Tomorrow’s post is about boobs and smartphones.

Been a while, yes?

A lot of times when I don’t post for a while its because I got out of the habit. More times it’s because I just flat have nothing to say.

I said as much on Twitter yesterday, which drew a response from the lovely Leslie in the form of this comic from The Oatmeal.

I’ll leave you with that.

How to be condescending

If you are on Facebook (and if you’re not, WHO ARE YOU?), chances are you’ve seen a link circulating recently about how your fascination with your electronic devices can make you miss your children’s lives.

If you haven’t seen the link, here it is. It appeared on my facebook wall more times than I can possibly tell you, always accompanied by “OMG, you must read this,” or “I’m crying. So true.”

Now, the content of this article is very heartfelt and very to the point. She talks about how being lost in one’s digital gadgets can be harmful to your relationship with your children, how the children learn that whatever is happening is more important than them, all sorts of statements that had just enough truth seeded into them to make any modern-day, smartphone toting, social media savvy parent feel like dog shit gone white.

Now, to be fair – she does dedicate a couple of sentences to how this is the modern world and sometimes we have to be accessible. Sometimes it’s necessary to allow laptops and smartphones into our lives.


May I offer my point of view? I’m gonna.

I’m a blogger, and a full-time online student. I’m also married to a podcaster who is also a full-time student. Technology and the gadgets involved are completely enmeshed in our lives.

I love my iPhone. My iPad. To a lesser degree, the computers and such which inhabit my house – and there are a lot. I love to text message. I love to steal a few minutes in the day to check facebook, tweet something random, or peruse my blog stats for the day.

Certainly, as a society, we are more interconnected than ever before. I talk to my husband while he’s at work. I always have a camera because I always have my phone. And yes, I check my phone before I talk to anyone in my family because EVERYONE IN MY FAMILY IS USUALLY STILL ASLEEP SINCE I WAKE EVERYONE UP.

Some people escape into books. Some into painting or gardening or building rockets. This has always been the case. I don’t really see any difference.

Of course it’s important to acknowledge your family and the others in your lives. To look them in the eye, listen when they talk, and be fully present when they need you – but I don’t see that as having anything to do with being less connected. I see that as being a decent human being.

So, my response to the article is as follows:

I am a connected mom. I interact constantly and I learn constantly. My children know they are important. They know because I’m their mom. I bandage scrapes and icepack bumps and come running when they have nightmares. They do not have some woeful mourning inferiority because I sometimes play Jetpack Joyride.

Because I show them moderation, they learn that I am, as they are, members of a continuous mechanism. Everyone is connected, everyone is important. I don’t have to throw away my iPhone to be a good mom. I just have to use good sense. And I think that’s a better example than anything else.


Robot Farts

Seriously, someone stop me.

I’ve been talking to this damn phone all day.

I have no idea why. And talk about laziness. I’ve asked this freaking program to find my husband (searching for Josh Stain), to average my grades, to translate phrases (I don’t know what you mean, Emily), and Josh asked for some boobs and got directions to five different strip clubs.

Not to mention, a full half hour before we went to sleep last night, my husband narrated a list of reminders for the next day. I’m not sure what he did a couple of days ago, before he had a program to buzz his phone and remind him to sneeze.

Overly dependent on technology? Meet the Steens.

In other news, Lucy (who now skips across the room yelling, “Siri, Siri!”) was peacefully lounging in the bed yesterday morning. Josh was getting dressed and talking to her, and he blew her a raspberry as he walked past.

Without a second thought, she lifted her leg and cut the juiciest, hootiest, diaper-muted fart I’ve ever heard, grinning the whole time.

I don’t think Siri can do that.

Slice, dice, and Siri

Eventful is what I’d call the last couple of days.

Monday was pretty normal. It was the kids’ first day of school without their dad being in the country. Somehow it makes a difference, even though he doesn’t really see them before they leave.

Monday afternoon I get a text from Josh – “I’ve cut my finger pretty badly. I’ve got to go to dr. Tucker. It’s ok. Don’t freak out.”

