It was a not-so-subtle hint that I was spending too much time using the slideout keyboard on my smartphone to send text messages, check e-mail and look up miscellaneous trivia.

So I downgraded. I said goodbye to the keyboard and hello to a touch-screen that’s such a pain to type on that I actually started using my phone to (gasp) talk when I needed to communicate. Not all the time, but often enough that I suspect my kids actually miss the days when I would tap out a quick message without having to do something obnoxious, like take my attention off what they’re saying.

More recently, in anticipation of having to go hands-free, I began buying different devices that, in theory, would hold my phone in place while I chatted. In reality, it started a new era marked by what I can only term “phone rage.”

The cradle attached to the windshield with a suction cup blocked the volume and voice activation buttons, but that didn’t matter as much as the way it kept popping off and taking my phone with it as it flew around the car.

Adhesive hooks seemed promising, but it took three tries to get one to stick securely enough to hold my phone, and the sticky stuff soon melted in the heat.

So I gave up. Thanks to Bluetooth, I don’t really need my phone to be attached to anything. With the earpiece on, I don’t even have to take my phone out of my purse, assuming that the earpiece stays in place and I don’t have to use the voice recognition software. Lucky we live Hawaiçi, except when we’re trying to get some program to understand what we’re trying to say, or vice versa.

It took me a while to realize that “Cane-oh” is “Käne‘ohe,” but I find some degree of amusement in trying to decipher my options or figure out how to pronounce something to trigger the correct response.

Mostly, though, I’m just saying, “No,” or “go back” before expressing disgust, which inevitably triggers some incorrect, though sometimes appropriate options from my contact list. I’ve started just asking my son to take the phone to pass along messages I could have typed in 10 seconds.
Residents in states with similar laws have managed to figure out how to keep both hands on the wheel while talking on the phone, so I’m sure the solution is out there. But unless I run across something better, I suspect my son will regret mocking my endless thumb-typing because it turns out he might be the most functional hands-free replacement.

But then I went back. Because if you're going to do an online survey trying to find the sexiest single dad, why wouldn't you ask people going online looking for men? Well, actually, it's because Colin Farrell is sharing the title with Jack Nicholson. Who is 70. And -- according to the women who participated in the survey -- is almost 9 percentage points sexier than Farrell. I agree.

I think it was the way that the genders ranked these 10 men that captured my attention. Or more specifically, where they put David Duchovny. Men put the as-seen-on-TV-sex-addict Duchovny at No. 2. Women put him in 8th, just over Guy Ritchie and Robin Williams (I assume this was a "pick one" sort of poll, not a chance to fill in the blanks). That's pretty much saying that he's lost just about all his appeal. (He also might not be single.)

Are the men who participated in the poll more forgiving or jealous? Women, I'm guessing, would just have trust issues.

Anyway, grab a grain of salt and review the results as reported by Avalance LLC, owner of the online dating sites:

MEN

Colin Farrell 25.0%
David Duchovny 16.7%
Guy Ritchie 14.5%
Jude Law 12.0%
Jaime Foxx 10.6%
Robin Williams 9.8%
Jack Nicholson 8.3%
Ryan Phillippe 8.3%
Eminem 3.1%

WOMEN
Jack Nicholson 21.1%
Jude Law 15.8%
Jaime Foxx 15.8%
Colin Farrell 12.4%
Ryan Phillippe 10.5%
Eminem 9.8%
David Duchovny 6.4%
Guy Ritchie 5.3%
Robin Williams 3.1%

There are 12 million single parents with children under the age of 18 currently dating in the United States. There are more than 300,000 single Fathers using Date.com, Matchmaker.com and Amor.com to date.

He might have looked pained during the process, but he was smiling afterward.

I got one last hug out of my son before he headed off to bed as a tween for the last time.
He humored me, but as I wrapped my arms around him, he rolled his eyes and said, "I’m not going to feel any different tomorrow, you know.”

