iPhone Widow!

They say you should never say you hate something.  Instead, it is much better to say you dislike intensely. Well, sod that because I hate, hate, hate, hate, hate Mister Husband’s iPhone. With a passion. Or, to be clear about it, I hate the power it has over him.  A very articulate, intelligent man is Mister Husband.  He even has a degree!  When I’m reduced to mumbling incoherently at the boys, issuing instructions for them to “take that yoke and put it in the thing” he is well able to use his words and issue coherent, clear and concise instructions.  However, once he has the phone in his grasp, I’m lucky if I get a “hmmmmm?” out of him.  It drives me insane!!!!  I call myself the iPhone widow. I told him I was going to put up a thread on my favourite parenting website but I wasn’t sure which of two titles I was going to post it under.  I know him well and am aware of his propensity to help out so he innocently asked me what they were.  The first one, I thought, was going to be “iPhone widows.”  But I also liked the sound of “how do I kill an iPhone?”  Then I asked him which one was his favourite.   “Oh, ha ha ha. Fnar fnar,” was the response. “I’m going for a pint.” “Is there not an app for that?”  I asked him on his way out. “Don’t forget your phone!"  It's not a new development either.   He has had one of these horrible anti-social contraptions for several years now.  And I fear its popularity is spreading.    Currently we have one bathroom in our house.  The irony of that is not lost on me as our old house had three and at one stage, it was just the two of us living there, so one more lav than we needed.  This time round, however, there are now five people who need pit stops at various times of the day and night.  On a good day, it is not cool to hog valuable bathroom time but it is bang out of order to hog it with your iPhone.  The other day, Screecher Creature No. 2 went missing.  It was all too quiet for my liking so I went in search.  It didn’t take me long to locate him.  On the throne.  With his daddy’s iPhone watching his ‘toons.  It’s definitely catching. As much as it kills me to admit it, the devils invention certainly has its place.  For instance, it is a valuable working tool for Mister Husband.  He has the internet, Sat Nav, conversion tables, up to the minute weather reports and an excellent camera at his disposal.  The Screecher Creatures are also fans.  When Mister Husband can bear to be parted from it, the gurriers can be kept quiet with some of their favourite ‘toons over Saturday morning breakfast.  This means I get to have a coffee in peace. So I suppose it’s not all bad.  It doesn’t stop me complaining though.  I overheard Mister Husband humming to himself the other day.  “Here comes the wagon.  Wanderly, wanderly wagon.”  There’s a blast from the past, I thought.  Turns out though, it wasn’t Wanderly Wagon he was mumbling about.  It was me!  I was the wagon in question.  He tried to back pedal furiously and tell me that I was a wonderful wagon and it was meant as a term of endearment.  Ha ha ha, was my sarky response.  Fnar Fnar. And all because I complained about his iPhone.