Dear Kid,

It probably will not surprise you to learn that Dad is watching a bio-ecology-ocean-fish TV show (especially when I tell you there aren’t any major sporting events on air at the moment).

It probably will stun you to learn that I am watching too. And I hope you don’t fall over when you learn that I haven’t started commenting about the plot (non-existent), the dialog (non-existent), the narration (monotone), or the music (snore).

I am completely and utterly transfixed by the videography.

My Friend the Internet has turned sulky. Really, really sulky. DearKidLoveMom.com

How do they DO that? How do they hold the camera steady when the ocean is busy moving and there’s no place to put a tripod? How do they get stunningly clear pictures when all the oceans I’ve ever seen are muddy and have seaweed floating in the way? How do they manage to have air-based video, surface video, and underwater video all at the same time? How do they get the fish and turtles and dolphins and sharks to cooperate? I can’t even get the Puppy to pose—even when I try copious bribery.

So I turned to My Friend the Internet for information.

Me: How do they DO that?
MFtI: Can’t tell you.
Me: What do you mean you can’t tell me?
MFtI: Trade secret.
Me: What do you mean “trade secret”? The whole point of the internet is to share all information, secret or not.
MFtI: Possibly not the whole point.
Me: Close enough.
MFtI: Yeah. Except in this case.
Me: Who decided this?
MFtI: I did.
Me: You’re putting our friendship at risk.
MFtI: Sorry to disappoint you.

I don’t know where this new internet came from, but I am seriously disappointed.

On the other hand, the probability of me taking up underwater videography is not good. So perhaps a bit of mystery is a good thing.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Author’s note: I have deleted the word “like” from my otherwise verbatim transcription in order to keep the word count under 7 zillion words. You may feel free to, like, insert it, like, wherever you like, because in all likelihood it was there in the original.

My fab friend Debba asked me to write a blog for Girlfriendology.com about how teenage girls can be better friends. While I may look insanely young, it has been a while since I was (in fact) a teen, so I turned to our very own teenage girl for advice and inspiration.

“Pi,” I said, “I need ideas for how teenage girls can be better friends.”

“Huh?” To be fair, we were at the gym and she was 45 seconds into a handstand. I repeated.

“I dunno,” she said and turned right side up again.

“It’s for DEBBA,” I explained.

“Uh-huh,” she said, beginning a third set of sit ups.

I could see this wasn’t the right place to begin the conversation.

I waited until we were driving home and tried again. “Seriously, Pi,” I said, “What makes a teen a better friend?”

She sighed, realized I wasn’t about to give up, and decided to help. “Making food for a friend, hanging out, maybe going with them to a sporting event. Ya’ know, support the school and hang out.”

“What do you do when you and Sarah hang out?” I asked.

“We generally drive around and get lost…and then find our way back.” I have visions of them going out for a smoothie and ending up in a different country.

“And with Emma?”

“We bake stuff at her house that never turns out right. I think next time we’ll try baking at our house, ok?”

“Of course.” I make a mental note to be sure the fire extinguisher is handy. “What about with Melissa?”

“I dunno, mom.” Exasperation.

“Well, do you ever slip a note in someone’s locker to make them feel better if they’re having a bad day?”

I get a look. “No.”

I realize I am hopelessly out of date. “Well, a tweet, or a text?” The look. “No.”

“Do you sit around and talk?” “No.” “Not even about boys, and school, and stuff?”

“Well, of course. But that’s just regular. We don’t talk about serious stuff.”

We finish the drive home in silence.

I consider sending messages to Pi’s friends asking them for help. Then I remember it’s exam week and decide that might not be the best idea on the planet.

I consider going into a deep meditative state and trying to remember what it was like to be a teen. But I’m laughing too hard (I can barely remember what I had for breakfast and Booker will probably climb into my lap and lick my face—not good for regression meditation).

I decide that the answer is probably somewhere at the bottom of a carton of ice cream. When that proves to be incorrect, I sit down to write. You can read Five Tips for Being a Better Teenage Friend on Girlfriendology.

Hope whatever you’re researching today goes better.

Love, Mom

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