Today, my mother Googled me.

I suppose it's my fault. I'm sure I am the person who told her what Google is and how to Google things. Boy, was that a mistake.

My mother called me at work this afternoon (as she often does) to ask me a question I would have thought she knew the answer to (as she often does).

And then: "What's this Chocolate Chip Chronicles?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me: the Chocolate Chip Chronicles."

"Oh. That's my blog."

"Your blog?"

"Yes, mom, my blog."

You see, mom didn't know about the blog. Not many people do. It's a personal daily writing exercise. A diary, if you will.

Only now, my mother holds the key to the diary.

My mother: the woman who has to call me at work every time she wants to open an e-mail attachment or reply to an e-mail and attach an attachment. I love her dearly, but she'll be the first to admit she's not the most computer-savvy person on the planet.

And, yet, she Googled me and found my blog.

How scary is that?