Dear Kid,

I really am a good person.

Remember when Auntie C was visiting a few weeks ago? She had recently purchased an Apple Watch which she was very pleased with (and by “very pleased with” I mean adores silly).

“But,” she said to me. “Alas and alack,” she said. “Woe unto me,” she moaned, “I have a problem and know not what to do.”

“Dearie me, Auntie C,” I cried with alarm, “Tell me what is wrong and I will do anything in my power to right the travesty!”

Auntie C only hid her face in her hands. “I cannot,” she whispered.

“Be not afraid, Auntie,” said I, “Tell me what I can do.”

“It’s my Fitbit,” she said even more softly. “It’s alone, and in box. I’m so ashamed.”

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of!” I squeaked, “Enjoying kale—definitely shame worthy. But moving to a new technology means leaving the old behind.”

But it made no difference—her sorrow was palpable.

I couldn’t bear it. “Tell me, Auntie C,” I begged, “Tell me what I can do to lift this cloud from your shoulders.”

“Well,” she began, “No, I couldn’t.”

“Yes, yes, you can,” I assured her.

“No,” she said, flinging the back of her hand to her forehead, “It’s too much to ask.”

“Ask, ask!”

After a time (about 6 seconds), she relented. “Would it be too much—you can of course say no—would it be too much to ask you—no, no, I can’t—would it be too much to ask you to take my Fitbit?”

Time stood still as the enormity of her request floated across to me. Was I ready for this? Could I adopt someone else’s Fitbit? Would I feel the same as I’d felt about my own?

Without pausing consider the matter too deeply I burst out, “Of course, of course! For you, anything. I will take your cast off Fitbit and treat it as my very own.”

Which is how I find myself wearing (wait for it) a PURPLE Fitbit. It is adorable. It is a charming. It sits on my wrist like it belongs there (because it does belong there). I figured out how to sync it with my phone without any help from the under-30 set.

I am so happy.

And I did a good deed.

Love, Mom