Tech Talk

I'd like to share with you a tragic history: 

Namely, my previous relationships.  With cell phones.

I'm not a good cell phone owner.  The first cell phone I owned (other than the fossil I was assigned halfway through my mission) was a purple Razr.  Remember those?  They were so cool.  I had been home from my mission for a couple of days when Steve brought me a gift bag.

Nervously, he gave it to me with a caveat: "If you don't like it, or if you want a better one, let me know--I just thought this was a good simple cell phone for you to learn on, and it's not a leash or anything, I just thought you'd like to have a phone as you drive around the Valley, you know, 'cause you're not familiar with driving down there, and it'll be good for you to be safe..."

I cut him off, thanking him profusely and assuring him that I loved it.  No less than four months later, I had my phone on my lap in the car, and when I got out, I completely forgot about it.  Needless to say, it was crushed as the car backed out of the driveway later.  

This was the beginning of my unfortunate history with cellular devices.  I could tell many gruesome and tragic stories of phones falling in toilets, being lost in couches, having their batteries die as I neglected and ignored their needs, and other tragic experiences that have been my history with technology, but one story will suffice to show just how unlucky I have been in the cell phone department.

I had a brand new phone--I had owned it for exactly one day, and Clark (who was probably 6 months old at the time) was sitting on my lap as I sat on the couch at my parents, chatting with my family members who were visiting for one reason or another.  Clark was playing with my phone (many of my phones end up covered in drool and sticky substances only known to children), and I had just set down my drink of water on the floor, when he dropped my phone.

Into my half-full (I'm an optimist) cup of water.

People, the likelihood of my infant son dropping my phone into the 3-square-inch area that was the rim of the cup was nearly impossible.  And yet, somehow, some way, it HAPPENED.

So, when smart phones became a thing, I held strong.  I knew if I got one, it would crack, become smashed, get broken in some tragic way, and I didn't want to be held responsible.  But then, as I started running regularly, I weakened--oh, it would be nice to have a GPS to track my runs, my speeds, my favorite routes and exactly how far they were.  And to have a running playlist that I could carry with me in my pocket?  I began to see the benefits of smart phones.

And so, for my birthday, I let my husband buy me a smart phone:

Isn't it beautiful?  Note the dog hair clinging tenaciously to the screen, along with the tiny fingerprint-sized smudges across my screen protector, not to mention the case that got scratched and worn two days after I put it on my phone--over a year ago.

This phone served me well.  It wasn't fancy, it didn't have a ton of memory, and I never even used it for internet searches or, really, for anything other than music/runkeeper/scriptures/calls/texts, but it was reliable.

Until one day, when it wasn't.  It started dropping calls, it wouldn't let me text people or call them unless it was in the mood, and finally, on Tuesday morning, I mentioned it to Steve.  

"UGH!!  Stupid phone's been doing this for weeks!" I dropped it on the bed as I went into the bathroom to get ready, and then kissed my wonderful husband as I went out to my rehearsal.

When I got home that afternoon, the kids greeted me excitedly.  

"Dad got you an iPhone!!  And it's PINK!!"

Curious, I walked back into the bedroom, where Steve pulled out a gift bag and explained that because he had picked up an extra shift this week, he was able to get me an iPhone.  I thanked him, but inwardly, I was shaking with terror.

Do you KNOW how fragile iPhones are?  They're so light and thin--have you ever seen what a three-year-old can do to something that size?  One of the things I loved about my good ol' Samsung whatever-it-was was the fact that it was inexpensive and sturdy....and now I had something--fancy.  Something I KNEW I would drop, or lose, or somehow manage to destroy.

Steve listened as I cautiously shared my worries with him, then smiled--"It's okay.  I already ordered you an Otter Box online.  They're cases that are basically indestructible."

Feeling somewhat relieved, I spent the next two days timidly clutching my iPhone any time I took it anywhere, and then today, when my Otter Box came in the mail (complete with belt clip that vaguely resembles a brick), I immediately encased my iPhone in something that I'm pretty sure a nuclear blast wouldn't be able to get through.

Then, because the belt clips were just too ridiculous, Steve and I decided to take pictures of just how *cool* we are.

Admit it.  You totally want to be us.

After we took the pictures, I decided to take one of my excited kiddos.  I'm pretty sure they're more excited about my new phone than I am, although Jack was still too embarrassed from the above display of nerdiness to be willing to show his excitement.

 His teenage years are going to be FUUUUUN, lemme tell ya.