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I love technology. It allows me to yell at my family in a way moms 10 years ago could only dream of.

“YOU SAID YOU WERE STAYING AFTER exclamation point exclamation point …”

Voice to text admittedly gets a little weird, speaking punctuation while trying to rain caps-lock level hellfire down on a loved one’s head.

“Oops, lol,” chimed the response.

“WHAT question mark exclamation mark DID YOU JUST LOL ME question mark exclamation point I LEFT WORK EARLY TO GET YOU exclamation point AND YOU LOL ME exclamation point exclamation point exclamation point”

I like group text the best. It is like verbal buckshot. Hits everyone.

“Who bought something on iTunes? No buying without asking. And my answer will always be, no.”

The innocent parties pointed fingers at the speed of 3G.

“Not me.”

“I didn’t do it.”

“Mage did it. She just put 9$ on table.”

Had no idea who “Mage” was or why people in my family were playing it fast and loose with dollar sign placement, I was just happy someone was paying.

The phones keep us tethered together like a weird team-building exercise that never stops, connecting us typos and all whether we like it or not.

“Are you still at the grocery store?” texted hubby. “Youngest wants corn starch.”

I didn’t answer.

Nothing good has ever come from a 9-year-old’s request for corn starch. The kid wasn’t thickening gravy. This sounded like a “try this fun activity at home with your parents” level shenanigans.

I remained silent hoping the moment would pass.

It didn’t. Another text came.

“Wants to make cornstarch balloon stress balls.”

The irony of being stressed by stress balls wasn’t lost on me. Neither was the realization that ignoring the request wouldn’t make it go away.

I bought. She made. A day later, I texted.

“I have just washed the kitchen floor. New rule: no one is allowed to play with cornstarch ever again.”

“Ok, mom.”

“Love you mommy.”

“Hon, you sound stressed. (Insert crazy face emoji) youngest has just the thing.”

“Anyone seen my shin guard?”

“Oh and I need to stay after tomorrow.”

Martha Petteys writes a weekly column for The Post-Star. She can be contacted at petteyshome@gmail.com or visit or on Facebook.

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