I Do Not Want to Raise a Digital Junkie

Raising children in the digital revolution is both amazing and challenging.

I love being able to Facebook to keep in touch with friends. I visit my daughter's school website often for updates, events and lunch menus. I visit several social media/blog/advice sites weekly. My two-year old can navigate the computer like a pro. He turns it on, logs on to Playhouse Disney and watches videos or plays games. My seven year old daughter has her own MP3 player and digital camera (a real one-not the kid toy version). That said, am I okay with raising a digital junkie?

Just this weekend, my 13 year old nephew said he refuses to take the bus because the kids are not allowed to text while on the bus. Seriously? This really hit a nerve with me. Is he so hooked that he cannot wait the twenty minute bus ride to start texting friends he just left? Again, seriously?? I told him "I’d be damned before I let my daughter be the same way."

Later that evening, I told my husband I was serious about what I said at dinner. He completely agreed. Now what? What can we do to keep her from becoming a digital junkie? Yes, when my kids reach Middle School, they will get cell phones. I just think it is safer. Although, I am definitely considering phones with good parental controls. That said, I need to figure out how to create a balance. I do not want my children to feel like "outsiders" because they are not doing what all the other kids are doing. I don’t want my children to resent me for my choices. But I also will not tolerate kids who cannot go twenty minutes without their phone. That is insanely ridiculous.

How do I find the balance?

Everyday Magic

My six-year old daughter is a nightmare queen.
Not in the fake scream-bad acting-wannabe horror flick kind of way, in the creepy crawly-spiders crawling up my legs-gotta climb in bed with mommy and daddy kind of way. She has nightmares (according to her) most nights, and ends up in my bed at least three times a week.

I tried the "Imagination Transformation" speech. Basically, you control you own dreams. Whenever something starts to scare you, use your imagination to turn it in to something wonderful. That worked for a day. Maybe two. So, she decided it was time to make a dreamcatcher. She saw one at Grandma's house and asked what they were for. I told her they catch bad dreams in the web which are then destroyed by the light of day.

So, with stuff we had around the house -- markers, yarn, paper plate, beads -- she made a dreamcatcher. I, being of adult logical mind, doubted that it would work. She, being of childish wonder and fantasy believing mind, was sure it would. We hung her creation above her bed straight away. The next morning, she ran out of her room happy to announce that "It worked Mommy! It really works! I started having a bad dream and it just went away!"

I guess I just have to remember that kids still live in that long-forgotten land of wonder and fantasy, where magic is an everyday reality.

The Sibling Sleepover

Okay, I first read about this concept in one of my family magazines (sorry guys, hunted up and down and cannot find it now that I want to cite it), and thought "Okay, waste of paper." Then I started to think about it.

I grew up sharing a room with my sis, so the idea of a room to myself was very exciting. I would have laughed if someone suggested a sibling sleepover to me. But my kids don't share a room. They both have their own room, and are alone every night. They would probably jump at the chance to "sleepover" in one another's room.

So, I asked them tonight if they would like to sleep in the same room. Suddenly it was like I offered chocolate cake for breakfast. They were both very eager for bedtime. So, I hauled out the inflatable sleeping bag (kid size thank goodness) and started blowing. My daughter even asked if they could do it for several days.

Funny how something so simple, and yet so foreign to me, makes them both very happy. So what if they talk for an hour after bedtime. Does it really matter? I remember talking at length with my sister almost every night, until one of us just could not utter another word. And perhaps there is even a mommy-perk. Maybe, just maybe, if they talk long enough, they will sleep in late. Wow, a Saturday morning sleeping in until 8am, or, dare I say it, 9am?? Now that is a foreign concept!

Bubkiss

I sat down to write something new today. Something fresh. Something unique. Appealing. Anything. What did I find? A bit of stale crust, smelly cheese, rotting apples... I could go on and on. But unfortunately, not with a fresh new thought. Funny how some days, my mind never stops. Others, nada. Bubkiss. Squat. (Well it seems the synonyms are running free.)

