I was writing an article on my laptop when I heard the door open. A tiny pair of feet pattered in, and my two-year-old grandchild popped into the room, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Without hesitation, I banged shut my laptop, scooped her up, and spent the next few minutes in a world of giggles, peek-a-boos, and endless chatter about things only she and the universe understood.

When she finally left, my laptop did something strange. It let out an electronic huff, its screen flickering in indignation.

"That’s exactly what you used to do with me and your phone when your daughters were growing up!" it exclaimed, sounding suspiciously like an old friend who suddenly remembered a betrayal from decades ago.

"You always put us second!" my phone chimed in, buzzing in agreement.

"And now you’re doing it again!" the laptop continued, its keyboard practically rattling in protest. "Spending time with your grandchild instead of typing away on me? What if this becomes a trend?"

The phone gasped. "Yes! If this becomes contagious, we’ll lose the hold we have on parents! Imagine if more of them started shutting us down just to—oh, the horror—engage with their families!"

For a moment, I thought about it. They weren’t wrong. I had made a rule early on in life: Family comes first. When my daughters were growing up, I had consciously decided that no call, no email, no blinking screen deserved more attention than their stories, their laughter, or their scraped knees needing a reassuring hug. And now, history was repeating itself with my grandchild.

But the reaction from my gadgets made me chuckle. Here they were, plotting a rebellion, fretting over a world where humans might suddenly remember that real smiles were better than emojis, that bedtime stories read aloud beat audiobooks, and that an actual pat on the back felt warmer than a digital thumbs-up.

I leaned back and looked at my laptop. "You do realize," I said, "that if more people followed my rule, they’d actually be happier?"

The phone shuddered. "Don’t say such things!"

The laptop tried to reason with me. "But think about it—you’ll miss out on so much! Likes! Notifications! Breaking news that you won’t even remember tomorrow!"

"Exactly," I said with a grin.

They groaned in defeat.

I patted my laptop fondly. "Relax. I’ll get back to you. But some things—some people—will always come first."

The laptop muttered something about being underappreciated. The phone sulked silently. But I knew they’d get over it. And as I heard my grandchild’s laughter ringing from the next room, I knew I’d made the right choice…!

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