I don’t like computers; I like pencils, tall and sharp Ticonderogas with enough eraser on top to really go after a big mistake. I like the sound of paper. I like the satisfying scratch of crossing something off a list. I’m quite convinced my printer is in league with Satan. And to be completely honest, my laptop gives me diarrhea.
And so, I am often at the mercy of my husband and my son. They come to my rescue with incredulity and annoyance at my lack of knowledge and efficiency. “How could you not know this?” they ask.
Why don’t I know this! I don’t know this because I spent the last ten years wiping asses and making pancakes. I don’t know this because it wasn’t covered on Blues Clues. It wasn’t an integral part of carpools. I leaned all the way out. That’s why I don’t know it!
Of course, I can’t tell them that because I might have to save the file to a pdf or post a link or some garbage like that. Instead I smile and try to see how and where their fingers landed when they produced this technological magic.
Maybe Sheryl Sandberg who wrote Lean In should expand her generosity to moms who stayed home. It could be like the kind of training prisoners get when they reenter the world. A reintegration program. This is how adults talk to one another. This is a sampling of a non-animated television series. This is a small stylish hand bag. And this is what happened with computers.