I've been trying to install a new printer. For work at home? To print tax forms? To help my son study for exams as his high school year comes to a close?
Nope. I want to colour.
No, not 'art', colouring. Call it 'Dramatic Therapy' if you like, but we're talking a pack of crayola markers from Zellars. You see, Minecraft is "broken" in that. . .never mind, it just doesn't work right now.
So I tried to set up a printer we've had for ages and never got around to using.
Five hours and three re-installations of the software later, my son says to me rather calmly:
"Yanno mom, it'll still be there in the morning You can fight with it then, when you're fresh."
Stopped me dead in my tracks. He was quoting me, back at me. What?
But he was serious.
It's scary when you you get proof that the teenagers are listening.
I knew I would eventually hear my mother's voice coming out of my mouth, but I didn't know I would hear it coming from my teenager's! (A couple of octaves lower, too.)
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