There’s no escaping the cold, hard truth: Children love to play with cardboard boxes.
As parents, we’ve all experienced this cardboard-fueled phenomenon. It’s almost become an old adage: He played with the box more than the gift.
With the holidays on the horizon, there will be oodles of boxes to contend with especially if, like myself, you prefer to do your holiday shopping online in your jammies. And, as the holidays draw near, the to-do list increases. There are gifts to buy, presents to wrap, gatherings to organize. If your home is anything like ours, it can be tricky to get all the things done with children underfoot. Unless, of course, you have a plan.
And have I got a plan this year! This plan is sure to keep your children engaged and learning and provide you with some uninterrupted time to tackle that mounting must-do list. This plan requires your kids to get creative and to think outside of that proverbial box… while playing with all those cardboard boxes that are strewn about your home just waiting to be recycled. Continue reading Cardboard STEM: 25 Ideas for All Those BOXES
For most of my life, my hair was manageable even though I wasn’t particularly adept at doing it. I’d hear people talking about “Jewish hair,” and I didn’t get what the big deal was. Yes, my hair was thick, but it was wavy—I could let it curl or brush it to a reasonable level of straight. Easy as pie. Easier, even.
I remember that morning as if it had happened yesterday. We were just leaving the restaurant, where we had enjoyed a leisurely breakfast with friends. I had met these women when we’d had our first babies, at a mothers’ group sponsored by the hospital where we had delivered. Those first babies were now 5-years-old and each had at least one younger sibling.
We held the door for one another and shuffled our tribe carefully out of the restaurant and into the parking lot. The kids were busy fooling around, and their laughter filled the air until one voice shouted above the rest. I knew that voice very well: It was my 5-year-old son, Leo.
“Hey! GUYS!! LOOK!! LOOK!!!!Doesn’t that latticework remind you of a portcullis? It’s SO BEAUTIFUL!” Leo shouted. He was jumping up and down, bursting with excitement, pointing toward the restaurant’s garden.
(This is a guest post from Peggy Gilpatric, the mother of the boy who wrote to George Lucas asking him to change the rule that Jedis can’t marry. GeekDad Randy Slavey wrote up that story last spring.)
We stood behind the white line as they led him to the training area, his Jedi robe dragging on the floor behind him. I had my reservations about him attending Jedi Training Academy, even if it was just the one a Disneyland instead of in a galaxy far, far away. I thought that it might be too much for Colin. He had trouble following directions. He lacked the fine motor skills to engage his lightsaber. I knew he would get frustrated. Maybe it was the Star Wars fan in me, but autism or no autism, I believed that he could do this.
So, like a good Jedi mom, I stayed behind the white line with the other parents. A padawan helper noticed my youngling’s distress and came to his aide. He remained by his side until it was time to battle Vader. My son stood there, tiny and wide-eyed, and made wild swings at the Dark Lord. After it was over, another Star Wars fan was born. Colin was a Jedi and no one could tell him any different.
Plenty declare television as a parenting plague, the bane of childhood development. To that I say poppycock and pishtosh.
Here’s why I let my kids watch television and it has to do with building connections.
But first, let’s look at why television is supposed to be so bad for us.
When we first joined the Montessori world eleven years ago, we received a flier about the dangers of watching television, taken from “Unplugging the Plug-In Drug” by Marie Winn (New York: Viking, 1987). Here they are: Continue reading In Defense of Television
Boy, this post was a long time coming. I’ve been with GeekMom for 4 1/2 years and I’ve yet to summarize my geeky origin story for you…let’s remedy that, shall we?
I can think of numerous memories in my youth that I think contributed to my geekiness. Among my first memories is getting to see Star Wars in the theater with my parents in the late 1970s. I was a preschooler at the time, but remember, those were the days before the PG-13 rating, and there was a WIDE spectrum of what was appropriate for a PG movie back then. As a matter of fact, I went with my father to see all of the Star Wars original trilogy films in the theater.
This month in Between the Bookends, the GeekMoms have been reading about alien parasites, parenting skills, dark fantasy, climbing Everest, and the songs that tell the story of modern Britain. Check out what we’ve been reading after the jump.
The moment my daughter was able to move about on her own, two words have continually escaped my lips, sometimes without me even thinking before saying them.
Everything seemed like a potential place to fall or collide into something. Running on the sidewalk in flip-flops, walking on top of a tall concrete wall along the sidewalk, or sprinting downhill, I’d call out my warning even if she was being perfectly safe about it. “Honey! Be careful!”
One day as she tottered along the wall, I stopped to ask her, “Do you know what it means when I tell you to be careful?”
My daughter looked at me and shrugged. “Don’t fall?”
It had no meaning for her. So I adjusted my tactic, thinking that somehow if I said the right thing, I could prevent anything bad from happening to her. After all, “be careful” was practically useless—of course she still wiped out and toppled over no matter if I yelled it or not. I aimed to be specific instead. “Don’t touch that, it might be sharp!” “Look at where you’re running!” “Go slow and watch where you place your feet!”
I succeeded in avoiding the phrase, but the message was still the same. Use caution. Don’t get hurt. Don’t take risks.
