Steam rises from a pot on the stove while long noodles swirl inside. Red sauce pops and sizzles next to it. My hungry children ask for the hundredth time when dinner will be ready as they compete in a pre-dinner wrestling match. They're loud. They're hungry. They're running out of patience for our spaghetti dinner.
My phone lets out a long and low ring. I know it's a customer. My regular ring is a chirp. I turn off the burners and answer the call as I drain the water from the noodles. "This is Monica." I say, hoping that the yelps and screams from my little wrestlers die down. A potential client is calling in for some details on our services. She's worried about her sons. I'm worried about mine, too. The internet is exposing them to so much. We talk for a minute about our worries and I explain the benefits of NetAngel. It's more than a porn filter, it's a physicians bag for a world of broken hearts. Our instruments are not scalpels and clamps, but rather automatic time constraints, text alerts, app restrictions, and a host of others.
I serve plates of hot food to my children as I talk. I apologize that their requests for parmesan cheese get too loud. The client is more than understanding and so kind. Her concerns are lessened as she realizes she can protect her children better because of our products at NetAngel. I breathe a little easier knowing I've helped another mother battle for higher ground.
It's what I do.