I'm really proud of my mom. Her computer skills are improving slowly but surely, and she's daring to do more by herself.
Once was, she would see any unfamiliar option on the screen, and immediately her brain would go into a state of panicked paralysis. Now she's actually exploring on her own, clicking through drop-down menus to see what her options are, running software updates, and surfing the internet late into the night.
Of course there's still room for improvement, but the biggest difference is that she's actually enjoying using the computer now, at least some of the time.
She's most comfortable with e-mail, having learned how to do forwards, add people to her address book, and even (this was a very intimidating concept only a few weeks ago) send attachments. Look out world - Red Hot Computer Skillz coming through!
Last night she called me when she couldn't get her e-mail working. I did tech support while she ran back and forth between the computer and the phone in the kitchen. She doesn't own a wireless phone, unless you count the cell phone which she just got a few weeks ago.
Last time I was over, I had to point out to her that her cell phone would be most useful if she carried it with her, in her handbag, instead of leaving it lying on a bookshelf where it had been gathering dust since she bought it. Now I do believe she keeps it in her purse, although I'm not sure if she's ever turned it on.
So, last night, after she'd been running back and forth for half an hour, I suggested that next time she might want to call me from her cell phone so that she could sit in front of the computer and talk to me on the phone at the same time. I know she likes to stay in shape, but the back-and-forth got tedious after the 20th round-trip.
That kind of blew her mind: the way in which I suggested she use these two unfamiliar pieces of technology at the same time for maximum efficiency. I'm confident that she's up to the challenge of cell phoning and computing simultaneously. She's a smart lady.
I wonder what technology she'll embrace next? One of these days will I show up at the house to find her rocking out to Guitar Hero? It could happen.
Showing posts with label Mom's computer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mom's computer. Show all posts
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Monday, June 30, 2008
Like Herding Cats
On Sunday I had planned a date with my mom, to help her along with her computer skills. I arrived at 3:30 in the afternoon, raring to go for a good three solid hours of hacking before dinnertime.
My mom was waiting for me out on the porch steps. She had one hand pressed down on the back of The Dude (one of her two young, male cats), who was crouching beside her.
"What's he doing out here?" I asked.
My mom's last set of cats (a pair of females) were both allowed outside. They had the run of the neighbourhood, and frequently pissed off the neighbours by killing birds, pooping in flowerbeds and/or vegetable gardens, and otherwise making pests of themselves. When my mom brought The Boys home, she was determined that they would be indoor cats.
The problem with keeping a couple of energetic young cats cooped up is: they will destroy your home. They're bored. They're restless. They need a challenge. Instead of stalking squirrels and discovering secret shortcuts across the rooftops, The Boys are literally chewing the furniture, clawing holes in the beds, pulling kitchen cupboard doors off their hinges, knocking over potted plants, and generally getting into every kind of mischief you can imagine.
On Sunday afternoon, The Dude was "mewing piteously" (a direct quote from my mom) by the screen door, so she decided to bring him outside. Not on a leash, not in her arms, just... outside. I could see already where this was going.
Of course, as I watched, The Dude wiggled free from her grasp and chased a flying bug out into the middle of the driveway. Then he stopped and realized where he was: FREE! He started mewing and dashing around in excitement. In a flash he was off and running down the driveway to the backyard. I chased behind him. I knew that my mom would have a nervous fit if The Dude vanished and she didn't know where he was, so I was determined to keep up with him.
I caught up just as he was nosing his way into the next-door neighbour's backyard, scooped him up, and brought him back to the front porch. I thought my mom might want to bring him straight back inside, but I guess she didn't have the heart to imprison him again so quickly. As soon as his paws touched the ground, he was on the move again, this time into the dense foliage of the front garden.
Quick as a wink, he vanished under the porch.
Here we go, I thought. We'll spend all afternoon trying to get him out now.
"Under The Porch" is a bad place. Generations of local cats and raccoons have used it as a litterbox. It's full of bugs, mould, rotting leaves, and possibly one or two minor demons and a golem. There is no access for humans. It's like an exclusive, sexy, dangerous nightclub, feline style.
My mom and I each took up a different position - her from the front, me from the side - peering into the gloom. It was impossible to see anything except the occasional flash of The Dude's eyes as he roamed around his new territory. He disappeared and reappeared in the shadows so quietly and randomly that it seemed like he was warping around in some alternate universe.