As if that was the point. Right then, it was all about me. How can I be old enough to have a teenage kid when I still vividly remember him as a baby? I can still picture the ultrasound of this stubborn child nine days after his due date — so big that we couldn’t see much more than his spine and the knees positioned modestly to conceal his private bits, which meant his gender remained a surprise until we finally forced him out of the womb two days later with a Pitocin drip.

Burned into my mind is the cover of the book I brought to the neonatal intensive care unit with me every day for a week while my son recovered from pneumonia. It was “The Cunning Man” by Robertson Davies. Despite all the hours I sat in an uncomfortable rocking chair next to my sleeping newborn, I didn’t finish reading the book until after I’d taken my son home because I couldn’t read more than a few sentences at a time before looking up to see if that wondrous newborn was awake so I could take him into my arms.

When he was finally healthy enough to nurse, I can still see the surprise and delight on his face as he ravenously drained me, thus initiating a series of demands that have changed with his needs and interests, but maintain the same level of impatience and intensity to this day. Our lives are very different than they were 13 years ago. For instance, we now seem to be moving at warp speed, the only reasonable explanation for how so much time has  passed.

But other things are just the same, like my son being the same driving force in my life he’s been since the day I discovered he was on his way. He’s inspired me creatively, academically, professionally and, of course, maternally as well. His little sister is part of our lives because my son taught us that the joys of parenthood far outweigh the challenges (something I often need to remind myself).

Each time one of my children reaches a milestone, someone inevitably says, “Enjoy it while you can because it’s only going to get harder.” And if I’ve learned anything over the past 13 years, it’s that it’s true. It gets harder, almost by the minute. But those minutes fly by so quickly and even when time seems to grind almost to a halt during a moment of crisis, once we’re through it I discover that no considerable time has passed at all and we’re on to something else before I can even catch my breath.

Of course it’s going to get harder, but that’s not what matters. If 13 years can feel like a nanosecond, then there’s no time to waste worrying about what’s going to happen because it’s much more important to make the most of these fleeting moments.

Another way to put this is that I have a 12-year-old. A 12-year-old who thinks video games are cooler than girls (or at least I hope that's still the case). Bottom line: I have the kind of 12-year-old who drives his mom insane because he never checks his cell phone messages, which means the phone beeps, rings and buzzes constantly as a reminder.

Last night, for the sake of my own sanity, I told him I was going to delete all his messages and took his blank look in my direction as a sign of assent. Turns out he just doesn't listen or read to MY messages because he'd checked others. Except for this one, forwarded multiple times and making its way to him from someone who isn't in his contact list. I almost deleted this text message before returning his phone, but instead handed it to him and informed him that stuff like this is not okay:

1. Did you know kissing is good for you?

2. Did you know chocolate actually help your "tummy" when its hurting.

3. 79% of guys would rather you make the 1st move. 

3: More guys will read this than girls.

4: Fact: Guys love when you wear their hoodie or jacket.

5:Only a true gf/bf will cry infront of you.

6: girls would like it if you bought them flowers for Valentines Day.

7: If you have a dream bout someone, that person went to sleep thinking about you.

8:Girls love it when guys hug them around there waist.

9:Guys think its cute when you mess up.

10:A true bf/gf will hug or kiss you infront of his or her parents.

In 10 mintues someone will text or call you and say "Will you go out with me", or "Baby i want you." But 1st you have to send this to 10 people. :] No send backs! 

      -&$heBomb

The good news is that because he hadn't actually checked the message, he didn't forward it to 10 people in time (and was forbidden to do it, period) so we didn't see if the chain text worked its magic and no one called to tell him, "Baby I want you." (I think it's good news, anyway.)

The bad news is that I can only assume this is tame compared to what's to come.

