Last Wednesday evening.
A nice little family meal in the works, the girls on their way home from dance class courtesy of a pick up from mom. Upon arrival, the unwinding of the day makes its way throughout the household and into conversation. The day's events are digested. The ritual "Is all your homework done?" queries. The reviewing of the schedules for the following day. Routine, routine, routine.
And then it's time for a little family downtime in the form of television programs we all watch together. I pull out the laptop (recently reacquired from the computer guy, post repair) for a bit of photo downloading and somesuch.
Power plug: Inserted. "On" button: depressed. Mouse attached.
But the mouse isn't working. There's no infrared light glowing from beneath it.
"Crap!" Rupe exclaims. "My mouse isn't working."
Wife of Rupe looks up. "Didn't you just get it fixed?"
"The computer, yeah ... but I didn't supply him with the mouse. It's borked or sumpin'," Rupe replies.
"Here! Give it to me! I can fix it!" This, coming from the 8 year-old.
The 8 year-old, mind you.
Inside, I chuckled. But I didn't let it show.
I deftly removed the mouse from it's connection and handed it to her.
She disappeared. The kitchen light came on. Shuffling. I heard noises, something being searched for. The kitchen light snapped off. In she came and plopped herself on the living room floor with something in her hand. It was a toothpick.
For the next two minutes, the youngest daughter of Rupe meticulously cleaned that mouse's cracks and crevices with the precision of a watch repairman. It was as if she didn't breathe. When done, she handed it back to me.
"Here you go. All done."
I took the mouse from her and plugged it back into the computer.
The infrared light came back on underneath the thing. The cursor schwiggled about on the screen. Everything a-okay.
I looked at Wife of Rupe. We both smiled a mile wide.
Damn. The child ... she's good. She's really good .....
.......................... Ruprecht ( STOP )