Now, cats that are used to being outside learn to come when their name is called. They want to get in from the cold; they want to be fed; they have to learn the signal for "the door is open, come NOW!" I don't know if The Dude even knows his own name. We called him, clucked, psst-psst-ed, all in vain. Finally my mom brought out his dry cat food and rattled the bag. No sale.
We were stuck. My mom wasn't willing to "go all the way" by leaving him unsupervised, and he wasn't willing to come out. It was a stalemate. We couldn't even go up and sit on the porch chairs because he might scoot out and disappear while we weren't looking. So we milled around uselessly in the front garden and driveway, ducking frequently to peer under the porch, and doubtlessly looking completely insane to any neighbours that might be watching.
Finally, after a long wait, The Dude stuck his head out between two wooden slats to sniff at the cat food my mom had left out. Mom was quick - she grabbed his neck with one hand like she was about to wring it. His eyes bugged out a bit as she hauled him into the open, but no harm done. She was as gentle as she could be, all things considered.
Of course The Dude was Like, Totally Psyched, Man! after his crazy adventure. We got him inside (and the cat food, and the various toys that had failed as cat-fishing lures), where he promptly sat down inside the screen door and resumed mewing piteously. Hey, it worked once before! We ignored him.
Finally we sat down at the computer together. Within a short time I noticed the mewing had stopped. I went to check the status quo. The Dude was passed out on the carpet, exhausted, and fast asleep.
My mom was waiting for me out on the porch steps. She had one hand pressed down on the back of The Dude (one of her two young, male cats), who was crouching beside her.
"What's he doing out here?" I asked.
My mom's last set of cats (a pair of females) were both allowed outside. They had the run of the neighbourhood, and frequently pissed off the neighbours by killing birds, pooping in flowerbeds and/or vegetable gardens, and otherwise making pests of themselves. When my mom brought The Boys home, she was determined that they would be indoor cats.
The problem with keeping a couple of energetic young cats cooped up is: they will destroy your home. They're bored. They're restless. They need a challenge. Instead of stalking squirrels and discovering secret shortcuts across the rooftops, The Boys are literally chewing the furniture, clawing holes in the beds, pulling kitchen cupboard doors off their hinges, knocking over potted plants, and generally getting into every kind of mischief you can imagine.
On Sunday afternoon, The Dude was "mewing piteously" (a direct quote from my mom) by the screen door, so she decided to bring him outside. Not on a leash, not in her arms, just... outside. I could see already where this was going.
Of course, as I watched, The Dude wiggled free from her grasp and chased a flying bug out into the middle of the driveway. Then he stopped and realized where he was: FREE! He started mewing and dashing around in excitement. In a flash he was off and running down the driveway to the backyard. I chased behind him. I knew that my mom would have a nervous fit if The Dude vanished and she didn't know where he was, so I was determined to keep up with him.
I caught up just as he was nosing his way into the next-door neighbour's backyard, scooped him up, and brought him back to the front porch. I thought my mom might want to bring him straight back inside, but I guess she didn't have the heart to imprison him again so quickly. As soon as his paws touched the ground, he was on the move again, this time into the dense foliage of the front garden.
Quick as a wink, he vanished under the porch.
Here we go, I thought. We'll spend all afternoon trying to get him out now.
"Under The Porch" is a bad place. Generations of local cats and raccoons have used it as a litterbox. It's full of bugs, mould, rotting leaves, and possibly one or two minor demons and a golem. There is no access for humans. It's like an exclusive, sexy, dangerous nightclub, feline style.
My mom and I each took up a different position - her from the front, me from the side - peering into the gloom. It was impossible to see anything except the occasional flash of The Dude's eyes as he roamed around his new territory. He disappeared and reappeared in the shadows so quietly and randomly that it seemed like he was warping around in some alternate universe.
Now, cats that are used to being outside learn to come when their name is called. They want to get in from the cold; they want to be fed; they have to learn the signal for "the door is open, come NOW!" I don't know if The Dude even knows his own name. We called him, clucked, psst-psst-ed, all in vain. Finally my mom brought out his dry cat food and rattled the bag. No sale.
