iHate the iPhone…most of the time.
I live in a Mac world. Darling husband, a designer, doesn’t habla anything but Apple so while some say “til death do us part”, I begrudgingly agreed to “til PC do us part”. And so we eagerly gave up our Blackberries last year to join the iPhone revolution. AT&T upgrades in hand, we hit the Mac store, where they know us well, and left happily with two glossy new screens shining a light on the wireless wonderland laying before us.
A year later, I’ve come to realize that bright glow from the screen is the only thing that DOES work on the damned thing. Maybe it’s a lemon, maybe it’s my luck, maybe it’s the three tumbles it has taken from the top of the treadmill, but my iPhone is the bane of my existence with non-stop “loading”, dropped calls, and disappearing inboxes that never find their way home. I cursed it, I vowed to return it, I came very close to throwing it out the sunroof on more than one occasion.
And then I stumbled upon its true purpose. In a restaurant. Over huevos rancheros, no beans, and a non-fat latte. As Little D decided, in true two-year old fashion, that she was over it. Five minutes ago. And proceeded to let the whole place know with her screaming.
Dora. Little Einsteins. Backyardigans. And more. The iPod function on the phone inexplicably works like a charm, and can house endless hours of Little D’s favorite videos, for little cost and very little effort. Now we’re talking, Steve (Jobs). Now we are talking.
With a download or two (ok, maybe 10), I had a safety net. Brunch dates, flights, heck even a late night at my best friend’s wedding when no other baby was bypassing meltdown mode – moments like these are no longer mountains, they are little Mac molehills. Little D logs on (by herself these days, sadly) and voila, instant mama nirvana as I sip contentedly on my wine, have a real adult conversation over dessert, and actually flip through a magazine in the terminal.
Suddenly “in good times and in bad” seem like a breeze with the Apple of my married eye.