A typical night at the Richardson house is now punctuated by a conversation that goes something like this:

Tucker: (Screaming) Hey, DAAAAAAD!
Me: (Running in from the other end of the house thinking something is broken) “What????”
Tucker: “Can I blog?”
Me: (Trying to go from fright to calm and supportive) “Um, sure.” (Deep breath.) “That’s fine.”
Tucker: “Can you help me?”
Me: “C’mon Tuck, you know how to do it by now. You’ve got like 200 posts on your blog.”
Tucker: (Wide-eyed) “REALLY?!?”
Me: “Well, um, no. Not really. But at least 12.”
Tucker: “Coooool!” (Does awkward break dance thing he learned at break dance class last week.) “Can you at least help me login?”
Me: “Sure. Go to Blogger.com.”
Tucker: “Oh yeah, right.” (Short pause.) “How do you spell ‘Blogger’?”
Me: “Sound it out. You can do it.” (Add supportive facial expressions) “Bl…Bl…”
Tucker: “B?” (I nod.) “B…Bl…L?” (I nod again.) “Bl…Bl…Blo… W?”
Me: “What?!? W?”
Tucker: (Eyes wide) “A?”
Me: “You’re guessing. Sound it out.”
Tucker: Bl…Blah… O?”
Me: “Yep.” (Five minutes of this ensues)
Tucker: “Ok. What do I write about?”
Me: What do you want to write about?”
Tucker: “Aliens!”
Me: “Great. Write about aliens!”
Tucker: “How do you spell it?”
Me: (Trying not to frown.) “Tuck…you can do this. Sound it out.”
Tucker: “A?” (I nod) “A…Al… L?” (I smile.) “Al… E?” (Oy)

Get the idea? Thirty words in 45 minutes. But he’s blogging, by golly.