We were stuck. My mom wasn't willing to "go all the way" by leaving him unsupervised, and he wasn't willing to come out. It was a stalemate. We couldn't even go up and sit on the porch chairs because he might scoot out and disappear while we weren't looking. So we milled around uselessly in the front garden and driveway, ducking frequently to peer under the porch, and doubtlessly looking completely insane to any neighbours that might be watching.
Finally, after a long wait, The Dude stuck his head out between two wooden slats to sniff at the cat food my mom had left out. Mom was quick - she grabbed his neck with one hand like she was about to wring it. His eyes bugged out a bit as she hauled him into the open, but no harm done. She was as gentle as she could be, all things considered.
Of course The Dude was Like, Totally Psyched, Man! after his crazy adventure. We got him inside (and the cat food, and the various toys that had failed as cat-fishing lures), where he promptly sat down inside the screen door and resumed mewing piteously. Hey, it worked once before! We ignored him.
Finally we sat down at the computer together. Within a short time I noticed the mewing had stopped. I went to check the status quo. The Dude was passed out on the carpet, exhausted, and fast asleep.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Maybe not actually a genius after all
When it came time for my mom to buy a new computer, I talked her into buying an iMac because a) I thought it would be more user-friendly, less prone to crashing, and b) to prevent well-meaning meddlers from messing it up. So far, my strategy has been a dud on both counts.
As for the meddlers, thankfully they can't download viral software or questionable "upgrades" to the iMac, so that's good news. But they can get themselves in front of it and start changing preferences and generally messing with the set-up that I have so carefully coached my mom to be comfortable with. One of my relatives yelled at me for "setting up the mouse wrong". Despite the fact that I set the primary mouse buttons to mimic a PC, she complained of stuff popping up on the screen when she was operating the mouse.
I didn't have the heart to tell her that the Mac mouse has two extra buttons on the side. Squeezing them makes the widgets dashboard pop up over whatever you were working on. My relative has a variety of tics, including hand spasms. She was squeezing the mouse, maybe without even being conscious of it. Although if she insists on yelling at me again about my faulty mouse set-up, I'm going to have to break the news to her. I promise I'll be gentle.
As for ease of use, well... I'm used to being a computer know-it-all. I taught computer basics and networking at a private post-secondary school. I was certified as a Novell network administrator and a Microsoft Certified Systems Engineer. I worked in I.T. for years. But... that was pretty much all on Microsoft Windows platforms. I pick things up quickly on the Mac, but I don't know every little shortcut off the top of my head like I do for a PC.
As far as my mom knows, I advertised myself to her as a computer super-genius, but I've been earning a big old FAIL in some of the basic operations I'm supposed to be teaching her. For example, I'm not even going to tell you how much trouble I had figuring out how to format bold text in the iMac e-mail program. It's a no-brainer. Apparently I have less than no brain.
I'd like to think that part of it is the pressure of having my Mom right there, expecting an immediate answer. When she's looking over my shoulder, I lose my most basic problem-solving capabilities.
For example, someone sent her a file in .pdf format. She wanted to know if she could open the file in Word to edit it. I told that this was an impossibility, which is true. She asked me if her only choice would be to retype all the text into Word manually, and I told her Yes. At the time, I was firmly convinced that I was right.
Later, I heard that one of her friends showed her how to copy the text from the .pdf file into a blank .doc file. Now she can edit the text! Her friend is so smart! I got a marker and wrote FAIL on my forehead. I mean, honestly, that's not a foreign concept to me! I've been copying and pasting text since the early '90's.
*sigh*
Fortunately, my mom is patient. We'll get there eventually. If it means that we bumble through together rather than with me confidently leading the way, we'll still get there.
As for the meddlers, thankfully they can't download viral software or questionable "upgrades" to the iMac, so that's good news. But they can get themselves in front of it and start changing preferences and generally messing with the set-up that I have so carefully coached my mom to be comfortable with. One of my relatives yelled at me for "setting up the mouse wrong". Despite the fact that I set the primary mouse buttons to mimic a PC, she complained of stuff popping up on the screen when she was operating the mouse.
I didn't have the heart to tell her that the Mac mouse has two extra buttons on the side. Squeezing them makes the widgets dashboard pop up over whatever you were working on. My relative has a variety of tics, including hand spasms. She was squeezing the mouse, maybe without even being conscious of it. Although if she insists on yelling at me again about my faulty mouse set-up, I'm going to have to break the news to her. I promise I'll be gentle.
