I get scared and nervous about a lot of things. The basics: clowns, carnies, Tanya. You know.
I don’t often think about how weird the world has gotten because I’m not usually aware of much going on around me. I exist in my own little world and occasionally come up for air and to look around. When I do this, I tend to get shocked.
We did a bunch of yard work. Yes…the townhouse owners insist on doing yard work in the common property. If we don’t clean up the sticks and leaves and such, who will? Plus it inspired me to try to plant wildflowers behind the house. It beats looking at pine needles.
Anyway…we finished and told Shmuppie that she needed to write in her journal. Her teacher has given them journals and they write back and forth to each other. JewelrySlut was vacuuming the first floor and I had just finished in the basement. Suddenly, the kid was gone.
I wandered upstairs to find her, looked under her bed, and couldn’t find her. I came to the basement and didn’t see her in the family room. OK…I was confused. I happened into the office and there she was, at the desk, diligently writing about how she’d found 47 worms out behind the house.
Sidebar: This was fun. I was hauling off about 57 tons of leaves and pine needles and JewelrySlut was sitting in the sun on the deck. Shmuppie was digging up worms. For every one she’d find she’d announce: “Mommy! I’ve found XX worms!”
This went all the way to 47. Needless to say, JewelrySlut wanted to kill herself after about #12.
Back to the journal. She’s tucked herself away in a nice quiet part of the house and is writing.
I went upstairs to tell JewelrySlut and we’re both proud and bewildered. Most of the time, Shmuppie is a normal kid (and by that, I mean a raving lunatic). Then, from time to time, we’re reminded that she also seems to be brilliant. I went downstairs, kissed Shmuppie on the head, and went about watching basketball.
2 minutes later, Shmuppie appears in the family room. A scary conversation ensued.
Me: Yea babe?
Her: Is it OK that I used Google to see how to spell a word?
Me: (regaining consciousness) What now?
I walked into the office as Shmuppie was pointing at the computer. She’d opened up Firefox and started typing the word “Shovel” into the Google search bar in order to make sure she spelled it right.
Shmuppie: That’s OK, right?
Me: (dumbfounded)…Um…yea. That was good thinking.
I went back upstairs, told JewelrySlut and she too was dumbfounded.
I guess it makes sense. The house has 3 computers in it and one is almost always in use. We’re constantly running to one or the other to look something up; be it a recipe or the names of the cast members to some obscure 80′s movie. I tend to blame the internet for my perpetual confusion; my brain is just too damn full with crap I didn’t used to “need” to know.
I guess it’s rubbed off. My kid, at age 6, knows that if you don’t know something, you ask Google. I tried to explain to her that when I was 6 we didn’t have computers. She then asked me if when I was little, we wrote with feathers.
No honey, I’m not that old.
Grampy is though.
It’s a scary world our kids will grow up in. I can hardly remember a time before the internet, but it did exist. Dictionaries, libraries, encyclopedias…all those things we used to use in order to find stuff.
I recently asked JewelrySlut what she thought it would have been like if we’d had email in 1992.
We were at different schools and sent each other these long-ass letters just about every day. Long letters… They were mostly stupid stuff like “We got drunk again and then Pete farted real loud” but they also were how we built our relationship. Could we have done that 140 characters at a time via Twitter or FB posts or whatever the fuck kids do these days? It was a more innocent time. Then again, we had no internet porn so life was a little duller.
I don’t know. It’s an odd world we live in. and, as usual, I don’t have a point.
On another note: It’s still a girl and still a baby. The yungun is growing and making JewelrySlut crazy. We’ve entered the discomfort during sleep phase of the pregnancy.
We’re off to the beach next week. That should be fun. I need to get out of this damn office for a little while.