Your impatience is a knife. Your sigh is an earthquake.
When I feel my jaw clench now, I stop the lesson. I say, "Mom, remember when I was five and you spent three hours teaching me to tie my shoes? And I cried? And you just kept tying and untying the laces until I got it?" teaching my mother how to give birth
When I told my friends the title of this blog post, they laughed. Then they looked confused. "Isn't it... the other way around?" Your impatience is a knife
I used to get frustrated. "Mom, just click the paperclip icon!" I’d say, my voice rising. She would shut down. Her shoulders would tense. She’d say, "I’m just not tech-smart." I say, "Mom, remember when I was five
Taking over the mouse/keyboard. The Fix: Put your hands in your lap. Use verbal only instructions. "Move the cursor to the top left. Click once. Now type your password slowly." Pro tip: Let them press "Enter." That moment of success is the baby crowning. Celebrate it. Stage 3: Transition (The "Let me do it for you" Phase) Symptoms: Begging. "Please, just this once, do it."
I cried, though.
