So it's a Tuesday afternoon. I'm in my home office, I have my headphones on. Just then, one of those annoying dings. So it's someone important. It's Rosa, our nanny. "Hey, Avni, I was wondering. I silence it. I'll just get back. I realize I need something for my email. Big mistake. There are not one, rehearsal and a field trip. That's OK, I've got and I leave them unread. I also activate my really foolproof system. I grab my email and I get back to work. Two more minutes, another ding. It's Rosa again. "Hey, Avni, I'm at the school for pickup, but there's no one here. Should I be somewhere else?" Immediately, monkey brain activates. I grab my phone. Today’s play rehearsal, right? That should be at the big gym." I head back to my email, looking costumes, volunteering, and there, on the schedule, "Oh, by the way, I text Rosa and tell her to head. I sit back, relieved, and my eyes fall on those unread emails. And I think, you know what happens next. I finish that product doc, obviously. Yeah, no. I'd like to tell you, but I ended up creating. Because with two kids, two jobs, and your modern family cocktail and soccer tournaments, I loved how full our life was, but I hated that somehow my brain that ran my family. And worse, it made because everything was in my head, and the only way to get it out. At which point I would look. When was it that I became. Pro tip: not a very good way. But maybe it's because I've been before I became a tech founder, that next to that frustration, I also felt curiosity and opportunity. I had honed my ability in everyday interactions, and to build products that solve them, like packaging for an osteoporosis drug and accessible to arthritic hands. Or designing a service for parents and doing it over SMS because that's where they already are instead of sending them to another app. And this, parenthood, well, this felt. I wanted to build myself a force field, a machine that could intercept an expert that was more capable. I mean, if we were going to use my brain, why couldn't we use. My first few tries failed. It didn't matter how meticulously of our family's logistics, there was always some situation. I mean, try explaining a five-year-old's to software. But then three years ago, things changed. Large language models. And unlike software, AI could handle ambiguous. It could take something and not just do the explicit thing, but handle the implicit things that too often mess. Tired, like reminding me or checking for conflicts. So now, when my husband and I are hit, I've built Milo, the first AI sidekick for parents, to be able to take and grocery items and library books and be able to handle it. And best yet, Milo can tell. Finally, a computer. So you'd think that this. But no. Because I'm human and I'm greedy. If Milo could take on the rote, repetitive, administrative parts, why not keep on going? Why couldn't it coordinate playdates? Or when the girls were bickering, pop in to suggest the ideal way. So a couple of months ago, we're working on ways, and one of my investors, a guy who's pretty reserved, goes, "Well, Milo can see and just automatically text your sitter. Or it knows your friends' birthdays. And those teacher emails? Well, Milo can just connect and suck every last one up so you never have to see." As we fleshed these features out, though, something just didn't feel right, but I couldn't figure out what it was. After all, I was looking for friction, but something just didn't feel right. What was it? That question nagged me for weeks until one evening my daughter Saaya to show me something. And as I ran my fingers over. Not all friction is bad. You might know, to connect two of these you actually have to score so that they have something to grip on to. Otherwise the smooth sides. This resistance is called, and it's valuable. And where people are involved, there's lots of productive friction, meaningful interactions. I didn't need a perfectly. I needed a permeable one instead. One that shielded me from the things but let in the fewer, messier. Milo could find three times, but I could text Carrie, which would give me a chance. Or Milo could comb through every last, picking out details but leave for me on top Miss V's note about how our daughter Arya’s has really been blossoming. You might draw your line. And I might draw mine differently. In a week when my husband is traveling, the girls have tennis tryouts, and I have a product launch, I want Milo to build me a force field. But I guess the point is, we finally have the kind of technology between load that we need help lightning and work that is hard, I've begun to realize that one of the most radical is not do the things for us but to push us to choose and then make the space. This feels like a brave new world, but I'm excited to see what is possible when we have tools that encourage us but unfinished and evolving. That reminds us not to be afraid that just shows us imperfectly, inconveniently human. Thank you.