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:

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