I’m going to go on record and just tell y’all that I don’t like change.
Unless it’s the kind of change where someone gives me a brand new, gray rug for my living room and throws in a side dish of LOOK! NAVY, CHEVRON THROW PILLOWS! Then I think I could handle change with grace and ease.
The primary sort of change that I dread is called The Updates. Because do you know what happens when I update my iPhone? Let me tell you: I get locked out of Words With Friends, I can’t find my photos of the boys anywhere, and the You Tube icon is in a whole new spot, which is awful, especially when we have to be able to go from NOTHING to GUMMY BEAR SONG for Thing 2 in exactly three seconds before he blows.
(The Gummy Bear song has over 321 million hits on You Tube. Thing 2 is responsible for 319 million of those hits, all by himself.)
(You’re welcome, Gummy Bear song producers.)
What happens is that my iPhone ends up with a little red flag, indicating that I have 17 updates available, and I ignore it.
Exactly like I ignored the first 16 announcements.
And then the boy or Hubs will use my phone for something, and they’ll be all, “Whoa! Updates!” And when they say that phrase, you have to keep in mind that it’s the same tone of voice, with the same level of excitement, that a grown man has when he gets to witness a hot water heater explode in a Myth Busters’ controlled environment. And then they click UPDATE EVERYTHING YOU’RE CAPABLE OF UPDATING, LITTLE PHONE, and suddenly I’m in the business of change.
So my blog has been yelling at me for months now (MONTHS!) that I had seven entire updates that I could download, and I just kept ignoring it. It’s how I deal with things. If I ignore the bathroom linen closet, I don’t have to admit that small animals could be lost in there amongst the towels and the half-empty bottles of sunscreen and all the WHAT IN THE WORLD IS THIS?, and we’d have no idea.
But last night, people, I updated my blog’s dashboard. Oh, YOU can’t see the changes. The changes are right here, at Houston’s Headquarters, and they involve things like, “Oh? You need to write a new post? Well, listen. That button that you used to click, right there, front and center, is now over here on the left, and we’re calling it something random, like EGYPTIAN ARTIFACTS, because we like to confuse you. We know that NEW BLOG POST is what you’re used to clicking on, but we’re trying to keep your mind young and agile, and we here at WordPress do enjoy a good game of hide-and-seek.”
I may never be able to successfully post things again at Jedi Mama, Inc.
I also had to send out a mass emailing to a group of people that roughly equals the population of China yesterday to say, “I have a new email address.” Oh, yes. It’s because my old email address decided to tell me things like, “Downloading 1 of 23 messages.” And I’d be all excited, because maybe I was getting SOMETHING GOOD in there, like a funny email from Katie, or an uplifting email from Peggy, or a CHECK OUT GYMBOREE THIS VERY SECOND email from Carrie, and then… well… nothing. As in those twenty-three messages would vaporize and become cyber splatter somewhere in outer space.
Or wherever cyber splatter has its fallout.
I would also make whole-hearted attempts to send email messages to people, and it wouldn’t work. My computer would spin and say, “Sending… sending… sending…” and then blam! The error message box that I have come to hate as much as I hate a bowl of fresh cottage cheese would pop up and say, “Your email address cannot be verified. This is a Send Failure notice.”
I couldn’t leave blog comments anywhere. Every time I’d fire off a comment on Carrie’s blog or Lori’s blog, or ANYONE’S BLOG, I’d get a message that said, “Your user email address is unsupported,” like a good pair of control-top pantyhose might be able to save the situation.
So, people, that was a lot of advancements in technology that I had to deal with last night, and it all fried my brain.
Or perhaps that was just the chemicals and additives in the Hamburger Helper I made for dinner a couple of nights ago.
Also? Well… we haven’t actually HAD Hamburger Helper for years, but listen: It costs $1.50, and our freezer is packed to the lid with beef right now, so that’s practically a free dinner, if you ask me. The boy had never experienced Hamburger Helper before, which I’d actually brag about (“I didn’t feed my boy artificial yellow dye #18 in the cheese powder from the box EVER!”), but when he can order his own meal at McDonald’s (“Yeah, I want a #4, no onions, medium fries and a Dr. Pepper, please!”) without asking me for help, I think I should probably still hang my head in shame.
I started singing the Hamburger Helper commercial jingle from the olden day (back when I was a young girl and we only got one channel on our TV that DID NOT have a remote control). The boy told me that it was the dumbest song he’d ever heard, because the boy doesn’t mince words to save feelings.
And then that little annoying jingle got stuck in his head, people, and we have been singing that song for TWO SOLID DAYS NOW at our house! I’d also like to say that Hubs grinned exactly like the man in the commercial did when I served it to him!
Y’all carry on, avoid your updates, if it’s at all possible, and have a great weekend.