Before we start, with a title as such, let me stop your curiously wondering minds right there – this is not a homage to my (miscreant) youth, I am not about to come clean as a dubious phone line “service” provider or explain that I pole dance in my spare time (of course if I HAD much in the way of spare time, pole dancing is supposed to be very good for firming up so y’know, it’s always a possibility..)…no, it’s much less interesting than that but nonetheless

I have turned into my Grandmother.

There, I’ve said it ‘fessed up and it’s not too shameful or shocking when looked at as simply as that. Many of us worry about turning into our mother’s in our grown-up years, although if that happens to me, I will be very happy since my Mother is beautiful, youthful, always gorgeously dressed and more importantly, pretty darn amazing (she also has a rather wonderful collection of handbags.. Mum you can pay me later for the compliments shall we call it a Mulberry?!)

Anyhoo, Grandma, yep, my dearly loved, sadly departed Grandmother – well I am at a rapid rate of knots, turning into her.  If I tell you that our special nickname for her was “Grandma Batty” it might give you some idea of what I’m up against.

The woman whose warmth and generosity knew no bounds but also the woman who could not work the TV, nor the remote controls, drive a car other than the original mini even though it had no power steering and she had to turn the wheel a gazillion times to move even an inch…all whilst sitting on a cushion because at under 5 feet, even in a mini she was incapable of seeing over the steering wheel.

She once sent back an answer phone we brought her to make life easier because it was just “too complicated.” I kid you not. In fact, she used to leave voice-mails on my answer machine saying things like: “helllooooo??? Helloooo are you there? No obviously not. Right, machine, please tell Lisa that Grandma called.”

Despite being delicate of feature, petite, with immaculately groomed hair (Elnett hairspray always evokes memories of Grandma, you could have popped her in a wind tunnel and that bouf was going nowhere, I tell you!) she could not have a decent photo taken of her to save her life. Somehow, she always grinned (grimaced) at the wrong time. Her mouth would end up turning up or down in the most queer contortions that a spitting image puppet would be proud of.   If by some miracle we managed to get everyone in a family photo together, actually looking like we could stand to be in the same room, you could always rely on Grandma to be squinting/not looking at the camera/frowning when everyone else smiled or gurning a goodun. We have a family expression – “doing a Grandma” when it comes to photo taking these days….I’ve always hated having my photo taken anyway so I was the obvious choice to take on her mantle and I am pleased to say, I’m doing her proud. Tell me to smile – I’ll look like I want to eat children. Ask me to act natural, I make the ministry of silly walks look like a catwalk model. Tell me to just stand there even, yup, I’ll mess it up.

But it’s my battles with all things technology that have me confessing. I’ve previously mentioned my inabilites to get to grips with even the basics and you may have thought I was being self-deprecating but honestly, I am truly shocking; frankly its nothing short of a miracle that I’ve managed to carry on blogging.

You will note the lack of adornments, photo’s or anything remotely inspiring on my wall (is that even the correct wording?) to entice you to read further.  I’m not being lazy or protecting the family so much as being in completely and utterly over my head. A friend of mine has offered to take on the dubious task of blinging me up and fishing around in my settings when he has the time to make it more “jazzy.” Perhaps in the meantime, I better make my writing spicy enough to hold your interest – maybe I should insert random chapters from 50 shades of Grey or something to keep your interest? Let me know, answers on a postcard..or I might be able to open my e-mails, given enough time…

Today found me trying to send an urgent, important document from my phone to the printer; I managed to export it and create a PDF – go me – and if I  am being honest, was rather smug; then it all went to hell in a handcart. Pride comes before a fall. The printer could not be found, the printer was offline.  I very nearly sent the printer through the patio doors as it proceeded to tell me in beeping, annoying tones or flashing lights that it was out of paper, out of memory, out of range, out of action. Merely 2 3/4 hours after starting the print job, accidentally cancelling the print job, creating a paper jam and causing the printer to go offline again, thus losing its place and having to start from scratch, I got the job completed. I think giving birth was easier and less painful.

At the same time I have also had to defrost the fridge/freezer so that was merrily plinking and plonking in the background with the doors open, no access to the off switch because clearly the kitchen designer thought putting the plug socket behind all the cabinets and boxing it in, was a great idea. I thought at one point it was going to spontaneously combust with the high-pitched bipping. Add to that the ring of the drive way gates and then the doorbell as the postie wanted access, the bongs of e-mails coming on my phone, the i-pad and the computer, well it’s been like some bizarre, techno 21st century version of Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Birds” in here ….

I confess I can’t make my phone link to my blog so I can handily upload something or add to it whilst I’m out and about. I can’t work the DVD player on record mode, although I can just about get it to play a DVD. I’m dodgy getting the right channels between Sky/Apple TV and aforementioned dvd’s. Randomly stabbing at buttons on 3 separate remote controls sometimes gets it right. Otherwise I have to hope the 14-year-old is at home and will condescend to get it sorted for me.

I moaned to hubby recently that my lap top was dying and running very slowly. Turns out despite various software in place, I  can’t clean up cookies on my computer – as far as I was concerned, anything to do with cookies should see them served on a plate with a nice cup of coffee. It explains a lot as to why I never got any free biccies when frantically clicking the buttons to accept cookies on various web-sites…..

I can’t work the calculators that my older kids require (at least that gets me out of the maths homework help so it’s not all a bad thing) and whilst I can help them google stuff for projects, once the parental controls kick into place and I’m supposed to over-ride them to access the info they need, I’m on a losing wicket. I’m useless with the X-Box passwords and I shudder when the kids ask me to download them games on their gadgets. Many a sentence, even from the smallest members of the tribe starts with “Muuuuuuummmmm, can you…, never mind, we’ll ask Dad when he gets home.”

I can however work the coffee machine so that’s good enough for me. I’m pretty handy with a mixer for baking yummy cakes (although don’t suggest I use one of those all singing/dancing food processor mix thingamabobs) and I can work the oven/grill/microwave functions to a treat. Nonetheless, having just had to replace my trusty toaster for one that now looks like it could launch a nasa rocket, I’m off to consult the instruction manual….or better still ask the hubby how to work it. Turrah for now.

(if you hear fire engine sirens in the next few hours, please hope it’s not me having burnt the house down!!)




Jelly tot consuming Mother of 4 kids, 1 cat, 2 dogs. Wife/leader in chief of our tribe. Autistic & medically complex kids keeping us entertained, on our toes & never bored...lover of all things sparkly, handbags & shoes. Proud to be a “difficult parent” in the world of SEND

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