So my dad came to visit this week. As a matter of fact, he's on a plane right now back to the home from whence he came.
Excuse me for that. Our school is doing the play, "Pride and Prejudice" this weekend and, after overhearing the two lead characters rehearsing yesterday (and being able to finish their lines for them), I just want to talk like Elizabeth Bennett.
Not necessarily wear her clothes, because, you know, corsets and all, but talk like her.
I think it would go over well in my present location of residence.
Anyway, my dad was here and, since it did snow on Tuesday - ten flakes to be exact - I'm sure he's defrosting on the plane with coffee and a hot water bottle. Living in a state where summer temps can reach 120 degrees hasn't exactly thickened his blood.
We had a great visit and the kids loved seeing him.
His visits are also a time where things get taken care of, fixed, assessed. Just like when I was little except when I write the word assessed, I don't giggle because there's a bad word in the beginning.
Through some sort of cosmic misappropriation of gifts, I did not inherit the gift of technology. I don't understand it, I underuse it, and, when it breaks, I don't know how to fix it. Example, our internet/phone service. It's been spotty at best for the past four months. We've called, cajoled, wrangled the phone company to no avail. Finally, I decided that the root cause of the problem was simply that AT&T hates me.
When my dad got here and my internet was once again down, he was on it like ugly on yo' momma. Oops. Sorry about that. Let me try again. He, with fortitude, purposed to avail me of my internet woes.
That one was for you, Mr. Darcy.
He also decided my phone needed to be updated so I could use the voice memo feature. I think I made him nervous driving and writing blog posts at the same time.
OH, I KID!
Anyway, with very little help from AT&T the technology in my home is on the road to restoration. It's good because where else would we be if my kids couldn't download an application that makes their voices sound like mice or Darth Vader?
Not anywhere. Nowhere.
My dad, in his gadgety-nerdiness, (sorry, Dad, it's true.) also decided I needed a Gmail account and Roomba. You know, the vacuum robot that cleans for you? I think it's how he compensates for my dirty car. If he can get my house humming, maybe I'll find time to vacuum out the goldfish that are crushed in the back seats of the Suburban.
Somehow, I am his child. I'm just not sure which genes he passed down.