This morning, I awoke to a barrage of messages—at least 15 emails concerning who was responsible for bringing snacks to tonight’s high school soccer match. Yes, you read that correctly: snacks for teenagers participating in a sport. But let’s park that thought for a moment. Alongside those, I received around 10 emails notifying me of a change in location for my middle schooler’s basketball practice.
Next, I encountered an automated email from a class parent, complete with a link to SignUp Genius, directing me to create an account to volunteer for a teacher luncheon. Tucked below was a trio of notifications from the school’s learning management system, featuring attachments that detailed weekly assignments for my fifth grader and a link to log in for quarterly report cards. If I wished to check the high school grade portal, I would need to navigate a completely different login process.
And this is merely the beginning.
The onslaught continued with numerous updates from apps like TeamSnap and Ringya, presenting me with a delightful array of “reply all” responses from other parents, along with yet another link for me to log in and contribute my own thoughts. Oh, what joy it is to be part of this lengthy email chain!
Did I mention that I might be suffering from “login fatigue”?
Then, I made the mistake of glancing at my phone. There, lined up on my screen, were countless automated texts reminding me of every single obligation. “Hey team mom, I understand! Granola bars for the high school soccer team, no nuts. I’ve got it!”
To top it all off, I received a text from my son at college, requesting funds to add to his university card for laundry. Of course, there’s an app for that—because expecting a college student to visit an ATM for quarters feels outdated. What even is cash in today’s world? It’s a Venmo universe now!
But let’s be clear: none of this feels enjoyable. It’s a suffocating experience driven by technology.
The complexities of modern parenting, compounded by numerous child management apps, platforms, and communication software, have completely overwhelmed my life. I suspect many of you can relate. It has become nearly impossible—perhaps even recklessly defiant—to navigate life without these tools.
I know this firsthand because I attempted to resist. When a baseball team mom requested my email at a game, I boldly declined, saying, “I already receive too many emails; please contact me another way.” Was that a bit harsh? Probably, but I was prioritizing my mental well-being and trying to avoid email-induced frustration for the entire season. “Just print the schedule for snacks, practices, and games. That’s all I need,” I insisted. Can you believe it? A tangible schedule that I could place in my planner, allowing me to remember appointments without the constant barrage of notifications!
For larger families, the burden of managing multiple kids becomes even more cumbersome, with each child often having 3-4 different communication apps for their activities. To make matters worse, each parent receives the same updates but must manage their own separate logins. At the end of last semester, my partner and I nearly considered divorce over our inability to recall the academic portal login information, leading to an explosive argument over what my first car was. We ended that evening unsure whether our child had passed 8th-grade math. What a time to be alive!
How did our parents manage to get us to our activities without this overwhelming digital framework? How did we survive without snacks after school? I can’t recall my mother ever using a wall calendar or personal planner in the 80s, yet I never missed a practice or game. Perhaps her mind was uncluttered by the chaos of 50 open tabs, countless lists, and a myriad of logins and passwords. She simply remembered that Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays were ballet class days—no Goldfish crackers required.
Moreover, I believe my children lack a sense of scheduling because they depend entirely on technology to remind us of everything. We’ve become excessively reliant on reminders, often getting frustrated when our email fails to sync with our calendars—leading to confusion about our commitments. Despite having all these advanced apps designed to assist us, we find ourselves overwhelmed by a flood of virtual notes.
So, the question remains: can we revert to using actual paper notes? Can we bring back traditional planners and remind ourselves that it’s possible to manage everything without the need for technology? Perhaps we should all take a step back, rally against these digital planning tools, and embrace a simpler approach with pen and paper—no logins, passwords, or accounts required.
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In conclusion, the onslaught of parenting apps and digital communication tools is overwhelming. Despite their intended purpose to simplify our lives, they often contribute to stress and confusion. By returning to simple, traditional methods, we may reclaim some peace in our chaotic parenting journeys.