Buttercup has been asking for a RAZR for her 12th birthday.
She has had two phones. The first one was the house back-up phone since we use only cell phones, no landlines. We knew where it was at all times until she I let her start thinking it was hers. She was only 10. Ten-year-olds don’t have cell phones. But they can use the back-up phone under certain illusions, right? A month later, that phone was nowhere to be found. We’ve been looking for it for two years. It’s somewhere in a half-unpacked box in our garage. Or not.
For her 11th birthday, I got her a free Samsung to replace the lost phone while adding a third line to my account to replace the lost backup. Her 12-year-old cousin also got a Samsung, but it’s a sexy dark red camera phone and, well, Buttercup is never one to complain, but she looked awfully wistful in its presence. Soon after, she asked for a RAZR.
I told her if she could keep up with the Samsung until her next birthday, I’d buy her the Motorola. Her birthday is in six weeks, we haven’t seen the Samsung in almost eight. We’re looking for it. It’s in the house somewhere. I haven’t gone through the discoveries of my lovely apartment cleaning crew (hi Linda, Maria and Ana–you guys rock!). Maybe they found it. But anyway, I told Buttercup she had to find her phone before her birthday or start asking for another gift.
Her new Cherry Blossom tattoo RAZR is on the top shelf of my closet awaiting the outcome. I bought it last week. I’ll give it to her for Christmas once I work out a few ground rules. First, we gotta find the other phone. Secondly, I gotta get her to stop filling out online forms with her actual phone number.
When the RAZR came, I called T-Mobile to reactivate her lost SIM card on the new SIM card and let the phone start charging on my desk. About two hours later, the phone rang.
Me: Hello?
Adult Male Caller: Hi! Is Buttercup available?
Me: Um, you have the wrong number.
(Buttercup is not the most usual name in the world, but there are other Buttercups, so surely he wasn’t calling mine.)
AMC: Buttercup Jones-Jackson?
Me (WTF?): This is her mother. Who is this?
Well, he turned out to be the admissions director for an online tech school. Buttercup had inquired about enrolling. I explained to the caller that my daughter must have been playing around online and used her actual information to fill out the form. He actually sounded disappointed. Maybe the school doesn’t get many applicants.
I’m very irritated at Buttercup because we’ve had this discussion too many times for this to happen. Another hour later, Phoenix University calls and I’ve got to explain to that caller that my 11-year-old has no real interest in a criminal justice career.
In the car driving home that night, I tell PB about the calls and I explain very forcefully that she is no longer to go online while I’m sleeping half the day away (No more of that, girlie–Mr. D). If I’m asleep, she is not on the computer. Period. She says she understands.
I’m kind of holding my breath because I’m waiting for her to ask how did I get any calls on her disabled SIM card. She doesn’t put two and two together that her card is now active and I give a small smile thinking about her critical thinking being compromised by that stupid brain injury. Sometimes, there is a very small advantage to her slower processing. By the time she figures it out, she’ll already have opened her gift.
Anyway, my phone rings the next day. It’s a home-based business calling wanting to share its financial goodness with Buttercup. I patiently explain to this woman about the mistake and that my daughter will not be filling out any more forms. I ask her to excuse the call. Then she got a bit of an attitude: I am calling to speak to Ms. Buttercup Jones-Jackson, please. She verified on her online form that she is over the age of 21. I’d like to speak with her.
With no profanity whatsoever, I told this woman that an 11-year-old had filled out the form and was clicking and verifying a whole bunch of other stuff that wasn’t true. A few threats from me later, the woman promised to remove both of our numbers from her list.
I’m so glad all this happened. If I haven’t been carrying this phone around with me all week, I’d never know about Buttercup’s weekend morning activities. Some of you guys already had to email me to tell me she’d been emailing you. Good grief. Now we have schools and telemarketers and everyone else calling us during the day. No predators, yet, but she was moving up on their lists.
My original plan had been to just watch her open that magenta tattooed RAZR on Christmas morning and let her have at it, assuming that she knows how to be safe with it. What a welcome wake up. Hello? Yes, she needs guidance and proper intervention. She is not a small adult just because we wear the same size clothes, she’s a child.
All these ways for our kids to communicate with the outside world these days–how overwhelming, eh? But I’ve got a pretty good plan of action now. What a good advanced warning.
Anybody else have any suggestions?
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