Apple bought Beats because the iPhone 7 isn’t going to have a headphone jack. I know this because Lyndon told me.
He saw it on a screen inside an elevator while traveling to his New York office. And since then, I have thought longingly about reading financial news inside an elevator traveling upwards to an absence of sound.
Jealousy makes a mean mommy.
At some point, my children won’t fit under the hashtag #twoundertwo. They will do things like STOP when I ask them to. They will go to school during the day and soccer practice after. They won’t need my help in the bathroom or intervention during playtime. The fantasy of riding alone in a big city elevator won’t be so attractive.
And likely, I won’t be able (thank god) to remember the intensity of emotions that fill my chest one minute and leak out my eyes the next. We will all stop crying in our apple juice.
The script reads this as the most rewarding job that exists. “I wouldn’t trade it for the world,” we say.
And maybe it’s true. It’s just hard think about parenting as a job when there are no breaks, no holidays, and no paychecks. My masters degree means nothing to my almost two year old. My seven month old remains unimpressed with my extensive experience in writing and poetics. And I continue to be unprepared and barely qualified for this job. My patience quotient is low and I raise my voice too quickly. In a culture where success looks like clean countertops, made beds, and shaved legs, I’m zero for three.
But today, for now, my iPhone has a headphone jack.