Dear Kid,

I would have preferred to tell you in person, but since I won’t see you for a while I decided not to wait.

My Fitbit and I are having a trial separation.

It’s not that we don’t love each other; we do. And this is in no way your fault or your sister’s fault; we don’t want you to think that at all. We both love the two of you very, very much. Sometimes these things just happen.

We’re perfectly suited for each other, my Fitbit and I. Fitbit is purple; I love purple. Fitbit accumulates all sorts of information; I’m a data junkie. Fitbit sits quietly and only gives answers when asked to do so; I give all sorts of commentary all the time and appreciate an appliance that knows when not to interrupt.

And we’ve been through a lot together, my Fitbit and I. Miles and miles and miles on flat terrain and on stairs. On the track and on the carpet. And many, many nights of snoozing, cuddled together while Fitbit monitors my sleep and gently blares a wake up buzz at the appointed hour.

It’s not the rude awakenings that are splitting us up.

It’s not even the overly cheerful insistence that Just 2,583 More Steps And I’ll Hit My Goal!

It’s far worse than that.

I was charging my Fitbit (as we age, we require that more often) from my laptop while I sat on the couch and worked. I forgot it was plugged in, moved my laptop, and – catastrophe. The little plastic part on the back stayed with the chord. The Fitbit fell off.

And the little tiny button that makes everything work disappeared.

I started to search and found nothing. Quickly Dad and the Puppy joined in the hunt.

You have No Idea the amount of, um, stuff we found that the couch had eaten.

Three pencils, two pens, a check book register, a folded up Mentos wrapper (lookin’ at you, kiddo), an earring, 2 earring backs (neither of which were related to the earring), a pair of scissors, various scraps of paper, a wide variety of crumbs, an apple seed, a sock, three hair elastics, two barrettes, a small rock, five business cards, a blob of something we never managed to identify, a plastic bag, a small family of marmosets, and a bobby pin.

No money. No small piece for a Fitbit.

Which means that my beloved Fitbit is, at least for the moment, just a piece of purple plastic one can wear as a decoration if one chooses to.

I do not choose to.

I think we’ll go couch diving again to give it one more try to find the piece. After that, we have some serious thinking to do about our relationship.

Just thought you should know.

Love, Mom