On Sunday I stated that ‘My family DON’T read my blog’ as my Mother’s Day wish list went unheeded. The wonderful Little Miss Menopause in response asked, ‘Could it be that your family DOES read your blog but (like my family) does not want “hints.”‘ I think LMM might actually be psychic-ish.
Now, Noodles knows his way around my Kindle and iPhone with scary deftness. Far better than me. He could take a screen grab on the phone way before I could. He wasn’t even two at the time, could only speak a handful of words, yet could simultaneously press two buttons on my phone.
He set my Kindle’s keyboard to French. I didn’t even know there was a French keyboard. I assumed everyone just used a QWERTY keyboard. I didn’t even especially notice to begin with, although I thought it was odd that I kept hitting Q instead of A. It was only when my auto-correct kept throwing up French words that I knew something was up. Mon dieu!
Perhaps it’s because I’m of the generation that remembers a time when computers were just being introduced into people’s lives that I’m astounded by his intuitive use of technology. I remember when the school computer would be wheeled into a classroom under great pomp and fanfare and the teacher would flash an enormous 12″ CD-rom at us. When only the boys who were geeks would be allowed into the strange and mysterious world of ‘Computer Club.’ When the kids from the whole street would gather to play on an Atari – and I was always scared of it and utterly useless. When it would take 20 minutes to load a computer game onto a BBC computer from a cassette.
I still think people are referring to paracetamol/Ritalin when they say ‘tablet.’
I worry that Noodles will end up draining my bank account (all £24 of it) on in-app purchases. He’s already posted some random tweets. I’d set the parental controls only I’d need his help to do it. But at least I don’t have to worry about him taking offence to what I write about him (yet!) as the only word he can read is ‘Ely.’
I don’t have to worry about Boo either. For one thing, Noodles’ monopoly of anything tech-related means that she doesn’t get her hands on any of the devices very much. When she does, she’s more intent on playing on Candy Crush Saga or the CBeebies app to want to waste her window of opportunity searching to see what I’ve said about her. So I don’t have to worry about her taking offence to what I write about her. Yet.
But the twins are a different matter. I’d mentioned my blog to them, but didn’t think they’d be interested in reading what I had to say. I thought they’d just think it was sad, that I was there rambling away to the ether.
Nope. They’re nosier than I thought. Well, either that, or University holidays are far too long and Indy had already run out of things to do. (A suggestion: GET A JOB!) According to her Twitter account, her To Do list for last Friday was:
So I told Eve my blog name, so that the mission could end and something productive might happen this side of the chocolate Easter eggs.
Eve started reading. Gosh, it’s weird how needy I can become for feedback when I know someone’s reading my stuff. She made chuckling noises in the right places. ‘Ha ha. “If only the cold never bothered me anyway.” You’re funny online.’ I felt pleased, happy to see her read on.
And then I remembered the Sleeping Beauty Syndrome post. How would she react to her flaws (as I see them) being laid bare to the world to see? (Well, ok, my 20 followers – most of the world isn’t that interested if truth be told)?
‘Have you read it?’ I tentatively asked.
‘It’s ok. It’s true. I can handle the truth.’
She managed to read through the whole of my blog that night. She hated it. We’re not speaking.
She even Tweeted ‘I’m loving [Mum’s blog]! I am hooked!’
I’ve not heard from Indy mind. Maybe she did hate it and isn’t talking to me. Or maybe she just didn’t get up, what with it being a Monday and all. (I wish I was a teenage student again. Just for one day of lazing in. Oh, heaven!) Eve may not have told her where to look. She may still be searching.
The only person who must NEVER read my blog is Husband. It’d be like having him sit in a girlie lunch. He really wouldn’t enjoy it and I’d be left with so much less to say without moderation.
But then, I’m not posting it on Facebook or in his football team’s chat room and I shall avoid topics on ‘a spider ate my dog!’ so I think I’m safe. (He took particular delight in sharing a story about a giant rat in Sweden earlier today. Maybe I don’t hope that I’m Scandinavian royalty after all!) The web’s a pretty big place to hide in. It’s not like I’ve gone viral. He’s more likely to nose through my diaries and notebooks, truth be told, which in his case are also best approached with caution.
Mind you, if he did read all of this, at least he’d learn how to change a toilet roll. Maybe a night of huffiness and hurt feelings would be worth it for that to actually happen.