Pokemon Go.

Dear Laney,

[Apologies to anyone who already saw some of these pictures on Facebook today, but not all of the grandparents have embraced social media, so I'll post them here for posterity.]

Yesterday, you and your friend Jude hauled me all over the neighborhood, trying to teach me how to play Pokemon Go. For those readers who aren't familiar with this mobile app that's sweeping the world, it looks like this:

Using some kind of GPS magic (a unicorn on a treadmill in Bill Gates' basement), it keeps up with where you are in real time, and suddenly little animated monsters will pop up on your screen as you walk around the (real, not virtual) world. It's received a lot of praise because it encourages players to leave the house and get some exercise. 

I wasn't into it. 

By the fourth time y'all asked me if I wanted to catch a Charma-whatever with my balls of fury and trap a whoosewhatzit in my Poke-dingdong, I was done.

This picture below is the same look I give my 60-something year-old mother when she doesn't know how to cut n' paste in Microsoft Word (I call it the "Bless your heart, old lady.") I have become the weak link. Whatever. I'm old. Get off my lawn.

This looks like a stock photo for "How Lice Are Transmitted."

The birthday boots are still a favorite.

You caught two something-or-others, and found four poke-balls.

When I was in college, I had a friend from Mississippi named Brent who looked down on drinking games like beer pong, etc. He used to say, "It's a sorry man who can't just sit down and drink for the sake of drinkin'." That's kinda how I feel about Pokemon Go. I think I'll just stick to walkin' for the sake of walkin'. 

Like the other old people. 

Love,

Mom