Smartphone addiction is taking its toll

My husband is constantly on his phone, scrolling through social media, playing video games or chatting with friends. I feel like I’m always competing for his attention, and it’s driving me nuts.

I have complained many times, and he promises to pay more attention to me, but his addiction to his smartphone takes priority every time.

This past weekend was the worst, which is why I am writing. He promised to take me to a hotel by the sea as a romantic getaway, and I was so looking forward to it. The hotel was a two-hour drive from our home, and he drove, and we were able to have the beginnings of a conversation. Of course, every time he received a text message, he would glance at his phone. One time, he wanted to reply, and I said, “No! It’s too dangerous,” so he waited until we had arrived.

I checked us into the hotel, and of course he spent the entire time with his phone. The room and view were beautiful, but I don’t think he even noticed; he was so busy with his phone.

After a while, I get tired of complaining, and I have started to wonder what it would be like with someone else — someone who wasn’t so addicted to their phone. We want to have children, but I am afraid that he will be one of those fathers who ignores his kids because he is obsessed with his phone.

When we were at dinner in a very nice restaurant, he pulled out his phone and told me that I should talk and he was listening, even though his eyes were on the phone. He only put it down in between bites of food! I was furious and started crying. He acted like this was my problem, not his, and he played innocent.

He later apologized, but at the same time he pretended as if I was the one with the problem, and he doesn’t know what I am talking about when I say that he is an addict. I get so mad I could scream! I do love him, and he says he loves me. He has promised to pay more attention to our relationship and not to look at his phone so much, but it’s as if he has no control. He constantly feels compelled to check his phone.

The bottom line is that his ADDICTION to his smartphone is threatening to ruin our marriage. Do you have any suggestions?

— Ignored for a Phone

SmartWe arrived to pouring rain in phones are a valuable tool San Juan, America’s oldest EuOur favorite restaurant was as a source of instant inropean-established city. My husFajardo’s La Estación, in a forformation, but they are deband gamely slipped on his mer gas station. A couple of signed to be addictive. The flip-flops and sloshed up to the New York City restaurant veterAddiction Center has a tollcounter of Charlie Car Rental’s ans serve what they call Nuyorifree number (866- 340- 0608) flooded office, a modest inconvecan BBQ, bringing Caribbean flathat I suggest you call. Your nience for saving a couple hunvors to the Southern U.S. tradihusband is addicted to his dred bucks. tion. The grilled swordfish was phone, and it could cost him Less than an hour later, we white-tablecloth caliber. And the his marriage. The fact that arrived in the coastal town of pulled-pork sandwich, tucked he promises you he will pay Luquillo, where we’d rented a into Puerto Rican sweet bread, more attention to you — and condo for the week. We found a deserves a spot on any best-of then breaks his promiselist.—restaurantandflaggeddowna would sound Pvery familiar waiter serving the patio, just as uerto Rican cuisine includes to spouses of alcoholics or a car blasting salsa music rolled a lot of fried starches, including gambling addicts. past. “Sorry,” he shouted. “Our green plantains served mashed culture is loud.” as mofongo or as chip-like tos

Between Luquillo and Fatones. We liked Puerto Rico’s verjardo, a slightly larger city about sion of the empanada, called 15 minutes away, there are pastelillos, which are sold evbeaches for days. Every beach erywhere, even out of a beach had aquamarine waters, little to hawker’s insulated bag. no seaweed, and light to modest Our kids loved pairing the fish crowds. The only variations were tacos at La Fonda in Luquillo in sand texture (crushed-shell with a flight of tropical juices: bits to silky powder) and waves mango, passion fruit, tamarind (mild to moderate). The only and soursop. And, even better, a thing to complain about was the virgin piña colada from the kifrequently overflowing garbage osks, served in its own pineapple, cans. topped with a paper umbrella.

Send your questions for Annie Lane to dearannie@ creators. com.

My husband and I availed ourselves of Puerto Rico’s famous rums. Enormous mojitos were a common and refreshing beach sipper. Even with cocktail prices in the single digits, we didn’t encounter the rowdy drinkers that often descend on beach towns.

Instead, the liveliest thing we saw in downtown Luquillo was three young men who arrived on horses and hitched them up outside a bar. The friendly riders welcomed my kids’ request to pet the horses and even hoisted them up to sit on their backs.

We took a break from beachcombing and drove 20 minutes to the El Yunque rainforest. On my prior trip to El Yunque, my friends and I ziplined through the treetops of this U.S. national forest. My family opted to drive its most popular route, which required an online reservation 24 hours in advance. We made pit stops to take in the view at an observation tower, marvel at a shuttered Ccc-built swimming pool, scramble up a steep hiking path and douse ourselves under a waterfall.

We also made a day trip to the small island of Culebra, the sleepier sister to the betterknown Vieques. The kids initially loved the upper-deck view and ocean spray of the ferry (tickets cost a mere $4.50 for adults, $2 for kids; book in advance).

We caught a van ride to Culebra’s Playa Flamenco, often named among the best beaches in the world for its crystalline waters and white sand. A decade ago, when my friends and I relaxed under one of its palm trees, I was approached by some of the island’s roaming horses — one boldly licked the ocean salt off my arm.

The islands’ lack of development, due to Culebra’s and Vieques’ long occupation by the

U.S. Navy, helped sustain the free-range herds. But the isles’ legacy as a training range means contaminants abound. Even after an alarming 40,000-plus bombs, grenades and rockets have been removed, an unknown number remain. (A posted flier warns of the munitions: “They are not souvenirs.”)

My kids were captivated by their novel surroundings, content to search for geckos, build forts out of palm fronds, or watch a guy shimmy up tree trunks to harvest coconuts (he kindly opened one with a machete so they could drink the juice).

As they age into more island activities — from snorkeling to surfing to scuba diving — I can’t wait to bring them back.

Startribune/tribune News Service