Putting Compulsive iPhone Checking to Work One Red Dot at a Time

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Working Compulsive iPhone Checking to My Advantage

I went out for a little Girls Night dinner last night with two awesome women I met at my very first job out of college.  Which means we’ve been friends for (gulp) 25 years.   We arrive at our restaurant of choice.  Cell phones on the table (I know, I know), one lights up with a message.  I notice something strange and unfamiliar on her phone.

Unread email.

And not just one.  47 unread emails.

I thought I knew her well but at that moment, I swear, she may as well have been from another planet.

47 unread emails?  What?   “Oh.  Yeah.  I’ll get to them,” she says.

I never have unread email.  Really.  Almost never.

I mean, maybe if I leave my phone in the car while I pick up the kids I might come back and it looks like this.

(I have a case of the shakes just seeing it like that.)

But it’s not like that for long.

Because I’m an iPhone addict.

If I hear that sucker chirp, I look.  I am to that little red circle with a number in it what Pavlov’s dogs were to the smell of fresh meat.

Must.         Read.          Message.          Now.

So, I was thinking that it’s a shame I don’t treat the rest of my life that way.   That something that requires my attention at home doesn’t get nearly the high priority given to that stupid chirping iPhone and its little red circles.

I think it might work for me.

For example:

And, then I’d go to the dry cleaner stat.

 

Ah, yes.  Feed the dog.  Done.

 

Dishes clean and put away.  Check.

 

Little Brother’s laundry?  Roger that.

 

Weeds?   I’m on it.

 

Yup, I’d do that, too.  Well, maybe.   At least long enough to lose the dot.

Must.  Clear.  Red.  Numbers.

Ok.  Done.

See?

It could totally work.  With little red circles with numbers on all my daily “to do” items there is no doubt in my mind that in no time flat I would be the most accomplished stay-at-home Mom ever.

My laundry would be done, my garden weeded and my a** half its original size.

My dry cleaning would be picked up, my dishes put away and my boys’ bathroom would be…..

Nah.

Never mind.

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