The Writing Mamas Daily Blog

Each day on the Writing Mamas Daily Blog, a different member will write about mothering.

If you're a mom then you've said these words, you've made these observations and you've lived these situations - 24/7.

And for that, you are a goddess.

Friday, February 08, 2008


Me and My Flat-Screen TV

They stagger under the weight, two young, strapping men and my husband. Their faces are red, and their hands clench at the prized wooden box as they lift it out of the semi-truck blocking all traffic in front of our house. The box is as big as an elephant, an abominable snowman I think as I watch from our front porch.

In the front yard, they open the box with crowbars, prying off the protective, hard exterior, allowing the high-tech, delicate insides to see sunlight for the first time since Japan.

The once cloudy sky clears and a golden ray of sun beams down on us. I hear the chorus of “Halleluiah!!!!! Halleluiah, Halleluiah!!” Angels sing. My husband’s face is rapt, in awe, in love – here it is, finally – our giant, flat-screen HDTV.

I walk back into the house and peek over at the two-by-two black box in the corner. Our “old” TV now, so bulky, so 1990s with its square shape and fuzzy picture. Poor old guy, I think. Let’s spare him the misery of meeting his replacement. His younger cousin. His super cousin. His svelte, sleek, in-your-face cousin.

I throw a towel over the old TV. Don’t look.

My husband floats in the front door. “Are we ready to bring her in?!” All five feet wide and four feet high of her. Holy guac! A TV on steroids, I think, in awe of her movie-screen lines.

Never in seven hundred bazillion years would I have allowed my husband to buy such a thing. He’d been begging. I’d been resisting. “What’s wrong with our sweet, little dinosaur?” I’d glance towards the black box in the corner. Grumbling, my husband would mutter about hi-def, keeping up with technology, and living with Wilma Flintstone.

And then the phone call came in. He’d won her in an office raffle. An office raffle??? I demanded to see credit card receipts, proof, bank statements that no giant sum of money had mysteriously gone missing.

Could it be true??? And why do I resist? Am I like Grandpa with the fax machine or the clichéd Great Aunt Edna curmudgeoning on and on about how easy young whippersnappers lives are today with things like the wheel, toilets and refrigerators… “In my day we dragged ice up from the lake, backwards, blindfolded, and hopping on one foot!!!”

Ashamed of my quiet disgust for the new toy and my similarity to Great Aunt Edna, I realize my intense emotions come from wanting to protect my kids from this centerpiece of technological couch-potatodom. This alluring magical screen has public health officials’ heads spinning as family dinners and backyard games with the neighbors’ kids after school become obsolete and her siren calls beckon us to become blobs. As a mom, I am a protector of all things evil, of monsters in our midst. Isn’t this an irresistible monster in disguise that we’ve invited into our home?

So here she joins us today. This mammoth flat-screened creature from my deepest lagoon. We will enjoy her in moderation despite her powerful call to watch her 24/7. I will teach my children to resist her sexy ways. We will survive as a family unit and not let the machine take us over.

And, as for my husband, he can now watch every single dewy drop of sweat cascade down Jeter’s brow as if he were in the dugout himself. I’ve already lost him to the dark side, and he’s loving every minute.

By Annie B. Yearout


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Oh, I love this. So well written and so exactly how I feel. Great post.
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