In a matter of days, I’ll be the mother of a teenager who has already been given “The Talk” and been encouraged to ask questions along the way. If he needs to gather information, I’m more than happy to provide a mommified version of the facts of life.
It’s my 5-year-old whose questions are giving me grief. The last question she asked was what it means when a boy calls her “baby” (using the “be-beh” pronunciation). I said it means that the only reason why she shouldn’t slap him is because it’s not okay to hit.
We had a similar exchange when one of her boys she knows called her and a bunch of other girls “gay.” I tried to sidestep it by saying that it meant that they were all happy, but she wasn’t buying it because she knew he meant it as an insult. I told her that what he meant was that he was ignorant and intolerant and launched into a diatribe about how using harmless words in a derogatory way only perpetuates prejudice and prevents us from evolving as a society.

Then realizing I was only adding to her confusion, I simplified things by telling her that it meant that her tormentor obviously had absolutely no idea what he was talking about and he should ask his own mom what it means before he uses the word again.
Lately, it seems like every time I run into a parent with a child roughly my daughter’s age, we end up on the same topic. At schools across the island, both public and private, our kids are talking about sex without having the faintest idea of what they’re actually saying. They might be hearing it from older siblings, on TV, on the radio or, in my daughter’s case, from her peers. And like parrots, they’re just mimicking the words without any comprehension of the meaning.
As someone who does know what the words mean, I’m wondering what the implications are. We’re always talking about kids growing up too soon, babies having babies and raising children in a world where former Disney celebrities go off the deep-end once they get kicked out of the Mickey Mouse Club.
Maybe it’s harmless. My daughter doesn’t gush about the boys she knows and, if anything, is more apt to complain about them. But more and more the complaints seem to revolve around language that’s too mature — and often degrading to boot — and I can’t help but be saddened that at a time when the country is poised for change, the youngest generation hasn’t gotten the memo... or at least doesn’t know how to read it yet.

How long can a 5-year-old pop virtual packing bubbles on an iPod Touch?

Who knows? After about five minutes, I asked my daughter to at least stop doing it while leaning it on my shoulder and she kept at it for a quite a while after moving about six inches away.

She stopped only because she accidentally hit a button that revealed other applications and happily spent a good half-hour dressing up a chicken in different outfits.

In taking a Touch for a test drive, I figured I’d see if it really could be used as an educational tool, since there are endless applications that could help improve both my kids’ reading and math skills. But I was deluding myself into thinking that a phonics game would be more fun than swirling water around, or that math drills would be fun at all. They’d both rather try to balance a virtual egg than take advantage of foreign language lessons or learn about history or science.

Since I loaded it with kid-friendly applications, I shouldn’t have been surprised the kids would assume it was their friend, not mine. I was also deluding myself by thinking anything educational could be as fun as making obnoxious sound effects or playing games. Will it be useful to have in my purse for moments when I need to distract one kid or another for a few minutes? Of course. I just don’t think it will ever be anything more than that.

For years, I’ve held on to the belief that if I provided educational games my kids would play. I think I’m ready to give up on that dream because even though I keep reading that computer programs and handheld applications can be effective learning tools, my experience has been that a pencil and paper, along with computer programs that offer nothing but templates for writing, creating presentations and making spreadsheets, are the best way to inspire creativity and offer a no nonsense approach to project-based learning.

As for the iPod Touch, it looks like mommy has a new toy.

Photo courtesy of Sheree D. Revilla

The Wiener Dog Derby is just one of the reasons to check out the Hawaiian Humane Society's Canine Game Day from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. at Thomas Square tomorrow (Saturday). There's games and activities for dogs and their people, along a chance to look at dogs waiting to be adopted from the Humane Society.

As part of Maoli Arts Month, Bishop Museum is having a Native Hawaiian Market and Keiki Day tomorrow and Sunday from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m., featuring fine art from local musicians and make-and-take activities for the kids. Admission is discounted to $3 for kamaaina and military both days, and it gets you into the whole museum. This is important because it's the last weekend to see the traveling "Animation" exhibit, which features interactive exhibits on the animation process from start to finish, along with a cartoon museum.

