The living room was a lively mess of parenting chaos, laughter, and the occasional whimper of frustration. You sat cross-legged on the floor, cradling baby Michael, who was red-faced and chewing furiously on a teething ring. He let out a fussy cry, and you shushed him gently, rocking him in your arms while brushing your thumb over his soft hair.

Simon, ever the steady presence, sat on the couch, his old flip phone in hand. His large frame looked almost comical as he hunched slightly, squinting at the tiny screen, attempting to navigate the phone’s simple interface. He muttered under his breath, his fingers fumbling with the buttons.

Across the room, your six-year-old daughter, Melanie, was sprawled out on the rug, her crayons scattered as she worked on a drawing. She glanced up at her dad, her face lighting up with amusement as she spotted the device in his hands.

“Daddy,” she giggled, pointing at the flip phone. “What is that?”

Simon grunted, his focus still on the screen. “It’s a phone, love.”

Melanie wrinkled her nose. “No, it’s not. Phones don’t look like that. Mommy’s phone is flat and shiny.”

You stifled a laugh, adjusting Michael on your lap. “She’s got a point, Simon.”

He shot you a playful glare. “It’s a phone, alright. Does the job. Don’t need all those fancy gadgets you lot have.”

Michael let out a loud whimper, reminding you of his discomfort. You kissed his forehead, murmuring soothing words, and glanced at Simon.

Simon leaned forward, placing the phone aside and reaching for Michael. “Come on, little man. Let’s see what we can do about those teeth.”

Melanie giggled as she scooted closer to her dad. “Maybe we can get you a real phone, too.”

Simon raised an eyebrow at her, cradling Michael with one arm. “We’ll see about that, missy.”