Fare thee well, Apple.

I never thought I would see this day, and I'm quite saddened by it's arrival.  By now you know I'm a creature of habit, loathe to change my ways even if the benefits are obvious and the consequences of stagnancy are very present.  Usually adaptation only occurs when I'm faced with a force more unmovable than myself, improbable but yet possible, and I have found that opponent in Apple.

For seven years I have loved my Macbook.  Not that the one I own now was the one I owned seven years ago; no, to be honest I repaired that first one so many times, it was hardly the plastic and silicone I first shelled out $4,000 (yes, you read that right) on.  To be fair, that price included my handy-dandy protection plan.  You know the protection plan, right?  Drop it off a bridge into a river bottomed by sharp boulders that ends in a pit of lava sure to melt any trace of its existence, come in waving around your receipt and voila, new laptop!  I took full advantage of that insurance.  Broken casing, dropped it, viruses, water damage.  You name it.  I fixed it.  For free!

I, um, I just dropped it.  Right.

Then came the day, about four years back, that said protection ended.  I had to face the wild, unpredictable world of electronics without that security blanket.  Sure enough, something went wrong within weeks.  And again months later, and again after that.  I paid again, and again (and again!) to fix my white shiny baby, probably $4000 again, but it got to be too much for her, and she finally kicked the bucket just last year.  I brought her in, sad and lifeless as she was in my arms, embarrassed at my apparent lack of responsibility for precious items such as computers, because of course this was my fault.  The man in the blue shirt; I remember he had a goatee and kind eyes.  He took my rectangle baby from me and into a room at the back where he emerged moments later without a trace of hope.

No smiles.  None.  These people are dealing with responsible adults, not Samantha.

But he did something amazing.  He looked up the hospital repair records of my late laptop and noticed the extensive track record for needing attention, and was perplexed.  "This isn't normal," he said, "you've never met me," I mumbled quietly enough for only me to hear.

"We're going to give you a free laptop because we don't typically see Apple products requiring so many repairs."

"As long as you purchase an indestructible case capable of withstanding temperatures of over 580 degrees Celsius and as low as Absolute Zero, a fall from more than twenty miles in the sky, shoot, drop it from Mars and this baby is guaranteed to be in one piece at the bottom."

And with those words, if I hadn't already been, I became a loyal purchaser of iEverything.  iPhone, Desktop computer, iPod, mini iPod and last...but oh, so certainly most definitely not least, the iPad.  Had I known then what I discovered last week, I would've turned and ran so far away from that Microcenter that the soles of my shoes would've been set ablaze.  It was the day before Christmas, lines so long you were kicking yourself for not purchasing online early enough for timely gift giving shipping options.  My choice was small, black, wi-fi capable only.  I'd worry about a case later, I decided.  Oh, and don't forget that protection plan!  Good thing the cashier mentioned it...I mean, he didn't outline it, but I knew based on past experience that it was the equivalent of three years worth of mulligans.  I had to have it.  And at $70, well worth it, I figured!  Who needs to be bored with the specs...right?  I'd like to think if he'd have offered to detail the plan to me, things would be different today.  I'd like to think I would've made the proper decision.  But there were no options.  There was just this tempting, delicious $70 worth of protection just daring me to try my worst on this frail and beautiful creature.

What happened a year later wasn't intentional.  An honest mistake, leading to a shattered screen that still allowed use of the iPad but at the price of sliced fingers and fear.  I may have even continued using it as it was, if it weren't for N loving it to pieces (literally, I suppose.  Pun truly not intended).  I feared for her baby fingers and as it was an extremely useful tool for calming her tantrums and keeping her focused and communicating with us, I figured it was time to make use of my safety net.  Like so many times before, I dragged myself into the busy mall, over to the brightly lit, white and chrome, simplistic storefront.  With a deep breath, I readied myself for a humble conversation peppered with plenty of self-humiliation at the tragedy I allowed to befall this precious piece of iEquipment.

Wait, but what was this?  The protection plan I purchased, the wildly revered and boasted about plan that would save me from financial demise in the face of everything that could go wrong with their junk products, DOESN'T COVER BROKEN GLASS?

I'm sorry, well then what does it cover, friend?

"Anything that goes wrong with the apple product that is due to faulty manufacturing."

I'm sorry, but that sounds like refund and complaint fodder, not something I should be paying out of my pocket to protect myself from.  You mean, now it's my financial responsibility to make sure your crappy electronics are repaired even if the problem was nothing I did?  And I spent $70 on this?  How could this have happened?

I spent more than a year with back and forth exchanges with cool and confident Apple advisors who did nothing to help, until the great Maine vacation.  The one where the volume button decided to poop out since the broken glass was touching it in just the wrong way.  Let's try a Maine apple store, I decided.  After all, people are so much friendlier out here on the East coast!  I drove the required forty minutes for another Apple store that looked and felt no different than every other one I frequented.  The only difference:  this time the guy in the blue shirt figured out the root of my frustrating problem.  I bought the WRONG protection plan.

I'm sure I looked something like this, that day.

There's more than one?

This was news to me.  Oh, it may have been news because when I bought the iPad, there WAS in fact only ONE kind of protection available to us lowly general public.  The kind that costs us, and protects them.  The kind that does absolutely nothing to guarantee the purchase I made is worth it to a family with small children.  The protection that covers anything that could really go wrong is much more expensive and wasn't even available until well after I had bought and damaged my iPad.

After figuring this minor detail out, I went to everyone I could.  I called, I chatted, I was commiserated with, but I couldn't do a damn thing besides talk and talk and talk.  I even talked to one senior advisor (Jeff, if you're curious!) who basically told me to suck it up cupcake, he an Apple employee, was forced to pay for his cracked iPhone repair.  No one was willing to help.  Not even to refund the price of a protection plan we'd never use.  For I was one customer of so, so many.  I, a mere blip on the screen of their vast customer base which includes such high-price paying customers as the Kardashians... oh, wait, their iPhones were free.