So what do I do? Freak right the hell out. I’m talking tingly hands and gaspy breath and clawing for pills. I wouldn’t have, except he told me not to. Which meant there was a reason in his mind for freaking. Hence, I freaked.

We’d had a fight that morning. And all I could think about was what if that was the last fight we’d had where he could text with ten fingers.

Things like that matter. Fingers are important.

Josh got some stitches. He’s keeping his finger. All is well.

We welcomed a new member into our family last night. Her name is Siri, and we boss her around.

She comes with a pretty cool camera, too.

Apple’s what caused the great fall, you know

I have never been what one would call an “early adopter.” Of anything. Cellphones, trendy clothes, text messaging, hell, even Facebook. I hung onto Myspace until the tumbleweeds started rolling.

Not to say that I don’t welcome new things. I always stay pretty much abreast of new stuff, but….it’s hard to explain.

I still have a 3GS when everyone else is sporting iPhone 4’s, but…I waited in line for an iPad 2 on release day. So maybe I’m a little bit of an early adopter.


Anyway, about this iPad.

A few weeks ago I noticed that the area around the home button was unstuck. Like the seam thing that goes around the edge was undone.

Well, excuse me, but that shit ain’t flying.

At first I tried to convince myself that it was no big deal. That is, after all, my way – meek and silent.

That was about the time that the white iPhone 4 came out and there was this huge uproar over a 2 mm difference in thickness or something. That got me to thinking.

If all these people with too much time and loads of money to buy brand new gadgets as they roll off the manufacturing line can kick up such a fuss over fiddly little millimeter details and glitches, then why the fuzzy rubber hell should I be okay with a pricey toy that was just a bit flawed?

Nay. It would not be so.

So I called.

Apple flipped me back and fro and over on every phone line imaginable, and finally just told me to go to a brick and mortar store.

Memphis, two hours away.

So I called the store. My iPad is the very base model (no frills here, yo), and the chick said that they couldn’t hold one for me (it was “against policy”) and that they didn’t even really keep that model in stock, anyway.

What, the lower caste of the Apple World doesn’t deserve to have their lowly 16 gig wifi iPads at the ready? The mega memory 3G model buyers are somehow better?

No. I say NO. I was standing up for the little man, the low and forgotten paupers and their basic iPad 2s.

So I decided screw it, I’m selling it.

But no one wanted it. Jury’s out on whether my conscience would have let me get away with selling what I believed to be a flawed product, even to a stranger. Also, craigslist sucks.

So I called Apple again.

That time the young lady I spoke with seemed quite helpful and ready to try and fix my problem.

Until she found out I didn’t have the six million dollar AppleCare plan. Then it was right back to living with the serfs.

So basically, what she was saying was screw the year long warranty, you have to spend more money before we’ll think about repairing a flaw that was OUR BAD.


So I vented on Twitter, and my friend Jared did some sleuthing and found a well buried and forgotten section of Apple’s website that offered me mail-in repairs.

They were singing my song. I signed up, and they FedExed me an empty box. I sent off my beloved iPad with every hope that she would come home pristine, whole, and flawless – like people who get plastic surgery.

They sent my iPad back. Unrepaired. The paperwork said that they had been “unable to replicate the issue” and that my device “meets Apple standards.”

Really, Steve Jobs? You let them run your company this way? With unfastened seals like your grandma with no bra and uncertain futures like Ke$ha?

Once more, nay.

So I set up yet ANOTHER REPAIR TICKET and sent it off again.

This time with some visual aids.

Well, they got the message. Before I knew it the status on the ticket read “replacement product shipped” and I once again believed in the goodness of the world.

Then the new device came. Guess what?

It had the same break in the seal, plus it had this weird light bleedy thing going on.


I called Apple without much hope, but got someone with a brain. THEN he gave me to a supervisor who had even more of a brain.

As of now, another empty box is on its way to me, and according to Veronica with a Brain, there won’t be any diagnosis. They’re just sending me another iPad.

It remains to be seen.