I can't stand the dry times. I sit and sit trying to will myself to write. Which, of course, only makes matters worse. The longer I sit, the worse I feel. The worse I feel, the slower the imagination. Vicious cycle. Terribly vicious cycle.

I guess it's time to get up and take a walk, go to the beach, the park... Whatever. Just away from the keyboard. Of course the moment I am away from the computer, no notebook in the car, then the ideas will come. And oh how they come....

That is an entirely different problem--when ideas flow freely with no way to catch them. See, I also suffer from a very poor memory. My amazingly detailed beginning to the next bestseller... gone. Lost somewhere between sleep and sleepiness. My fabulously witty memoir entry... gone. Interrupted by a sibling squabble. For some reason, once hatched, I cannot regain their essence. Oh, the basics are still there, but the wondrously lavish details and bits of sensory excitement, those vanish in the caverns of my mind. So many wonderful ideas lost in there. No wonder I have such amazing dreams....

Miraculous Conception?

The subtleties of the silent treatment are lost on my four-year-old. She may notice that mommy is not talking, heck she'll come right out and ask. "Mommy, why aren't you talking to me?" But she has absolutely no idea that I am remaining speechless because she refused to help me with the baby when I needed it. Payback? How does that complicated and juvenile, and all the while ADULT concept even enter her world?

The answer? It doesn't. Plain and simple. Yet it is completely logical to me, at the time. Why do we try to impose our adult standards and sensibilities on our children?

I must keep reminding myself that she is only four. She sees the world in a completely different way than I. And she is not the one who needs to change. I am. I cannot possibly expect her to keep her room clean on her own, or remember to brush her teeth every day, or understand why chocolate is not a dinner side dish. It is my job to help her along in her world until she is old enough to join mine. (Do I even want that? Most days I think her world is much better than mine.) It is my job to ease her in to my world, not expect the miraculous conception of an adult mind in a child's body.

And this is a task I plan to take a long time accomplishing! A very long time...

Childhood Memories

My little brother and I were ten years apart in age. Because of which, there were precious few years that we played together. Being kids of resource, we made good use of our imaginations. One afternoon, we played our favorite make-believe game.
"I am the inter-dimensional voyager. Only I can take you to your destination. What dimension would you like to visit today?" I asked my four-year old little brother.
"The candy road, I want to go to the candy road!" Brian squealed with excitement.
"Step into the inter-dimensional transport, non-stop to dimension five!" We crouched down behind our corner bush until we could no longer see the rest of the yard. "All out! First we must ask the King for permission. Oh, great King of Dimension Five," I bellowed, kneeling before our shade tree—which was almost in the exact center of our yard, "we request to journey through your lands."
Brian knelt beside me, his head also bowed.
"He said we have his permission, but we must not enter dimension six or ten."
"Six or ten? What's so special about six or ten? I bet that's where the good candy is! Hey! How come he only talks to you?" Brian asked with awe in his voice.
I wondered if he could actually see our giant shade tree—totally unsuited for climbing—as the portly, ruddy-cheeked emperor I described in fantastic detail, or was he simply playing along?
"Because I am the inter-dimensional voyager!" I replied with complete authority.
Either Brian accepted my answer as truth, or decided that it did not matter.


This is just one of my memories of my little brother and I. This is how I hope my children are. I hope they genuinely enjoy each other's company from childhood into adulthood. I am not naive enough to think that there won't be rough spots. I'm sure my mother can recall many a story of us not playing nice. However, those are not the memories I hold. I remember sticking up for my little brother when a bully tried to pick on him. I remember how cute he was as a child. I remember the good parts. Hopefully, my children will too....

Invisible Tolerance

The dogs are fighting. The baby is crying. My four-year old is throwing a fit because I want to watch ten minutes of adult TV instead of Noddy. There is this crazy, invisible tolerance line. The crazy part is it is in a constant state of flux. Yesterday, nothing phased me. Today... Don't even get me started on today.

It is days like this when I understand how a mother could harm her child. Not that I would. Never. But I do understand the limits. I do not empathise, but I do understand where the impulse lies. I have to remind myself that it is okay to need a break. It is okay to want a few minutes alone. Guilt always creeps in./