This morning, I awoke to a barrage of notifications that could only be described as a digital tsunami. First, there were 15 emails about who would be responsible for bringing snacks to the high school soccer game this evening. Yes, you read that correctly—snacks for high school athletes. But hold that thought. Next, I received about 10 emails detailing a change of venue for my middle schooler’s basketball practice.
Before I could breathe, an automated message from the class parent popped up, reminding me to create an account on SignUp Genius to volunteer for a teacher luncheon. Beneath that, I found three emails from the school’s learning management system, complete with homework assignments for my fifth grader and a link to check quarterly report cards. And let’s not forget the separate login required for the high school grade portal.
And I’m just getting started.
After that, my inbox was flooded with updates from “TeamSnap” and “Ringya,” where I was greeted with a delightful array of “reply all” responses from 20 other parents, each adding to a never-ending email thread. Oh, joy! Just what I needed—more digital chaos.
Can we talk about “login fatigue”? Because it’s real, my friends.
Then, I picked up my phone, and oh boy, was that a mistake. My screen was filled with automated text reminders about everything under the sun—one after another. Yes, team mom, I know! Granola bars tomorrow for the high school soccer team, and make sure they’re nut-free. Got it!
Lastly, I received a text from my college son asking for laundry money to be added to his university account. Of course, there’s an app for that, because heaven forbid he actually find a cash machine and gather quarters like it’s 2010. What even is cash nowadays? Welcome to the world of Venmo!
But let’s be honest: none of this is enjoyable. It’s like drowning in an ocean of technology.
The reality is that modern parenting, with all its child management apps, portals, and communication platforms, has taken over my life. I’m pretty sure it’s doing the same to you. It feels nearly impossible—perhaps even rebellious—to opt out of these tools.
I know this because I’ve tried. At a recent game, I confidently told the baseball team mom, “I’m not giving you my email. I get way too many emails already.” Maybe a bit curt? Sure, but I was standing up for my mental well-being, trying to avoid email rage throughout the season. “Just give me a paper schedule for snacks, practices, and games. That’s all I need.” Imagine that—a tangible schedule to jot down in my planner! It’s still possible to remember things without the incessant pings and dings.
For larger families, the burden of managing multiple kids’ activities only multiplies. Each child may have 3-4 different apps to communicate through. And as if that isn’t enough, while each parent receives the same messages, they also need their unique logins. My husband and I almost ended up in a heated argument last semester over our inability to remember the login for the academic portal. An explosive debate over my first car ensued, resulting in slammed doors and uncertainty about whether our child passed 8th-grade math. Aren’t these times just great?
How on earth did our parents manage to get us where we needed to be without losing their minds? I don’t recall my mother ever having a wall calendar or a planner back in the ‘80s, yet I never missed a game or practice. Perhaps her mind wasn’t cluttered with 50 open tabs and countless lists, logins, and passwords. My kids, on the other hand, seem to lack any sense of schedule. It’s as if they rely on technology to remind us of everything, making them less capable of remembering things themselves.
We’ve become so dependent on reminders that we get frustrated when our emails (which we now allow algorithms to sift through) fail to sync with our calendars. All these advanced apps designed to save us time and ensure we stay organized, and yet here we are, failing to remember anything because we’re overwhelmed by virtual sticky notes.
So, I ask: can we revert to good old-fashioned paper sticky notes for reminders? And while we’re at it, let’s bring back the Franklin Covey planners! I propose we reject these digital planning tools and rediscover the simplicity of managing our lives with pen and paper—no logins, passwords, or accounts needed.
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In summary, the digital age of parenting may promise convenience, but it often leads to confusion and overwhelm. It might be time to reevaluate how we manage our busy lives and consider going back to simpler methods.
Keyphrase: Parenting Apps Overload
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