I Love You, David!

Don't be embarrassed, David. It's just a g-string.

On Thursday night, two of my sisters and I took in a David Sedaris reading at our local symphony hall. It was a birthday present to my youngest sibling, but I have to admit it was a bit of a selfish gift.

See, I totally and completely love David Sedaris, and I contemplated taking a pair of panties with me to throw on stage in the middle of his reading. Of course he's gay, so I decided that would be somewhat useless. Briefly, I considered taking a pair of my husband's boxers and tossing them up on the stage, but since my husband was at home taking care of our children I figured that was a bit disingenuous, to say the least. I mean, I don't think Jim's read even one of David Sedaris' books.

Anyway, in the middle of laughing my ass off at one of David Sedaris' essays, my phone starts lighting up with texts. (Yes, I know, I'm one-of-those-parents who doesn't turn off the smart phone when I'm at an event. I have a child with special needs, I sneer when people glare at me.

Ok, no one has ever glared at me, but, you know, best to be prepared. It's hard to come up with something really good off-the-cuff like that. And my mother frowns upon my "the fuck you lookin' at?" response. Besides, it was on vibrate, people!)

At 8:30pm each night, Conor earns time on his iPhone. When he has earned enough tokens with good behavior, that is. My boy is mad, mad, I tell you, for texting, and recently he's discovered how to share the contacts on his phone with other people on his approved list. (He's not allowed to text just anybody. What are you, nuts?)

He's also figured out how to search the internet and find the contact information for his favorite stores. Then he inputs them into his Contact list. And next, bam, you've got the store's contact information in a text message.

Now, Hot Pots is a paint-your-own-pottery place that my son has started frequenting. To me, Hot Pots sounds vaguely like some second rate strip joint. Like--yeah, I'd love to dip my bread in her fondue kind of thing.

In reality, it's nothing like that, obvs. He IS totally cheating on his main paint-your-own-pottery squeeze, Amazing Glaze, but I guess he wouldn't be the first man to go looking for some Hot Pots on the side, you know?

I'm thrilled that Conor has learned to text. It's important that he continues to learn to communicate effectively as he gains more independence, and now he can socialize like many of his typical peers.

On a screen on his phone. Duh.

Teaching him to be appropriate with his texts has been a challenge, though, and as you can see from the message, it can be just another avenue to nag me or his dad about desired outings.

Wait… did I say nag? I meant perseverate.

So, we've got a whole 'nother protocol in place to address his perseverations, be it verbally or via text, which I'll share with you at another time. (God, you are so lucky. Make sure you check back on the daily to learn about the wild new perseveration protocol. It'll set your pants on fire.)

Suffice to say, I was thankful that ignoring the text was the appropriate response since I could tell the National Public Radio listener next to me was getting antsy about the glare of my iPhone screen. Besides, David Sedaris started telling stories about his sister, Amy, and the rest of his siblings going to London to celebrate Christmas with him and Hugh, and I simply couldn't stop laughing long enough to get the panties out of my pocket much less respond to Conor's texts.