Hey. Whatcha doin'?
Saturday morning dawned early as it always does (Hi Harry!). I let him cry in his crib longer than I probably should have but sometimes it just gets so old, feeling like every morning I'm awakened by a fire drill. There is no stretching of achy muscles, no contemplating the events of the coming day. It's more like a slap in the face or having a bucket of cold water poured on you.
Hi! Hi! Get Up! Get Up! You! Are! Needed!
The thought that there was once a time that I not only needed to set an alarm, but that I had the audacity to press the snooze button, to let my body wake gradually? Laughable. I think Tina Fey may have said it best: "It's the year after the baby comes that is like someone hitting you every day in the face with a hammer."
I would argue the second year is not exactly a vacation either, particularly with two (or, um, four. Heh).
Yes, yes, I know, someday I will need an alarm clock, someday I will read the New York Times in bed on Sunday morning, while I glance at the phone and think "That Ellie never visits anymore. I haven't seen Harry and Leo for months and why won't Lucy return my calls?"
Anyway, blah, blah, blah sleep talk=boring. You can sleep when you're dead and all that (and believe me, I intend to!). Really, all of this back story ranting is just leading up to this:
No, that's not my actual phone. But that's exactly what my phone looked like at about 5 a.m. Saturday morning. When awakened throughout the night (sometimes by a baby's cry but way more often these days by a big kid climbing into our bed) I often glance at my phone to check the time. And apparently at some point on Friday night/early Saturday morning, I did just that, and then, in a hazy, dreamy, half-asleep state, promptly set the phone down perfectly in A Glass of Water. Where it remained for at least four hours. I mean, who does that? Well, apparently I do. To quote a friend's response to my phone + cup of water: "Gee. Do you have kids?"
I was surprisingly zen about the whole thing (and no, it's not because I was going to use my ridiculousness as an excuse to upgrade to the iPhone 5). I think four kids have dulled my ability to freak out about anything that doesn't involve hospitalization or death. At the end of the day (or in this case, at the way beginning of the day!) it's just a silly phone. An inconvenience, a financial annoyance (though I send huge props to the Geniuses at the Genius Bar at the Apple store on Fifth Avenue who cut me a sweet little deal on a "new to me" phone). Hint: If you kill your iPhone, run, don't walk, to the Genius Bar. Don't even bother with your phone carrier who, if you're not eligible for an upgrade will quote you ridiculously large, scary sounding numbers.
I was most upset about the fact that it had been a while since I'd backed the phone up and was pretty sure I'd lost a few thousand pictures.* And quite a bit of music. I know. My fault. But the phone going into the glass of water? Totally the kids' fault. At least, indirectly. Isn't everything?
*Happily most of the photos and music were retrieved. A pre-Hanukkah phone miracle!
