We are now at Due Date Plus Five. The intense activity aimed at fitting as much as we could in while Dad-o was still with us has passed, and life has setting into—well, not normal, since there's always the "labor could start at any moment" anticipation. Perhaps I should say "mundane," though that, too, is a poor word to use with grandchildren around.
For example, who would have thought I'd ever leave my laptop computer alone with a three-year-old? I don't, for long—but I do. The apartment is small, and it's easy to make a quick check and to keep an ear out for trouble. Still, Joseph sometimes surprises me.
He and Vivienne have two interests in my computer: writing e-mails, and watching the PowerPoint shows I have created for our grandkids. Though Vivienne would like to control the mouse, I have put Joseph in charge of running the ppt shows, and they can both watch for quite a long time. When they are done, Joseph exits out of the show (via a button that is part of the show), then out of the show menu (another special button), then X's out of PowerPoint itself. (I've been running them from within PowerPoint, but am thinking of setting them up differently so he can be even more independent.) Next, he "puts the computer to sleep" by holding the Fn key and typing F4, waiting till the disk and network lights go off, then carefully (from the middle) closes the lid. Then he puts the mouse to sleep (turns it off) and lays it gently on its "bed" on top of the computer. Today he added another step: the computer was in my bedroom instead of out in the living room, and he noticed that the power cord was plugged into the wall but not into the computer—so he proceded to rectify the situation. I was torn between reminding him that he was not to do anything to the computer without asking me first, and wanting to see what he would do. The latter won, and indeed, he plugged the computer in as quickly and as smoothly as I do.
When Vivienne sees me at the computer, she runs over and says, "e-mail Dad-o." ("E-mail" isn't so clear, but she's consistent with it, so I know what she means.) I open up a composition window and she sits on my lap and types. "E" she says as she types, and I respond, "L." "L" she says, then types another letter, again saying "E." I respond with the correct character, and so we continue until one of us decides she's done. Then I hover the mouse pointer over the "Send" button, and she clicks the mouse button.
Both Vivienne and Joseph had written to Dad-o early this morning, but wanted to do it again. I explained that it wasn't even time to get up yet where Dad-o is, and so he hadn't received their first e-mails yet. Vivienne accepted this, but Joseph immediately replied, "E-mail Aunt Heather!" So he did. He usually types out the recipient's name, then "touch types" apparently random strings of letters: he places his fingers in approximately the correct typing position, then rapidly wiggles his fingers, all with an intense look of concentration. When he goes over the end of a line, he backspaces enough so that his letters fit into the window, then types Enter, and begins another line. When done, he will sometimes type his name, though not always. Until today, I would then send the mail in much the same way I do for Vivienne. But today I had left him typing to go into the kitchen for something, telling him to call me when he was ready to send the e-mail. When I checked back a few minutes later, the composition window was gone. I thought perhaps it was hidden behind another window, but it wasn't. Then I checked the Sent folder....
I believe the main secret to Joseph's surprising activities is keen observation and a great memory. He had seen me plug and unplug the computer; he had seen me click on the Send button. I find myself trying not to be too obvious when I type in my password.
mqwwwwqasdzxcdccccccccccccbaaaaaaaayqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqaqaaaaaaaaaaaa
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
dxaaaaaaaaaaaaaa,,m,,,,,,maaaaaaaaaaaa5321`ssssssssssssssssss
qaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeeeeeez
As you can see, Vivienne woke up from her nap and wanted to type, and now Joseph is waiting for his turn. So I'll save my Vivienne notes for another post, and get on with life!
I might add, however, that Joseph's great memory is somewhat selective. He seems to remember easily the name of a painting he saw three weeks ago, but "Please clean up your room" gets forgotten in three seconds. :)
And Janet pointed out that his sending the e-mail isn't as odd as it first seemed. He as been sending e-mails to me for quite a while, and "S-e-n-d" means the same thing in Janet's e-mail program as in mine.
That's the selective way my memory worked as a kid.
