Brian-from-down-the-hall came to my office last week to catch me up on his latest grad school adventures when he stopped abruptly at the doorway. “Wow…you’re texting?” he said. “Impressive.”

“Give me a minute, almost done,” I told him, somewhat surprised that he was surprised at my mad text-messaging skills.

When we bought our cell phones a year-and-a-half ago, I could barely figure out how to make a phone call let alone send a text message. I struggled with sending email-length messages to various friends, pounding away in “alpha” mode, still giddy with the new-to-me technology. In a life-changing moment, my son taught me about the phone’s T9 feature, and suddenly, text messages were flying out of my phone in pseudo-warp-speed to those on my contact list (after, that is, my son taught me how to create a contact list).

We purchased a family plan, and I still balk at the expense. However, it has lived up to my expectations of keeping this family in touch with each other (or, rather, keeping this family in touch with me). Watching our son advance into his teen years, I realized I’d spent way too many evenings wondering about where he was, and when I should expect him home, and if I should be worrying about him or not. Like most kids his age, he’s busy with this extracurricular activity, pre-occupied with that, and unlike my etched-in-stone work schedule, his knows no definite beginning or end. A quick “where are you” or “call me” usually puts to bed any apprehension before it escalates into full-blown mother-anxiety. And, no one but us ever needs to know he’s on the phone with his mom, which would definitely detract from my his cool factor.

I also text my husband several times a day. Our work schedules mean we rarely see each other, and I can’t call him, either. So a quick “hey” or “good morning” when he’s working third shift assures me he is safe and well. Texts also serve as an effective means of relaying other, vital spouse-to-spouse information. (”Honey, do you mind picking up some TP on the way home? Thanks, love you.”)

Marching band competition scores and Ohio State football-related profanities (which, unfortunately, take more thought and time to text since the T9 phone capability does not register the “F” word) have also left my phone to that belonging to a like-minded friend. Sure, it would probably be easier to call him whenever OSU fumbles the ball or has their fifty-millionth personal foul called against them, but then we might be on the phone with each other for hours on end, wearing out our batteries. (We do, however, reserve the right to call each other whenever they lose a national championship game, beer and obscenities flowing.)

Depending on cell phones for communication does have its down-side. Occasionally, I will text my husband or son and get no response. Then I’ll resort to calling them…still, nothing. Then I become a bit obsessed with making contact with them and will call and call and call until, finally, I hear from them. (”I left the phone in the car.” or “My battery died.”) It is always reassuring to know my son is safe and that my husband didn’t wreck the car because he was answering a cell phone call from me.

Daily, I witness my son message his friends by dextrously pounding out the digits with both hands, lightening-speed, and, frankly, I’m awestruck and a titch envious. Still, I am middle-aged and refuse to act like my teenagers, even if that means spelling out messages in complete sentences, punctuation included, versus “wanna meet mitch…what ru doin home…ok n p...LOL”

I can’t imagine life without my cell phone and am willing to pinch pennies to keep our phones activated. And I wonder…how on earth did we survive without them? Still, every once in a while, I’m inclined to actually talk to someone on the phone, and the cell phone–which cuts out, loses cell life and becomes warm on my cheek–just doesn’t cut it. What to do, what to do?

And then I remember...we still pay to maintain our land line.

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