By Krystal Sieben 
Hi. Experts. I have a favor . . . can we please stop shaming parents for being on their phones?
Listen, I get it. I get that it makes the kids feel bad and all the things, but here’s the deal. I’m a regular mom okay. I have three kids, two dogs, a husband, in-laws, a job of my own, and all the things that most of us regular moms have. Obligations, appointments, a very small social life, and the occasional interest and hobby. I would very much love to conduct my day-to-day without the side of guilt that comes with the shame of using my phone. In fact, I’m not sure how I would go about using it less when it’s only 9:09 a.m. on a typical Wednesday, and here is an actual list of what I have used the phone for already today.
My middle son joins just about every activity he can. Great. He thrives in them all. Today, he woke up with a sore throat. Okay, I first needed to e-mail the person in charge of his before-school academic program letting her know he won’t be there this morning. Next, I fill out the online absence form for his elementary school. Then, I went online to schedule an appointment for a strep throat culture. After that, I checked my e-mails and responded to two different school-related messages for my other kids. Next, because my son is sick, I sent a text to his lacrosse coach letting him know we won’t be available to do goalie training tonight. Finally, I cancel my sitter for tonight via text because I didn’t want to risk getting her sick.
I’m exhausted just typing that out! All that because of a sore throat. And, honestly, I could list about 30 more communications by lunch! And again, I’m just a regular mom of three trying to keep up with a moderate amount of kid-related stuff. I have a friend who is a single mother because she lost her husband to cancer . . . she is the sole provider of the house, has a big job, and is a dedicated mom going to all the things. Are we really expecting her to not be on her phone?
As amazing as it is to think we can all be super present and play board games and read books with the children all day–and of course that sounds so fun–I don’t know if we live in a time when spending a morning doing that is possible.
It’s not just the moms who feel the side of guilt with each e-mail they answer or the occasional free moment to browse social media, it’s the dads too. My husband is a defense attorney. A job he loves, is very good at, and provides for our family with. He gets frantic calls all through the day and night with people in some of the worst moments of their lives. He answers. He is calm and never judging. It was exactly this that made me fall in love with him all those years ago. And often, he’ll say things like “I’m so sorry guys, I have to take this . . .” or “I feel guilty that I had to be on my phone answering questions so much tonight.”
As parents, we are trying. We are all trying to do it all with the best we have. No one wants to ignore their kids or spouses, but we also have things that need to get done. And the benefit to having the ability to do those things by simply typing on the phone has to mean something right? Like being able to work from home while my sick son is cuddled up on the couch with an ice-filled water and cozy blanket.
Or that my friend, the widow, can simultaneously attend her son’s lacrosse game and communicate with her work team. Or that my own kids see their dad on the phone with people who might be in jail, and instead of feeling defeated that he needs to take a break from Monopol, maybe instead they will see his patience and grace for someone who has made a mistake.
Look, as parents, we all get the downfalls of being on our phones, but since the e-mails, and texts, and obligations of modern parenting and modern living are most likely here to stay . . . can we stop shaming the parents for simply doing our best with what we have?
We might be on the phones, but we are trying–that must count for something right? So until the world changes back to handwritten absence notes, sports with less intensity, and all things . . . take it easy on us, okay?
by Laura Gaston 
