the assistants

I like Henry (8) and Elliot (10) more than just about anyone--child or adult. They think my jokes are hilarious and that I'm a brilliant chef. We spend our time together playing soccer, baking cookies and doing Mad Libs. There is seriously nothing better.

Whenever we hang out, I let them handle my correspondence--that is, if I receive a non-work-related text message from a select number of people, I allow one of them respond to it (please note that it took them about 30 seconds to figure out how to send a text message...it took me a whole lot longer). I trust them not to write anything inappropriate and they think getting to do this is pretty much the greatest thing ever. Sometimes it confuses my friends though. Take, for example, this recent text message conversation between my brother and Henry, via my phone:

Jeremy: Hey Sis. What time are you heading up to Santa Rosa this weekend?
Henry: How old are you?
Jeremy: Are you kidding? 25.
Henry: What is your favorite color?
Jeremy: Are you drunk?
Henry: No! I'm in 2nd grade!
Jeremy: Not sure what is going on over there. I'll just call you later.

Occasionally things go slightly awry, like when Henry responded to a friend's text asking me to meet her for coffee with a simple "No." or when Elliot inadvertently canceled my lunch plans for the following day with Paul, but for the most part, it's fun for them and, secretly, something of a relief for me to hand my cell phone over.

Ever since I joined the smart-phone masses, I've developed a horrible addiction to my CrackBerry. Every buzz, beep or flashing red light has me reaching into my bag to see what the big news is...even though more often than not it's that someone sent me a Facebook friend request or Barnes and Noble sent out its weekly newsletter.

In my daily life, I am constantly emailing, texting or on the phone--often for work, but also for social purposes. Because my phone is hooked up to my multiple email addresses and social media outlets, it is constantly abuzz, validating my perpetual desire to reach for it. It is, without a doubt, one of my worst habits, yet in this digital world, it seems highly unlikely that I'll be breaking it anytime soon.

But time with Henry and Elliot means running around outside, reading stories, licking batter-covered-whisks and laughing hysterically at puns--leaving no time for text-messaging.

I am lucky to have such good assistants.