Once in a while I’ll be talking to someone born in the year… let’s say, 1943.

You know, like my father.

And in the middle of the call, we’ll get disconnected. And of course, we’ll both call back at the exact same time. And get each others’ voice mail.

Now because I’m a sane person who doesn’t want to unnecessarily agitate other people, I hang up and call back.

My father though, will leave a message.

Then he’ll call back again.

And leave another message.

Because apparently I must have no clue that we’re trying to reach each other and I need to be reminded. Twice.

Well, it turns out my dad isn’t the only one who likes to leave messages.

My 5 year-old daughter Dylan just figured out that she can call my cell phone from our land line. I drilled my cell phone number into her head as a safety precaution and boy, has she learned that number. She calls my cell 2 or 5 or 16 times a day. She loves when I answer but I think she prefers when I don’t. This is one of the messages she left me over the weekend.

“Sorry there are boogers all over your nose and that you broke your arm.” Click.

What kind of message is that?! It’s like some evil preschooler crank call. She thinks it’s HILARIOUS.

I’ve asked her to make her messages a little warmer. Less “boogers and broken arms” and more “I love you, mommy.” But Dylan does not want to be censored.

So obviously, it’s time to teach her Rick’s cell phone number.

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