I know I am old. In fact, in parent years I am about 90 years old. Oh, you haven’t heard of parent years? Well, they are sort of like dog years, but instead of the standard one human year equals seven dog years, parent years vary depending on if you have boys, girls or teenagers.
Considering the fact that I have three kids, two of which are twin girls approaching their teen years an undertaker will be by shortly to measure me for my coffin. Let me tell you, on some days, I can’t wait for the coffin, it is sure to be peaceful I have a book. I’ve packed snacks.
I didn’t realize quite how old I was until I wanted to record a program; at least I didn’t say my show, the other night and had no clue how to do it. In all fairness, I don’t watch much television. Really, if it was up to me we wouldn’t have cable at all, but it is not up to me.
Anyway, we do have cable but I don‘t watch it often, too much trouble to wrest control of the television from the children, and since we just moved we have a new cable provider.
Everyone knows a new provider means new gizmos and a new way to do things, because what fun would it be to turn on the television and have it work? It is much more fun to spend an hour pouring over a very unhelpful manual to figure out how to change the channel.
Combine the two and the result is I can barely manage to turn the television on, let alone find a program, with the new remote.
Now don’t go thinking it is simply that I am resistant to change. I am not…okay, maybe just tiny bit, but the new cable company makes it so hard. No, don’t worry I don’t think they are out to get me, yet.
Instead of simply clicking on a button and voila your show records you now must enter a sequence of numbers and provide voice authentication; nah, I just made up that last part. Still, it is an irritatingly complex process to record one show.
Yes, I realize I am sounding more and more like a candidate for Shady Acres. Get me a glass of warm Ovaltine and I am all set and get off my lawn, too, dammit. Anyway, I managed to bumble around the DVR system and get my show set up without setting off global thermonuclear war, which I consider a win-win situation.
Although, there was a moment when I thought it would be simpler to wake up one of the children to have them set my show up to record and the mother of the year award goes to ....
The kids on the other hand can make the DVR sit up and do tricks with the click of a button. I wouldn’t be surprised if they could use the television to control the Mars rover. If it suddenly does a wheelie, it isn’t our fault.
Jennifer Flaten lives where the local delicacy is fried cheese, Wisconsin. She writes about family life, its amusing or not so amusing moments. "At least it's not another article on global warming," she says. Jennifer bakes a mean banana bread and admits an unusual attraction to balloon animals and cup cakes. Busy preparing for the zombie apocalypse, she stills finds time to write "As I See It," her witty, too often true column. "My urge to write," says Jennifer, "is driven by my love of cupcakes, with sprinkles on top. Who wouldn't write for cupcakes, with sprinkles," she wonders.
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