That damn cellphone

Jack's grandmother thought he needed a cell phone. The little Elmo phone he had was not realistic enough, so she gave him her old Verizon phone that is no longer in service. It turns on and takes pictures and does voice commands, it just won't make calls.

Yes, my 16-month-old has his own cell phone.

Anyway. He adores this phone and carries it everywhere, flipping it open and "talking" to who knows who. He also enjoys shoving it down the middle of the ball popper. For those not in the know, it's a cool little contraption that blows little balls out of a circular slide kind of thingy with a small air compressor. It plays music while the balls pop out and Jack inevitably grabs the balls as they pop out and tries to shove them back in.

I present to you, Exhibit A.


But what to do now? It's freaking stuck.


A-ha! A wooden spoon. That has freed the cell phone from its evil clutches before.



I am only succeeding in shoving it further into the contraption. Damn you cell phone. "Flight of the Bumblebee" starts playing every time I shove the spoon in as I try to get leverage on the popper.


I am sweating. And missing breakfast for this. The child? COULD CARE LESS. He's so over the ball popper and cell phone. Gimme a set of All-Clad, woman.


Screw this (literally). I am taking the damn thing apart.


I can't get it apart. Too many tiny screws. I will just take the top part off. Oooooo success! I can now just push the phone all the way through. Brilliant!


EXCEPT IT's TOO BIG FOR THAT END. God damn it.


Now I am getting really pissed. I am shoving the wooden spoon right up the ass of the ball popper.


Finally. Good thing I never get manicures.


I hate you ball popper.


And clearly, my blood, sweat and tears meant everything to my son. He was so happy to have his beloved phone back.


So glad he then threw it on the floor and didn't play with it the rest of the morning.