I think most of us begin our relationships with our iPhones resolving that our children will not be allowed to touch them, like, ever. In our house, that lasted until I was out in public somewhere and needed to quell a rising tide of impatience. Sound familiar? Unfortunately, that was about all that was needed for Leah to fall in love with my iPhone. Now I'm constantly watching for stealthy (and not-so-stealthy) attempts to steal it.
Sometimes, like the other day, she's more direct. She couldn't find it anywhere (I've learned to secure it in a pocket whenever possible), so she resorted to the direct approach.
Leah: Mommy, do you want to share your iPhone with me?
Me: No, not really.
Leah: Yes, really.
I can almost envision a scenario in which she gets her own %$*& iPhone just because I'm sick of calling mine all the time to figure out where she's left it. Almost. The inappropriate factor aside (she's not a Hilton or a Jolie-Pitt or a kid named after a fruit), she would undoubtedly figure out how to call our relatives in New Zealand, and guess who would be left holding the bill?
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