As for ease of use, well... I'm used to being a computer know-it-all. I taught computer basics and networking at a private post-secondary school. I was certified as a Novell network administrator and a Microsoft Certified Systems Engineer. I worked in I.T. for years. But... that was pretty much all on Microsoft Windows platforms. I pick things up quickly on the Mac, but I don't know every little shortcut off the top of my head like I do for a PC.
As far as my mom knows, I advertised myself to her as a computer super-genius, but I've been earning a big old FAIL in some of the basic operations I'm supposed to be teaching her. For example, I'm not even going to tell you how much trouble I had figuring out how to format bold text in the iMac e-mail program. It's a no-brainer. Apparently I have less than no brain.
I'd like to think that part of it is the pressure of having my Mom right there, expecting an immediate answer. When she's looking over my shoulder, I lose my most basic problem-solving capabilities.
For example, someone sent her a file in .pdf format. She wanted to know if she could open the file in Word to edit it. I told that this was an impossibility, which is true. She asked me if her only choice would be to retype all the text into Word manually, and I told her Yes. At the time, I was firmly convinced that I was right.
Later, I heard that one of her friends showed her how to copy the text from the .pdf file into a blank .doc file. Now she can edit the text! Her friend is so smart! I got a marker and wrote FAIL on my forehead. I mean, honestly, that's not a foreign concept to me! I've been copying and pasting text since the early '90's.
*sigh*
Fortunately, my mom is patient. We'll get there eventually. If it means that we bumble through together rather than with me confidently leading the way, we'll still get there.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Kitty Update
The Dude says "Hi".
Here he is sitting on the kitchen counter, where he's not allowed. At least, in theory. I pointed out this transgression to my mom.
Mom: [tickling The Dude behind his ears] No no! You're not supposed to be up here!
Me: Mom, I'm beginning to doubt your commitment to disciplining these cats.
She just laughed. Although later in the day she mentioned that they've been lying on their backs under her bed, chewing holes in the underside of the box spring mattress. I think they must be part termite.
Stinker was too hyper to sit still for a photo. This slightly blurry shot was the best one I managed to get.
Mom and I were planning to have a computer lesson on Sunday, but the weather was against us. It was TOO NICE out! The first plan (the most sensible one), was that I would come over after lunch and we'd put our heads right down and get to work. Then my mom had the thought that maybe we could meet and have lunch together. Then it turned out that the place we planned to eat was closed for renovations, so we went for a walk around the neighbourhood to find somewhere else. We lingered over lunch, which was prolonged further still by my mom's ritual insistance that I get "a little something" for desert. Of course I gave in.
Finally the dishes were cleared, the bill was paid, and we were out the door. Just a few blocks' walk to my mom's house, and we could get right to work. But then there was an open house that we just had to see, of a rare million-dollar condo in a historical building...
We got to back to my mom's place exactly 11 minutes before I was supposed to leave again to go meet a friend. Then I had to take a few pictures of the cats...
Maybe we'll do better next week!
Right now my priority is making sure my mom enjoys our time together, since she's still pretty blue from my step-dad's departure. From that perspective I can say: Mission Accomplished!
Monday, April 28, 2008
Bad Kitties
On Saturday night, I stayed out late, shaking my booty at a wild party and drinking myself silly.
No, wait. Sorry. I just lied compulsively there. Sometimes I like to pretend that I live that kind of life.
In fact what I did on Saturday evening was have dinner with my mother and then spend two hours working on setting up her new computer.
I don't recall it taking this long to get my own computer set up, even though it's almost exactly the same as my mom's. For some reason, my mom's setup process is stretching longer and longer, with glitches at every possible opportunity. First the internet connection wouldn't cooperate. After an hour on the phone with tech support I had it working, and then as soon as the technician got off the phone it started cutting out again. I also can't seem to get her .mac e-mail address to work, even though that should be easy as pie.
Throughout the process, things are slowed further by the presence of Stinker and The Dude, my mom's insane cats. All they want to do is get in the way and chew on wires and cables. The Dude was so intent on chomping through the phone cord that I had to put the help desk on hold while I booted him out of the room. No amount of taps on his nose would deter him from his chewing. Once he was locked out, he spent a long time trying to burrow under the door before finally ambling off to pull the weather-stripping off the bottom of my mom's front door.