Ok, next plan.  Drop 80lbs, grow my hair out and flash the duckface.  Will you love me then, Apple?

This isn't about free, though.  This is about advertising your crap properly.  This is about making crystal clear what a customer is actually buying.  Would I have bought what I did?  Absolutely not.

So, my friends, today I am bidding Apple products farewell.  After this laptop takes it's last shuddering gasp of a breath and is lost to me, I will never go back.  A place where customer loyalty is not valued and considered, is not a place for me and my family.

PC, you better be worth the switch.

Off to School (Or: A note to my daughter's teachers)

Today my eldest baby, A, starts second grade.

Today, as that big yellow bus chugs away, I'll take a deep breath in and let it out real slow.  I'll remind myself that even though she'll be in the care of another competent adult (or many other competent adults), I'm still her mom, a parent, largely responsible for the education she receives and as such I'll remember throughout the year that it is my job to meet her educators halfway in all things.

A: 1st grade

Today I'll remember that learning doesn't cease with the 3:45 bell, nor does it wait for 9am to begin.  That what she is given at school are tools to utilize out in the big wide world, not just behind a desk.

That the next 11 years will bring teachers she jives with and some she may not and that together her and I can learn to navigate these tricky relationships and that success is possible no matter the personality clash.  That she can prove wrong the naysayers and that there will be some that she never forgets; they should never be taken for granted, the impact they'll have on her life will be far reaching and only obvious in hindsight.

A: Kindergarten

Today I will remember not to expect from her the world without offering her a hand to hold as she navigates this new one.

Today I am grateful for the schools, the teachers, everything they do and everything they are.  I entrust them with my everything and I will remember that as long as I always chose to play an active role in my child's education, she will know success for years to come.

A: Preschool

Happy school year everyone!

Those Mommy Wars...

(Let's get this out of the way, I was this mom too, once upon a time...)

Do you know what my absolute favorite phrase to google, on any given day, is?  Mommy wars.  Every once in a while, after a brush with another parent of a child near the age of one of my monsters darling daughters, at the park or at the school, chatting nonchalantly...and then it happens.  You know.  At first, it's rather innocuous, something I'm not prepared to defend myself on because my choices are my own and yours are your own, "Oh you had a homebirth?  That would never have worked for me, you see, because I was brought back from the brink of death no less than five times," and ok, whatever brings our beautiful babies into the world is just fine.  But then further down the rabbit hole we go...

She's sitting at four months! (For two seconds while I aim the camera just perfectly and snap a picture for evidence before she tumbles forward, that is)

"Oh, little Sally started solids at two months because she needed extra fuel for all that crawling she was starting to do!"

I did that.  I won't lie.  With the first, it's such a (wrongly so) pressure filled arena of bloodshed and tears.  New mom, prove yourself via gladiator-grade progeny!  If your five month old isn't reciting soliloquies at the dinner table, well then you aren't feeding her the proper balance of macro nutrients and your parenting skills are obviously lackluster.    Every little thing becomes fodder for the "My mothering is superior" cannon, no lines are drawn, all is fair in this war.

Tender age of 6 and she can already style her own hair.  Future famous hairstylist!

Baby is combining consonants and vowels whilst babbling?  "She's talking!"

Baby flipped while you shifted your weight in bed and created a downhill gradient?  "She rolls all over the place!"

Baby's step reflex still present?  "He's already trying to walk!  I just know he'll skip crawling!"

Today I look back on me with A and I can do no more than chuckle.  Surely her reciting her ABC's as fast as she could at age 2.5 meant she recognized her letters.  And surely memorizing the Hot Dog book means she is reading.  Duh.  By the time N came around I'd throw in a bit about the things they couldn't do along with what they could.  With W, I'm no less than thrilled with the little lump that is content to lay there and smile up at me with her entire little self; mediocrity is so insanely beautiful.

With the first, we exemplify the progress and mums the word on whatever little Jack or Julie isn't doing.  And what a disservice to moms everywhere.  I'm sure this isn't a phenomenon solely applicable to first-time parents.  As I said, the urge probably sticks around as long as you feel under enough pressure to produce super offspring.  It's sad and a testimony to the damage we're causing to the self-esteem of parents and kids alike, that we will turn even weeks-old babies into contestants to participate in this largely imaginary competition.

That's right, smiling at three days old!  She's a genius!

And I am positive that given a supportive and safe, secure environment, most parents (first, second, sixth, eleventh child alike) might feel more at ease sharing failures just as often as all things marvelous.  We're entitled to brag about everything they can do; the problem seems to creep in when we're not left room to relate to other parents about levels our children haven't reached yet and maybe did so much later than their peers.

She might've talked early, but she didn't walk until 15 months and  forget running.

It's exhausting, isn't it?  This feeling of constantly needing to one up the mom or dad beside us.  Time spent embellishing and preening when we could be enjoying those little things they do; not one thing they do is insignificant, from their own unique senses of humor, their athletic leanings (or not!) all the way to their academic achievements.

In the meantime, I'm making it a habit to respond to any challenges to a mommy-duel with some excellent "My-child-can"'s.  Things like...

"W totally drooled in my mouth, like, five times today.  She's got super strength parotid salivary glands and perfect aim!"

"N?  Oh she can fart on command.  Word."

"Shoulda seen my big girl A today, tried making her own breakfast and ended up coating my microwave with oatmeal and my stove with brown sugar.  Such a whiz in the kitchen, amirite?"