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.

But the real reason I’m loving those awesome little machines right now? Kids. Kids like to watch TV. And in our house? We let them. Not a lot. But, still. We are not one of those households who will proclaim, “TV? Children? Not in our home.” I grew up watching TV. So did my husband. And we are, I like to think, okay. We turned out okay. And besides, almost every show out now that is geared towards children has some redeeming educational value to it. It’s not the same old “Tom & Jerry” from my youth.

So it seems now that most of the programs scheduled on our TiVo are shows like “Caillou,” and the occasional “Sesame Street.” Oh, and let’s not forget “Dora the Explorer.” She is an integral part of Pea’s life right now. So much so that I know I’ve written passionately about Dora before. And so I was really excited when the editor of the Smart Television Alliance newsletter asked me if I’d be interested in writing a guest post about children’s programming. Of course, I was. And, as you can guess, it was about none other then my little friend “Dora…”

You should check out the Smart Television Alliance. I think it’s a great idea. I subscribe to the newsletter. I read the newsletter. I want to stay on top of what goes on in my home where television entertainment is concerned, and this is a great way to do it.

They were not the most graceful steps. There were three big ones, and then moments later, I was able to catch her fourth official step on tape. My husband will be able to see it in a matter of minutes. It’s almost as good as being there in person, right?

We take a lot of pictures in this house. We document everything. But we don’t do much in the way of video. I don’t know why. We have a nice video camera that we received as a gift when Pea was born, but it just is never used. I hope I don’t come to regret that further down the road. But in the meantime, for the every day excitement around here, I have this awesome little camera by Sony called the Cyber-Shot that is so tiny I carry it with me everywhere. It’s digital, takes great photos but also takes video. And for such a tiny camera, it does some pretty amazing things. Reduces red-eye, has an incredible zoom lens on it and has a really generously sized screen for play-back. When my husband is away, I take little snippets with the video option and send them to him so that he feels like he’s here, like he’s a part of it all.

I’ve been through a lot of cameras over the years. But this little guy? He is my go-to camera. It does everything and then some. I’m not kidding when I say it’s always in my handbag, or my jacket pocket or hanging around my neck. I’ve been using it for most of Pea’s life and can’t imagine not having it. I suppose there are better ones out on the market that have come along in the years since my Cyber-Shot made it’s big entrance, but why mess with perfection?

Adding to the problem is this most awesome sleep monitor. I am so paranoid about rebreathing (thanks so much, Dr. Morgan… note the sarcasm) that I can’t get rid of this thing. It has a feature that you can turn on that sets off an alarm when it stops sensing movement… like breathing. And ours? It goes off. A lot. Like at the least once a night. And it wakes me up. I run to Coco’s room, feet barely touching the ground, to find that she’s just inched her way into a tight corner and so the monitor just can’t register her that far away. She is still breathing. But she’s awake now. Yippee.

My husband tells me every time to get rid of the thing. She’s almost seven months old. She knows what she’s doing. But the mama in me just can’t do it. I need that security. Because… what if?

Alas, I have to admit that my response time to the alarm has gotten much, much slower. We’ve been through this drill so many times now and she is almost seven months old…

And I am tired. And sick of loading up on coffee during the day to help keep me going. And the worst part? When I’m sleep deprived, I get really, really stressed out. By the dumbest little things. And when I’m really stressed out? I eat. Anything. And so that goal weight I was so close to? I am really worried that it’s going to start slipping away from me. I need to get control of this whole situation, and fast. And so I know what I need to do. I need to put away the monitor. And then sleep train Coco again. And then go to sleep myself. Yay.

Then there are the “older” moms, who naturally seem to gravitate towards one another. They all drive Lexus SUVs and carry Louis Vuitton bags. Neither of which I am interested in. Personally, I traded in my enormous Land Rover a year ago for the more enviro-friendly Saab wagon. And Louis Vuitton? Makes me think of my grandmother. A nifty lady, but the fact that she is a grandmother has tainted my view of Louis.

Then there are the moms who are the loners. They don’t talk to anyone, they show up, get their kid and leave. Almost as if they were never there.

I tend to be a floater. That’s what I was in high school, and apparently, some things never change. I just like to talk to everyone, find out what they’re doing. But I don’t want to commit. Life is too short and I just want to leave my options open, you know? And some moms don’t have an issue with that and than others behave as if you have the plague when you don’t have a particular tribe.

Well, today I noticed that a mom who previously had been very pregnant was now no more. So I thought I’d ask her about her new baby. Don’t all moms love to talk about their kids? Let me tell you, talking to her was like taking candy from that proverbial baby. “Yes.” “No.” “It’s hard.” No inflection, no particular tone, just… simple words. Ugh. I finally said, “Congratulations,” and turned on my heels to get away from her. It was that weird. Is she shy? Tired? Not a friendly person by nature? Not that she really struck me initially as a person who I would have anything in common with, other than both of us being women with a kid at the same school. I just thought, what is the harm in striking up a meaningless conversation? I was so sure that motherhood was going to be a common bond I would instantly have with other women, other mothers. I couldn’t wait to be a part of the club. But again, I’m finding it’s just like high school. You have to commit to a club to be a member of the club.

At least I have my new Apple iPhone to keep me company.

And her.