The cordless phone is the greatest Mom liberator since the 19th amendment and disposable diapers. It was probably invented by a talkative mom who was tied with the phone cord to a halogen floor lamp by her toddlers, and who watched in horror as an Indian rain dance was performed in her living room by her children flinging cookie crumbs and rainbow sprinkles into the air. <continued below>

I now have approximately thirty seconds to grab the receiver, race to the laundry room, turn out the light, lock the door, and climb onto the dryer so my feet won't be seen from underneath the door. Of course I can't speak. I can only nod and make sounds like the wash and hope the dryer buzzer doesn't go off in the caller's ear.

During long conversations I often dash to several hiding places.

"Are you okay?" the caller asks, hearing my gasps for breath.

"Yes," I sputter, "I'm just relocating to my neighbor's roof and the ladder is a few feet too short."

During the rainy season I use the back of my closet, the car trunk or the chimney, providing no fires are lit and it's after Christmas.

One day my husband came home and found me having a conversation wedged behind my shoetree, between pre-mother- hood jeans and a box of winter sweaters.

"Why don't you call a truce and let the answering machine take the calls and return them when the children are asleep?" my husband asked.

"When I need you, I never know whether to crawl up the chimney or look under the sink."

"Good point," I agreed, "But where's the sport in that?" I asked as I quickly tightened my laces, stretched my hamstrings, and sprinted towards the ringing phone.

Debbie Farmer is a nationally syndicated humor columnist. You can sign up for her free mailing list or order a copy of her new e-book "The Best of Family Daze" from her website. Visit her site.