Avoiding The Crackberry

My husband, Michael, is addicted to his BlackBerry and is in denial. Because it's also used as his cell phone, he literally won't even walk our dog unless he's carrying it. For obvious reasons, it's become an issue in our marriage.

My loathing of Michael's black, pudgy PDA reached epic levels when he subconsciously took it out and scrolled through some email a few weeks ago when we were out to dinner with friends.

"That was beyond rude," I scolded him in the car ride home after dinner.
"What are you talking about?" He said.
"It's not acceptable to read your BlackBerry at dinner," I shrieked, in my most shrill wifey/maternal tone.
"Sorry," he said. "I didn't even realize it."
"That's the point," I said.

I actually believe my husband can't help himself. The BlackBerry has become an extension of his being. It's the parasitic creature that he feeds by the endless tapping of his fingertips. He cradles it in his palm moments after he wakes up and checks on it right before he goes to sleep. I'm convinced he spends more time with it than he does our own children.

Being slow to embrace technology and a bit retro in my desire to chat on my cell rather than communicate through email, I swore that I would never succumb to the BlackBerry. But I've just started a new job where a Blackberry is as much a part of the culture as reading The New York Post.

It's not that I don't see its benefits. As a commuter who wants to be able to see my children before they go to sleep at night, a BlackBerry will make it possible for me to work on the train ride home. I'll be more accessible to everyone. But that's also what scares me. It's liberating not to be a slave to your email. The buzzing of an email alert that causes my husband to jump and grab his BlackBerry is an annoying interruption in our lives. As with everyone who I know who owns a BlackBerry, he clearly has a hard time creating boundaries between work and home.

Since I started my job a month ago, my three-year-old daughter, Lexi, now pretends that she is "going to work." She picks up her purse, keys and cell phone and says, "Bye sweetie, I've got to go to work now." For her, my working happens outside of the house in "the city." But when I walk through the door and change into my "play clothes" I'm mommy again and ready to play "Ring Around the Rosy." I know that it's just a matter of days before I sign up for my BlackBerry service. But I dread Lexi or my son Jonah seeing me on the Blackberry, at home but still "at work." It's just not fair to anyone.