“Call Dad. . . Mobile!” he said into the plastic wireless (for ages 18 months and up.)

Yes, I voice dial. Yes, I call my husband with it. But the funny thing is that I don’t have “dad” programmed on my phone. I use my husband’s first name. This means he wasn’t copying me; he was taking the technology I use and adapting it to his needs.

And while my son may have already mastered the art of voice dialing, he may eventually have to look up “rotary phones” on Wikipedia to see one. That amazes me in a way the latest microcomputer moonlighting as telecommunications never can.

Is this is how the horse and buggy generation felt when their children began playing with toy cars? I don’t know. What I do know is that I won’t be surprised when my son voice dials SpongeBob.

If I were a potato that looked like an emoticon, I’d be pissed. Especially if I were served with peas.

And I wonder if McCain will ever extend the product into winks, frowns, and poker faces.

That way I won’t step on the toys. Some of them have surprisingly sharp edges.

I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve seen Finding Nemo. Our house is a shrine to Lightening McQueen. But just when I think I’ve had about enough Disney, I get pulled back in. Today’s Earth Day promotion was one of those times.

They had me at their window display with this one. “Save Planet Earth,” said the Toy Story alien with his beady little eyes looking up at me. All three of them.

Turns out they have t-shirts, aluminum bottles, and even tree planting kits with this extraterrestrial environmentalist. Sure, it’s consumerism and more stuff for the landfills. And, oh yeah, Toy Story 3 is coming out soon, along with its merchandising. But they’ve got kids learning about recycling and the environment, so in many ways, it’s a promotion that has more heart than all the Disney princesses combined.

And, yes, I bought a reusable bag. The green guy is awfully cute.

Though, I did manage to talk myself out of getting the aluminum bottle. I have one and that would have been wasteful. Unlike, say, buying Toy Story 3 when it comes out on DVD.

I’m not a pocket person. There’s just something about putting what you need all together in a bag and grabbing it by the hand. Canvas totes. Leather clutches. Courier bags. They all have a place in my wardrobe. And with my pregnancy, the door opened to the mother bag of them all: the diaper bag.

Diaper bags have come a long way. They’re no longer hideously pink or blue with protruding pockets. (Though, you can still find those). They’re streamlined and ergonomic. Husband-friendly colors? You got it. Some don’t even look like diaper bags at all.

Forget stroller envy. I have diaper bag envy.

It’s no surprise that by the time my first son was born I had carefully selected a diaper bag. What was surprising was how little I enjoyed packing it.

Gone were the days of gathering a few things, throwing them into a bag, and heading out the door. Toss my keys into my diaper bag? No way. I could lose them.

At any given time my ergonomic-pocket, gender-neutral-colored diaper bag contained the basics: diapers, diaper cream, pacifiers and wipes. Soon I learned it should also have a bunch of other stuff, including onesies, antibacterial wipes, infant acetaminophen, petroleum jelly, alcohol swabs, bibs, burp cloths, that snot squeezie thing and a spare shirt (for myself, of course). It was heavy, but unless I wanted to use the drive-thu napkins as a burp cloth, I had to be prepared.

As if all that weren’t enough, I also carried around plenty of unnecessary things. Like teethers for a baby months away from actually cutting teeth. Oh, and toys. Newborns don’t get bored.

Eventually, I ditched the non-age-appropriate toys and carried two or three extra diapers instead of five or ten. Things were lightening up. Then my maternity leave ended.

On that day, if I could have stuffed myself in his diaper bag as I dropped him off, I would have. I had carried around my baby for months in the best-packed carrying case in the world. My uterus. And, in a way, my diaper bag and its contents had become the next best thing. No wonder it was hard to let go.

But I did.

And, eventually, I found that when you learn to let go once and awhile, it makes picking it all up again that much more enjoyable. Plus, my new diaper bag has stroller clips and insulated side pockets. Super handy.