Zing Ding Zing Ding Zing

I called a Mommy the other day. With her 7-year-old son’s permission. I always ask the student first, Not wanting to violate their trust. “I’m afraid,” he told me. “You do it.” The minute he went back to class I called his Mommy. She answered on the eighth ring. I could hear, Zing. Zing. Ding. Ding. “Your child has one request,” I tell her, “But he was afraid to ask.” “I’m LISTENING,” she says. “Hey, I got an apple basket!” Zing. Ding. Ding. Zing. “I got a free STRAWBERRY!” she yells. I can hear a baby crying in the background now. “Your child says that since the baby came, He doesn’t feel as loved,” I tell her. “He just Needs a hug sometimes, from his Mommy.” Exasperated sigh, loud. “I don’t have time for that!” she says. Zing. Ding. Ding. Zing. I feel sad as I hang up the phone. When did technology replace Mommy?