chance by leaving a message. Maybe, just maybe, I'll get back to you one day. Of course, by then, the message will be obsolete. Better yet, call my home phone and leave a message. I'm sure to hear that one in a more timely manner."

Then one day, the unthinkable happened: I WENT OVER MY HUNDRED MINUTES.

Not by a few minutes, but by "SEVERAL."

Master of my cell phone: "This phone is for emergency purposes only."

Information on Lucy's mother wearing a skin-tight dress and spiked heels to school was not, in his book, an emergency. Nor was making lunch arrangements at Panera Bread. 

I let everyone know I was going to be cut off at the knees if they didn't keep their calls short. My friends got really good at speaking fast,

Them: "Hey, Cara, my god, did you see Lucy's mother's outfit today? Let's talk it over at Panera's at noon. Bye."

Then, yep here it comes, the Big Day arrived again. Tom's sister had the three aneurysms, one of which burst, and my cell phone usage went over its limit in all the family phone calls regarding this event.

The hubby decided a new family share plan was in order. He included my mother, whose old cell only had fifty minutes a month. She wouldn't even bother to turn it on half the time, and if it did ring, she responded with, "What do you want? This is costing me a dollar a minute."

So, I got a new cell phone and a new cell plan for Christmas. I love my phone. It's a camera phone, and slender enough people won't ask me anymore if I'm carrying a walkie-talkie. I can stick it into my pocket. Each morning when I turn it on, Toby Keith's smiling face greets me. All my numbers are stored, and it even has a calendar where I can keep track of all my lunch dates. The thrill I get each morning just holding it in my hand is like Christmas all over again.

If only someone would call me on it.

Old habits die hard, I guess.