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Sparkle (1)
Can you tell what this picture is? It is a *sob* broken iPad screen. Completely shattered. Ruined. With tiny flecks of glass scattered across it, as if to expressly dash any hopes of Leo using the device despite the damage.
How it happened is no mystery. Leo took his iPad outside on our back porch; it fell out of his hands, and the corner of the iPad hit a concrete paver. CRACK.
This shouldn't have happened. But things are kind of physically and emotionally messy for Leo right now -- and messy is when things go wrong.
Summer is hard for him -- especially right now when he's in between school sessions, and even though he's enjoying our excursions to Muir Woods, and dinners out with friends new and old, and going to the movies, and swimming swimming swimming. To add to our boy's discombobulation, I had two trips in four weeks, he spent a week at camp, his sisters are out of school too, and his dad has been working very hard, very long hours. Everything is different, and different is bad, so Leo is out of sorts -- and an out of sorts boy is less likely to maintain his grip on his very favorite device in the whole world.
I should also have realized that, in his current state of stims so constant and overwhelming that it takes him three minutes and series of physical prompts to put on Crocs or take his pants off to use the toilet, Leo was unlikely to be able to hold onto his iPad with his usual tender death grip of love. (We're phasing out his Zoloft -- the last dose is today, and if the Zoloft is indeed behind these stims, then we should see symptom improvement in three or four days, and you'd better believe I am as close to prayer as I'm ever likely to be.)
After confirming that the iPad was definitely mangled, I very calmly and internally freaked the hell out -- I wanted to avoid distressing Leo, his sisters, or any of the guests at the impromptu swim party we were having. Then I did some research to see what our iPad screen replacement options were, and talked with kind friends who had also experienced smashed iPad screens. The results seemed promising: The Apple Geniuses should be able to replace the screen for less than the price of a new device.
Leo, Iz and I showed up at the local Genius bar looking hopeful. Iz wandered off to score some app time while Leo and I waited our turn. When it came, a calm Genius took Leo's cracked iPad, ran a diagnostic on it -- and informed us that we needed to get an all-new device.
Reader, I lost my shit completely.
I broke down and started sobbing against the wall of the store (while still holding Leo's hand tightly as he stimmed away, so that he wouldn't accidentally poke one of the customers) because there is no space in our family's budget for a new 64GB 3G iPad. The Genius remained stoic, took the iPad, and said she'd go see what she could do.
I remained turned away from the mass of Genius Bar prairie dogs and tried to collect myself because for heaven's sake I am a 41 year old woman who should have a little bit more composure (but who in the interest of full disclosure was also told point blank by a very helpful medical team less than two weeks ago that I need to take care of my anxiety and stress stat).
The Genius returned again. I braced myself. And then she said that ... they could grant us a one-time exception and replace the iPad completely. As a courtesy. Without cost. For free.
Reader, I lost my shit again, this time out of gratitude.
Thankfully the Genius needed to go exchange the devices (after confirming that I had backed up our iPad recently), so I was given another breather, and another chance to comport myself like an adult. Though my eyes did mist over when she handed us the new iPad 2, as I both thanked her and apologized for making a scene.
I don't know why we were given an all-new iPad, because our Genius said it wasn't policy, not even for AppleCare members like ourselves. Maybe the Geniuses are given a certain amount of discretion