A while later, Stinker asked to come in. I had been sitting for 15 minutes watching software updates download to the hard drive, so I was bored enough to consider letting him in. I thought he might be better-behaved than his brother. I thought he might want to sit and have his ears scritchy-scratched, or just snuggle on my lap. My hopes were ill-founded. He made a beeline for the tangle of cables under the desk and started eating the power cord. I pulled him away, and as soon as I let him go he went right back to it, as though that particular wire had an irresistible magnetic attraction for him. So Stinker got booted out too.
My mom said that these dopey cat-brothers don't respond to the disciplinary measures that have worked on all her past cats. Yelling at them just doesn't register. You can push their faces away from the "no" object as many times as you like, and they'll just come straight back. Even a whack on the nose or the rump doesn't faze them. They just shake it off. (Of course they never get swatted hard enough to cause pain. It's supposed to piss them off, nothing more. But these cats are too easygoing. It's impossible to piss them off.) My mom tries to have a water mister handy to spritz them when they're bad, but she can't always have it in her hand, and there are some places (like near electrical equipment) that a mister isn't practical.
I advised my mom to get a taser. She's thinking about it.
No, wait. Sorry. I just lied compulsively there. Sometimes I like to pretend that I live that kind of life.
In fact what I did on Saturday evening was have dinner with my mother and then spend two hours working on setting up her new computer.
I don't recall it taking this long to get my own computer set up, even though it's almost exactly the same as my mom's. For some reason, my mom's setup process is stretching longer and longer, with glitches at every possible opportunity. First the internet connection wouldn't cooperate. After an hour on the phone with tech support I had it working, and then as soon as the technician got off the phone it started cutting out again. I also can't seem to get her .mac e-mail address to work, even though that should be easy as pie.
Throughout the process, things are slowed further by the presence of Stinker and The Dude, my mom's insane cats. All they want to do is get in the way and chew on wires and cables. The Dude was so intent on chomping through the phone cord that I had to put the help desk on hold while I booted him out of the room. No amount of taps on his nose would deter him from his chewing. Once he was locked out, he spent a long time trying to burrow under the door before finally ambling off to pull the weather-stripping off the bottom of my mom's front door.
A while later, Stinker asked to come in. I had been sitting for 15 minutes watching software updates download to the hard drive, so I was bored enough to consider letting him in. I thought he might be better-behaved than his brother. I thought he might want to sit and have his ears scritchy-scratched, or just snuggle on my lap. My hopes were ill-founded. He made a beeline for the tangle of cables under the desk and started eating the power cord. I pulled him away, and as soon as I let him go he went right back to it, as though that particular wire had an irresistible magnetic attraction for him. So Stinker got booted out too.
My mom said that these dopey cat-brothers don't respond to the disciplinary measures that have worked on all her past cats. Yelling at them just doesn't register. You can push their faces away from the "no" object as many times as you like, and they'll just come straight back. Even a whack on the nose or the rump doesn't faze them. They just shake it off. (Of course they never get swatted hard enough to cause pain. It's supposed to piss them off, nothing more. But these cats are too easygoing. It's impossible to piss them off.) My mom tries to have a water mister handy to spritz them when they're bad, but she can't always have it in her hand, and there are some places (like near electrical equipment) that a mister isn't practical.
I advised my mom to get a taser. She's thinking about it.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Ten Facts About My Mother
1. My mom was born May 25, 1944, which makes her 63 years old. She looks closer to 53. She's an attractive woman, and I'll be lucky if I look as good as her as I age.
2. She's shy and doesn't give herself enough credit for being clever and charming. However, she is a docent (top-level tour guide) at the Royal Ontario Museum, which means that she stands up in front of a group of visitors and speaks about the displays at least once a week. I know that she gets nervous every time, and I'm really proud of her for pushing through her fears.
3. I have a slightly crooked tooth at the front of my lower jaw. My mom has the same crooked tooth, as does her father. I would like to trace the crooked tooth back through time, and meet all my snaggle-toothed ancestors.
4. My mom is a fantastic cook. She makes the best soups I've ever tasted, and the best from-scratch birthday cakes with buttercream icing. It's lucky for me that I have a lightening-fast metabolism (also inherited from my mom) so that I could and can get away with eating all her awesome, rich food.
