The Telephone Game

And no, not that fun game where you tell someone something and you pass it around the circle.

The telephone game in our house goes like this. M loses her phone. We search for sometimes hours to find said phone. We call it, walking around listening for the ringing. Don’t hear anything. We search the car, the house, the grass in the front yard. We decide to stop looking.

Except no one can relax because. “Oh my gah, my phone is missing and how dare you sit down to eat because you must have put it somewhere and really, it’s all your fault that MY PHONE IS MISSING!” Cue sobs and lots of flopping around of a 12 year old body.

Once? We found the phone in a Pringles can. A mother trucking Pringles can. I shit you not.

Since it’s summer, my brother and his kids have been at my mom’s a lot. You know, cause she has the pool and free food. So, we’ve been going out there a lot too. To get us some pool time and free food, duh. So with all the going back and forth some things are going to get left behind. Or just lost.

Yesterday morning, I went to pick up the girls from my mom’s before I went to work. Before I leave every day I normally make sure M has her phone IN HER HAND. But yesterday, I had to go in early, and I was rushing and I just plain forgot.

I got to work and immediately a Facebook message popped up on my phone. From M.

“I forgot my phone in your car. Why didn’t you make sure I had the phone before you left?”

I take a breath and write back. “No big deal, just send me a message if you need me, I’ll keep checking. You check too, in case I need to tell you something.”

Okay, so we established a plan of how to communicate.

Everything was fine. Our plan worked.

I get home. Change clothes. Start dinner. M says, “I’m gonna go to your car and get my phone.”

“Okay, my keys are on the hook.”

Ten (ish) minutes go by.

M comes in. “It’s not there. What did you do with it mama? It should be there. Why isn’t it there? It’s all your fault. I can’t believe you threw my phone out the window.”

Those may not have been the exact words, but close.

We begin a three woman search for the phone. We check the car again, we check the shrubs, we check the couch cushions. We check every room. We walk around the house calling the phone, listening for the ring. We call my mom. She does the same. No phone.

I ask M, “Okay, tell me exactly what you did when you came in.”

“How am I supposed to remember that? I’m 12. I should not have to live up to these ridiculous expectations you have set upon me. You are ruining my life.”

Again, I MAY be paraphrasing.

I remember that I told both girls to take all things to their rooms when we got home. I get M, we go BACK to her room. We call. Nothing.

I say, “Look in that pile of crap on your bed.”

Guess what was there? You got it, the phone.

Needless to say, we had a conversation about NOT PUTTING YOUR PHONE ON SILENT ANYMORE EVER OR THAT PHONE BECOMES MINE AND DO YOU HEAR ME YOUNG LADY I AM NOT KIDDING THAT WILL BE MY PHONE FOREVER AND EVER AMEN.

She stopped short of somehow making this my fault.

Smart kid.