Years ago, when the original iPhone came out, I instantly became the proud owner of one. I never thought I could care so much about a mobile phone, but it was so much more than a mobile phone, you know? And although three years later when I finally put her to rest, I was teased relentlessly for not having a single application on the phone beyond what it came with, I still loved it. I received email on the run. Cool! Waiting in a doctor’s office suddenly had a whole new meaning. It was no longer wasted time, it became an extension of my time. And three years ago I had a newborn and a barely-two-year old, so there was no my time. But my iPhone made it possible for me to connect on the run in the most random places, and I again felt human. Overstatement there? No. You tell me how you feel about connecting with real people who can talk actual words when you are busy all day and night with two under two!

And then my sweet husband took it upon himself to order me the new iPhone. To replace the perfectly good one that I was still using. Which would have been cool and all, had he ordered the right one – the one that took video, as well. But he made a whoops, kind of rare in these parts, and basically bought me the same phone I already had. And it was a couple of weeks before we realized it. I’m lazy like that. And in the time between when I received the new one and realized it was the wrong one, I’d sent my old and still perfectly good original iPhone to my little sister in New York, all packaged up nice and neat in the new phone’s packaging.

And then, in a fit of rage, Coco threw the new phone on the ground at the playground last Wednesday, after ice skating lessons.

But no biggie. Besides a lovely crack clear across the front of the screen, it still worked.

But today? While at the apple orchard with all of her and her big sister’s friends, picking apples? It was dropped face down in the parking lot and it shattered. And I’ll be darned that the stupid thing still works. But I’m pretty sure that one of those shards of plastic? Glass? Is going to pierce the side of my head at some point.

So, lesson learned: never, ever replace something that works perfectly well with the newer version. Because the newer version will inevitably turn out to be a piece of crap that is not nearly as well-made as the original. Case in point: my original iPhone, lovingly tossed around in fits of rage by not one but two little girls over the course of three years with nary a scratch.

But the new version? Two weeks in my house? Trashed.

Which brings me to my next point: why do kids have to destroy everything they touch? Just added a new princess dress, hand-made, to the dress-up box yesterday. By the end of the day? Huge tear in the side of it. Total wear time? About 45 minutes. My hat that I’ve been knitting practically non-stop for the past two days? Twisted and knotted into a mess that even my professional knitting friend won’t be able to salvage. Fairy doll beheaded by Lola after being left on the floor by one little 4-year old who cannot (will not?) clean up after herself. I am so frustrated! I actually heard myself using the sentence, “we can’t have anything nice in this house!” yesterday, before my husband cut me off with a, “don’t you dare… my mom said that all the time growing up and I don’t want to hear it from you.”

There is not one room in this house that is not littered with their stuff. There is not one little nook for me to escape to in this house where I am guaranteed peace, quiet and privacy. I’m wondering when it’s going to end? When I will shower alone? Pee alone? Dress alone? Fold laundry alone? Sleep alone? Ever?

I told my husband that I didn’t want another iPhone. I hate it. It’s crap. And anyway, I can’t have anything nice (well, pricy, really) until the girls learn the true meaning of “keep your hands to yourself!” Just get me whatever phone comes free with a plan. But now? Reminiscing about the early days with my babies and my iPhone? I’m a little weepy. I know, I know. Get over it. It’s a gadget. But so often, as a mom, I feel so out of the loop! Like my entire existence is potty training, carpools and play-dates. Bedtime stories and sleep training. Sometimes, I just want to sit on the bench at the park and read the gossip blogs on my phone, okay?

Before Coco heads over my way and heaves it across the concrete basketball court and it shatters into a million more pieces.