If you haven't heard, local arts organizations, which have always had to rely on donations, have been hurting more than usual during this economic downturn, including the Honolulu Symphony. If you're on the fence about supporting the Symphony, find out more at today's Symphony Fair from noon to 5 p.m. Local orchestras, the Honolulu Opera Chorus and even a horn choir will perform; Jake Shimabukuro and Jimmy Borges are signing autographs; and there's even an instrument "petting zoo." Admission is $3 for adults and free for kids under 12. You might like it so much that you'll end up staying for the season finale of the Toyota Honolulu Symphony Pops, featuring jazz saxophonist Dave Koz at 8 p.m. Kids don't get in free to that, but lawn tickets cost about as much as admission to a 3D IMAX movie, and offer a different kind of sound sensation.

It wasn't so much that I was worried about the kids contracting the swine flu, but rather whether the teachers were prepared to have 50 middle schoolers an island away, possibly in quarantine. But since my son is a pretty healthy kid, I just stuck bottles of hand sanitizer in his backpack and suitcase, added some antibacterial wipes for good measure, and sent him on his merry way.

Unlike his last weeklong class trip, when he called me only twice from the East Coast, my son has been good about keeping me up to date from the Big Island. Like on Wednesday night, when he called and said, "I think I have a fever so I'm going to go to bed." He insisted he was okay and the school said the teachers hadn't reported any problems, so I assumed he had the same (not swine) flu my daughter and I have at home.

Then last night a parent chaperone called to tell me my son's fever had been up to 104 F, but was now a couple degrees lower. The call was to find out if they could give him a fever reducer, which I suppose made the frantic running around to a find a notary so I could authorize health treatment during the trip more than worth it.

And then I hung up and pondered the situation. A fever of 102 F isn't ideal, but not alarming since my son was apparently still participating in the class activities and eating. But 104? I called the hospital to find out what I should do in case his fever rose again. Should I have a family member who lives on the Big Island check on him? Should I have him sent home? Did I need to fly over myself?

Of course, expecting someone in the emergency room to offer advice on a child I couldn't even see was unreasonable, but she said that as long as he was still somewhat active and lucid and wasn't having seizures, he'd probably survive. And hearing the word seizure, I looked at the clock and wondered if I had time to make the last flight out.

Needless to say, I stayed put because if I couldn't trust the adults chaperoning the trip, I shouldn't have sent my son in the first place. And around 10 p.m., my son called to tell me the medicine worked and he wanted to stay for the rest of the trip. I didn't argue, although I did let him know that there was no shame in needing to come home.

But he declined. And while I was practically aching to see for myself what he looked like, to feel his forehead and tuck him into bed (or take him to the doctor), I knew that in this case I had to trust his judgment, and that of the adults who weren't sending him home.

It was hard for me to resist begging him to come home, but that would have only been for my benefit and I can only assume it would have been to his detriment to have his mommy make him come home. I'll just have to wait for him to come home tomorrow and be proud he decided to tough it out.

Me neither.

Yesterday, the little girl who had always been willing to strike a pose started running away and clamping her mouth shut every time someone whipped out a camera, coincidentally right on the heels of my musing over how much her appearance affects her sense of self-worth.

I'm not particularly concerned, though. Despite this new aversion to cameras, she wasn't hiding her gap-toothed grin once she'd decked herself out in a black pleather skirt, a plastic gold chain anklet, a turquoise Tibetan bracelet, a pink Hello Kitty watch and a purple Hannah Montana necklace.

But all that's beside the point. The story I want to tell is about the tooth fairy.

