The other day I caught The Dormouse playing with her dolls:

Mock phone call: "Sam, can you come over and watch my daughter? I have to go to music therapy. And my daughter will cry, so I can't take her with me."

She went to the door and pretended to open it. "Oh Sam! You came so quickly! Thanks for watching my daughter. I have to go to music therapy. Give her a bottle if she's hungry and a bop if she cries."

She walked over to the piano and played a few notes.

Then walked back over to where the baby doll lay. "I'm back from music therapy. Did you miss me? I hope she wasn't any trouble, Sam. Thanks for watching my daughter."

Is that what she thinks I do all day?

I suppose we're all indoctrinated into the things our parents do and their interests. Here's a sound byte of me at around two or three years with my father:


Me: Ah. Now, tell me, what is this?
My dad: That's a resistor.
Yeah, resistor! (unclear)
What's that?
Umma.... (unclear)
No, that's a Potentiometer.
What's that?
Um... hmmm... umma... holder.
Fuse holder.
Fuse holder, yeah!
Umma Fuse holder.
What's that?
Yep. Let's see, what else have we got? What's that?
Umma... resistor?
Capacitor, yeah!
And what's that?
I don't know.
That's a resistor.
The enthusiasm for this stuff astounds me