5. My mom has Celiac Disease . She suffered most when she was a little kid, before Celiac disease had been defined. Sufferers of Celiac must avoid gluten, which is present in certain grains, including wheat. Medical science hadn't figured that out yet, so my mom's diet was severely restricted. She was only allowed to eat rice, boiled beef, mashed bananas, and skim milk. She craved a more varied diet. In grade school, when the cravings got bad, she would steal coins from her mother's purse and sneak off to the corner store for a candy binge. Then she'd end up in the hospital and no one would know why she'd had a relapse. To this day she will not drink skim milk, only homogenized.
6. I inherited my mood swings from my mom. What the family calls "Black Moods" came down through my grandfather and his brothers, then my mother and her sisters. I don't write about these moods much on my blog. Instead, I force myself to write about something light-hearted. Once I've spent an hour or so polishing a piece that's funny or describes something I enjoy, I find that my mood improves.
7. Yesterday I spent all afternoon with my mom, trying to get her new computer set up. I didn't want to let her putter around in the kitchen while I did the set-up. This is her computer, and I wanted her to really own it by being hands-on from the beginning. She opened the box, she plugged in the cables, she turned it on for the first time, while I helped and gave instructions. When we ran into technical difficulties, her anxiety grew, and I struggled to stay level. It wasn't easy.
8. By the time I got home, I was feeling drained and triggered. But instead of dumping out all the difficulties of the day in detail, I'd rather remind myself why I'm grateful for my mom.
9. She never learned to ride a two-wheeled bicycle, whistle, or blow bubbles with bubble gum. When I was a kid, it made me sad knowing that she had missed out.
10. I love when she tells stories about when I was a baby. I can never hear enough about how cute I was, and how brilliant, even though I suspect that she's exaggerating. She claims that my first word was "Portulaca". I'm more inclined to believe my grandmother, who says that my first word was "car".
2. She's shy and doesn't give herself enough credit for being clever and charming. However, she is a docent (top-level tour guide) at the Royal Ontario Museum, which means that she stands up in front of a group of visitors and speaks about the displays at least once a week. I know that she gets nervous every time, and I'm really proud of her for pushing through her fears.
3. I have a slightly crooked tooth at the front of my lower jaw. My mom has the same crooked tooth, as does her father. I would like to trace the crooked tooth back through time, and meet all my snaggle-toothed ancestors.
4. My mom is a fantastic cook. She makes the best soups I've ever tasted, and the best from-scratch birthday cakes with buttercream icing. It's lucky for me that I have a lightening-fast metabolism (also inherited from my mom) so that I could and can get away with eating all her awesome, rich food.
5. My mom has Celiac Disease . She suffered most when she was a little kid, before Celiac disease had been defined. Sufferers of Celiac must avoid gluten, which is present in certain grains, including wheat. Medical science hadn't figured that out yet, so my mom's diet was severely restricted. She was only allowed to eat rice, boiled beef, mashed bananas, and skim milk. She craved a more varied diet. In grade school, when the cravings got bad, she would steal coins from her mother's purse and sneak off to the corner store for a candy binge. Then she'd end up in the hospital and no one would know why she'd had a relapse. To this day she will not drink skim milk, only homogenized.
6. I inherited my mood swings from my mom. What the family calls "Black Moods" came down through my grandfather and his brothers, then my mother and her sisters. I don't write about these moods much on my blog. Instead, I force myself to write about something light-hearted. Once I've spent an hour or so polishing a piece that's funny or describes something I enjoy, I find that my mood improves.
7. Yesterday I spent all afternoon with my mom, trying to get her new computer set up. I didn't want to let her putter around in the kitchen while I did the set-up. This is her computer, and I wanted her to really own it by being hands-on from the beginning. She opened the box, she plugged in the cables, she turned it on for the first time, while I helped and gave instructions. When we ran into technical difficulties, her anxiety grew, and I struggled to stay level. It wasn't easy.
8. By the time I got home, I was feeling drained and triggered. But instead of dumping out all the difficulties of the day in detail, I'd rather remind myself why I'm grateful for my mom.
9. She never learned to ride a two-wheeled bicycle, whistle, or blow bubbles with bubble gum. When I was a kid, it made me sad knowing that she had missed out.
10. I love when she tells stories about when I was a baby. I can never hear enough about how cute I was, and how brilliant, even though I suspect that she's exaggerating. She claims that my first word was "Portulaca". I'm more inclined to believe my grandmother, who says that my first word was "car".
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)