For Christmas, my daughter  proudly gave me a tooth pillow, a gift both absurd and charming. I thanked her profusely, since she doesn't need to know yet that adults who have teeth issues get dentists' bills, not petty cash under their pillows. But thinking someone might need a tooth pillow soon, I kept the gift ready to loan out when my daughter was ready for her first visit from the Tooth Fairy. When she announced a tooth was wiggling a couple weeks ago, I was prepared. Or so I thought.

On Mother's Day, the kids let me sleep until a little past 8:30 a.m., although in retrospect I don’t think they deliberately woke me up. It must have been almost an hour before I fully comprehended the cause of the hubbub that forced me from my bed. As you might have guessed, my 5-year-old had lost her first tooth. Since I missed it, my 12-year-old son took it upon himself to teach his little sister that if she put the tooth under a pillow, the tooth fairy would take it and leave some money in return.

Technically right. Except that instead of letting her putting it under her pillow when she went to bed, they put it under my pillow while I wasn't nearly awake enough to comprehend what was going on.

By time I'd sorted everything out, my daughter was distraught, my son was irritated and since my pillows had been tossed every which way, I was confused and the only thing that saved me from the grumps was a fabulous Mother's Day collage that looked like it had an entire container of gold glitter glued on it.

That present, along with my son's handmade "HERE'S SOME MONEY" card, distracted me so much that I almost scooped up the dollar lying on my bed along with the rest of the small fortune my son had given me. (I assume it was his pocket change, judging from the lint.)

As the story unfolded in fits and starts, I finally figured out my daughter was upset because the tooth she'd lost had disappeared. The dollar on my bed was the one the thieving tooth fairy had left when she took the tooth. I’m sure my daughter would have appreciated it if she'd had a chance to show me the tooth first... but it was gone.

She wasn't the only one unhappy. My son had expected her to be thrilled with the dollar's magical appearance, but he looked as crestfallen as his sister. Me? I wasn't nearly caffeinated enough to deal with the situation and ended up supplementing my daughter's tooth fairy take enough so she could buy yet another fancy stuffed dog.

It worked at the moment, but I don't even want to think about what's going to happen the next time the tooth fairy comes around. Hopefully I'll at least be able to share my tooth pillow with her and start a less chaotic tradition.

"Star Trek" cast photo by Associated Press

I am not a Trekkie.

The first episode of the original "Star Trek" series I saw was for a college course in the history of television. Since then, I've seen one more.

I've seen "Star Trek 2," went along with friends to see "Star Trek: Generations" 15 (!) years ago and for whatever reason, I've seen not only "Trekkies," but "Trekkies 2," as well. And now that I think of it, I've seen "Free Enterprise," too. There's might be a case to be made that I like Trekkies more than I like the franchise they're so enamored with.

But as fan of both "Lost" and "Heroes" (and "Harold and Kumar..." and "Shaun of the Dead," for that matter), I had a passing interest in J.J. Abrams new "Star Trek" movie. Still, if I hadn't seen the disappointment on son's face when he found out the group he'd hoped to go with had made reservations without him, I probably would have skipped it. And that would have been tragic.

Hardcore Trek fans may have a different take, but since the movie currently has a 94 percent rating on RottenTomatoes.com, I know I'm not the only one who had a great time watching the film. Sure, I had a hard time letting go of the suspicion that Spock was going to go Sylar on Kirk and I kind of wish my hot dog had been a White Castle burger, but rather than being distractions, I thought knowing the actors for different roles added to the fun.

But forget all that. The movie just worked. The action sequences were well-paced and the special effects were much better than the kiddie 3-D effects I've been seeing a lot of lately. There was just enough heartbreak to give the characters some depth and so many funny scenes that I had to keep nudging my son to see if he was laughing and whispering in his ear to make sure he caught some of the references.

We left smiling, made plans to watch the entire original series over the summer as we drove home and after my son happily hit the hay, I logged on to Netflix and put the entire original series at the top of my queue. I'm optimistic that as long as I resist ordering uniforms and spock ears to enhance our viewing pleasure, my son might actually sit down and watch the shows with me.