Typing Out Loud

Every now and then, my kids ask me to write down our silly stories, regardless of when they happened, so we can remember them indefinitely. Here’s one my son insisted I record.

I don’t know where to start with this one, except to say that my brain does not have an internal monologue. Some people don’t have a mind’s eye, and I don’t have a narrator. Yes, I still think to myself as much as anyone does, I hope. It’s just that it’s all more akin to movie montages, with music and videos and so many feelings, but rarely any words.

That’s all fine and good until I need to communicate with someone else. One of my many coping mechanisms? I’ll often mindlessly speak out loud as I write or type. I don’t even realize it.

I have worked at home in tech for the majority of my adult life, and my kids are used to hearing me type. Not just the clickity-clack of my mechanical keyboard, but the words, too.

On the rare occasion where I’m co-working with someone else, they’ll often pop their headphones off and say, “Pardon?” and I’ll have to pop my headphones off and say, “Pardon?” to them. They’ll ask if I was talking them, and I’ll have to admit I was just talking to myself. Again. They get used to it. Bless them.

But it doesn’t faze my kids at all.


I was troubleshooting an odd bug with paragraphs and the WordPress editor one day when I felt my son’s hands on my shoulders. You know that thing where people laugh so hard they forget to inhale? He was leaning on me to steady himself. And all he could say was, “Momma.”


What in the world were you typing just now?”

“Oh, just a bunch of junk. Keyboard mashing, you know. I just needed a few paragraphs for a test.”

“Did you know you were typing out loud?”

So just for the memories, and for my kids’ sake:

“gjids jsrja us8o;n dvdno;ia fiou ff;nsa7ta jfsj afips bp” (A TRIBUTE)


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