I started carrying a cell phone so that parents could text me important, but not urgent, messages and I could answer them (with one hand, no less) at my convenience.
Not to mention keeping track of my teenager at the mall.
I generally keep it set on vibrate–this prevents the waking of sleeping children, and also the inevitable evil eye I get whenever someone calls or a text message comes in–whether or not I answer it. Yes, the evil eye-roll, at the very least, just for being the recipient of a call or text. You know what I'm talking about.
So. The other day, I lost my phone.
Not too critical, as all unanswered calls are routed to my home phone, but maddening. Because I just had it, in my pocket. And I hadn't gone anywhere.
Retraced my steps, home phone in hand, dialing and redialing cell phone, listening for any tell-tale vibrations. Retraced and retraced. Even looked under the mattresses of the boy's bunk beds, which I had changed, and searched the depths of the laundry basket.
Two days later. Nap time.
Home phone rings. I'd forgotten to turn off the ringer, so I snatched it up and looked at the caller ID.
My cell phone number!
The caller didn't say a word, but I could tell she was there.
I know it's in my house, right?
So I go looking.
And I find the 18 month old culprit–dialing numbers from her crib. Grinning ear to ear.
Not really sure how much that international call to my sister is going to cost me; I don't even call her from my cell phone–just store her number there. Unfortunately.
But I have my phone back.