Tags: iPhone addiction
My iPhone was lost. Little O had been playing with it in the morning, holding it to his ear and waddling around going, “Hi! Hi!”. I remember he handed it back to me. And then I remember going into Little Buggy’s room to get her dressed for school. Had I brought the phone in to her room with me? I didn’t remember doing so. But I needed to find it quickly because I had a big day planned: I would drop Buggy at school and head to the Wrentham Outlets, then I would drive to Wellesley to meet a friend for lunch. Little O must have turned off the ringer flip on the side when he was chewing on it, so calling it from the landline didn’t help. I tossed my room (stripped the bed, emptied the hamper, crawled around the floor). I tossed O’s room. I tossed Little Bug’s room, shaking out the blankets on her bed as well. No iPhone.
How could I drive to Wrentham or Wellesley without my GPS? Without my email? Without texting? Ridiculously addicted to the iPhone, I decided to forgo the big adventure. I told myself it was because I was too nervous that our nanny or the school couldn’t get in touch with me in an emergency (which is of course absurd because they could have called Tim or one of the other half-dozen contacts on our emergency call sheet…) I walked around the rest of the day feeling a bit unsettled. What if someone important were trying to call me (no one has my landline number anymore)?
Tim got home that night after the children were asleep. We searched our room some more, quietly searched the children’s room. Then, being a true Apple Geek, he downloaded onto my iPad an app called “Find My iPhone” which, if you have MobileMe (and, if you don’t, let my story be a strong encouragement to purchase it immediately!), will somehow make your phone ring even if the ringer is off! After downloading the app, I heard a faint ringing from upstairs. Good, at least it was in the house. I sourced it to Little Bug’s room. It seemed to be coming from her bed. That was strange: she was asleep in her bed, and anyway I had unmade it and remade it earlier in my frantic hunt. Rolling her over, I saw the faint glow from under her fitted sheet. Under her fitted sheet — there was no way that the phone could have “accidentally” gotten there.
The next morning, while we made up her bed I said, “Remember how Mommy was looking for her phone yesterday?” “Yes.” “Do you know where I found it?” “Where?” “Under your sheet?” “Oh, yeah!” “Did you put it there?”
“Yes, I wanted to see if I could feel a lump.”
Oh, my fairy tale-loving daughter, to whom we have been reading “The Princess and the Pea” for several weeks. I didn’t even try to choke back my laughter.
“Don’t do that again, OK?” I said, tears streaming out of my eyes.