Alexae

We have two Alexa stations in our downstairs area. One portal sits in the kitchen, in convenient range for grocery list additions or questions from the dinner table (who's winning the Villanova game? How many days until Christmas?). The new Alexa is actually on our smart thermostat, lying in wait in the downstairs hallway.

Daniel loves the Alexa (plural: Alexae? Alexas?) and riddles them with questions, begs for jokes, plots the ten-day weather outlook, and requests songs from our entire playlist.  William is neutral, and Aden despises the Alexae, particularly the one in the hallway that she feels is "spying on us." She's most likely right, as Rob validated the theory that Alexa listens to all of our conversations. I need to watch my political commentary.

The spying ladies speak up whenever our verbal output approximates their name. So far they've responded to "next to," I'll getcha," You betcha" and "Achoo." Aden feels sabotaged when the hallway thermostat speaks up when she walks by, as if plotting her movements and leaping at her in the most vulnerable moments.

I'm fairly positive on the Alexae; they're great for grocery lists and playing music, plus they stop making noise whenever I say stop. That's a highly undervalued characteristic in house occupants.  I also admire their ability to unexpectedly go on the fritz, getting out of work with no further ado.  The standard, "I'm sorry, I can't understand you right now. Please try again later," might work for me, too, when confronted by excessive familial demands. I'm going to try it out this holiday season, when demands of food, entertainment and companionship pile up too high.