I’m typing this on my iPhone. I’m on my back, with my almost-four-year-old son pressed against my left side. He’s breathing evenly, so I know he’s finally drifted off to sleep.
Tonight at bed time, I couldn’t find his blanket. It’s blue, with a print of khaki-colored cars on one side.
He calls it his “boppie,” a word his little sister invented to describe her favorite blanket.
My wife is out with a girlfriend to a movie, so my SOS text message went unanswered. When I broke the news to him and offered another blanket, Josiah lost it. I couldn’t stand it, so here I am, in a tiny bed, being his security blanket for a little while longer.
Hopefully, in a few years, he won’t need his boppie or me to fall asleep.
The iPhone 5 review embargo just broke. I retweeted a few links before putting the kids to bed, but I haven’t read a word of them. I’m too busy being a dad, and at this moment, a writer.
In many ways, our iPhones are our boppies. We obsess over them. We need to know where they are at all times. We freak out if we can’t find them.
(Doubt this? Just check out the first few seconds of Apple’s iPhone 5 video.)
Maybe we just need to rest and breathe evenly for a while.