When I was growing up, I didn’t always know where my parents were.  I’m beginning to rethink society’s parental penchant to know where our kids are 24/7. It’s not just about us keeping track of them, it’s also about their ability to find us in an instant.

Picture this: nice quiet state park, new RV location for my husband’s and my new adventures in summers without children, watching a movie inside the RV once the sun went down and the mosquitoes came out and we couldn’t have a campfire because of the burn ban.

My cell phone’s notification goes off. I think it’s one of my children saying good night. It’s not. It’s what I like to refer to as a “drive-by texting” (forever now known as a DBT); one of those announcements you’re never ready for no matter how you receive it. From my oldest: “I got put on probation at work.”

That’s it. No details. Immediately my blood started to boil, my heart starts to race and my face turns red. I was sure it was because she was notoriously late or something she could have prevented had she been more responsible. I texted back: “Why?”

My question should be why did I have to ask why? Why didn’t she just tell me from the get go knowing I’m a person of quick temper and irrational reaction? Turned out the position wasn’t a good fit for her. They needed someone who could project their next task speedier in the fast-paced deli department. Although my daughter got 100% customer satisfaction on the secret shopper reviews, she just wasn’t quick enough.

After several texts prying all the details out of her, I began to calm down. She didn’t get fired, as she’s still in the store’s system; they merely suggested she switch departments or stores where the environment wasn’t as demanding; which turns out to be convenient, as she’s moved home and needed to transfer anyway.

Although I appreciated knowing and helping her feel better about it, it probably could have waited until I got home. It wasn’t the first time I’ve been on the receiving end of a DBT.

“Does grandma have the electronic keyboard still?”

“No, she gave it away a long time ago, why?”

“Because my friend and I want to go buy one from craigslist. Is that okay?”

“No. You had the keyboard for years and never touched it. You had a piano for years and never touched it. I had you in piano lessons for a couple months and you didn’t like it. You played the trumpet in elementary school and have ever since maintained you DO NOT like to make music. You cannot buy an electronic keyboard. I don’t care if it’s with your own money. We need to talk.”

By this time, I was livid and couldn’t text my growing anger satisfactorily enough, so we finished the conversation over the cell phones. It all stemmed from my youngest daughter and her friend playing guitar hero or DJ hero on the Wii (this is where I snort with derision).

I’m over 50 now and my quick temper is just who I am. I can control it and don’t lash out in general, but when I’m not home and there is nothing I can immediately do about a situation, it’s a problem. Then I have to spend my vacation time smoothing over or diverting the issue until I can get home. I don’t even need to exercise on those days because my heart has gotten its aerobic workout already.

Remember when our children didn’t know where we were? Sigh. I miss those days.

Gretchen Leigh is a stay-at-home mom who lives in Covington. She is committed to writing about the humor amidst the chaos of a family. You can also read more of her writing and her daily blog on her website livingwithgleigh.com or on Facebook at “Living with Gleigh.” Her column is available every week at maplevalleyreporter.com under the Lifestyles section.