We have this growing movement to what I call anxiety-based caregiving—caregiving where decisions about childhood and what children need are made based on anxiety, rather than stepping back a bit and thinking about what might be best for child development. You’re in a playground and you hear, “Be careful!” “Get down!” “Watch out!” Those are things that are based on anxiety, not on stepping back and thinking: What does the child hear when you’re saying those things? What the child hears is: “The world is a dangerous place. You don’t trust me to navigate that world. I need you to take care of me; I can’t be independent myself.”
And so I’ve resolved to make another effort to adjust my over-cautioning, this time to eliminate the warnings unless they’re absolutely necessary. I’ve got to trust her to find her own footing, even if she falls. She’ll pick herself back up again.
Just in time for Father’s Day, I was given the opportunity to interview Jason Hawes, father, founding member of T.A.P.S (The Atlanta Paranormal Society), and one of the stars of SyFy channel’s Ghost Hunters television series. My husband and I are huge fans of the show and I couldn’t have been more excited to ask Jason a few questions about his life in the parenting and paranormal worlds.
GeekMom: First of all, thank you for taking time out of your schedule to answer a few questions for me. My husband and I are longtime fans and your show is the only paranormal of anything I can watch on TV and not get freaked out.
Jason Hawes: That’s great to hear. To be honest, I’ve been to your blog site many times in the past. I like your science section! The only thing that makes the paranormal scary is Hollywood. Well, that and the fact you could see someone in your home or another location just walk through a wall. LOL. Continue reading An Interview with Ghost Hunter Jason Hawes
It’s a thought that has gone through all of our heads at least once. Maybe you’re thinking it as you watch your child start their third consecutive episode of Peppa Pig, or as they stuff McDonald’s fries into their mouth sitting in their car seat, or (like me yesterday) as you watch them write out a note of apology to their teacher for being cheeky in class. It’s like a basic rule of parenting: Self-doubt and self-flagellation come with the territory. Everyone else always seems to be handling it all so much better than we are. Your sister’s children eat all their vegetables without complaint, your neighbor’s little girl is already taking her Grade Two piano at age three, another mom in the playground just proudly told you that her son is already on the second book band when yours hasn’t even been put on the first. How do all these women have it so together when you don’t? In the era of picture-perfect Pinterest parenting, the feelings of inadequacy come easily.
That’s why I’ve been subscribed to Esther Walker’s blog Recipe Rifle for the last few years. Esther is a writer and a journalist who I discovered through her husband, restaurant critic Giles Coran, whose show The Supersizers… was a favorite of mine. She’s also slightly neurotic and frequently anxious, which I think makes her my parenting soulmate or something. On her blog, Esther shares recipes along with stories about her life raising her two children Kitty (aged three) and Sam (aged one). The difference between her blog and many others is that she doesn’t hold back. About anything. With Esther you get the whole truth. It’s often uncomfortable, sometimes shocking, frequently gross, and always liberally sprinkled with the kind of language I wouldn’t dare repeat to my mother. When new posts appear in my inbox it’s like reading an email from your best friend. The honesty is more than just refreshing; sometimes it’s saved my sanity from simply knowing that at I’m not the only mother who has ever had these terrible thoughts toward my own family. Recipe Rifle got me through the toddler years—I just wish Esther would have had Kitty a bit earlier so she could have been there for the baby months too.
The Bad Mother is Esther’s second book (The Bad Cook came out in 2013) but this time the content is exclusively about being a mother with no recipes to be found. In it she covers almost every aspect of parenting: sleeping, eating, routines, holidays, sickness, poo. Now that I’m past the diaper phase I’d forgotten just how much the last five years of my life revolved around poo. This book reminded me and made me extra thankful that it’s all over. The whole thing reads like an extended, slightly categorized version of her blog posts, right down to the choice language (even one of the chapter titles could make a nun blush). She compares foreign holidays with very small children to being like a spy: “Having completed your training in your own country, you are then sent on a terrifying mission to a hot place, where you must complete your tasks in a totally unfamiliar environment.” I couldn’t comment myself—I wasn’t brave enough to take more than a weekend trip with my son until he had turned five.
The Bad Mother is not intended as a guide to raising children. In fact there are times where Esther points out that she got things entirely wrong and also that the things she relied on wholly for her family (such as strict routines from birth) might be totally wrong for you. Rather it is a personal story about being a mother, being hard on yourself, and realizing that you’re not a bad mother at all. That every choice is personal, that we are all doing our best and trying to make the right choices for our family. If someone else choose to call those choices “lazy” or “selfish” then, as Esther would probably say, “**** ‘em.”
Each time I have the privilege to sit on a “raising geek kids” panel at a convention, I look out at the attendees and I wonder what brought them into the conference room. It’s certainly not to be regaled with tales of the latest cute thing my five-year-old said, and it’s not just to win a door prize. (Well, okay, maybe it’s the door prize.)
But I’m pretty sure they’re there for the same reason I also attend panels about parenting, that lingering question in my head, “Am I doing this right?”
I want to assure each of them, yes, you are. You gave up your time at a convention—often precious alone time, if you’re lucky enough to have found a sitter—to listen to other parents share their tales from the trenches and offer up advice about raising the next generation of geeks. Usually anyone willing to give their time to thinking about being a better parent is already a good parent.
We all need some reassurance once in a while, especially in those moments where we stare at our kids and wonder if we’re doing this whole parenting thing right. So here’s a handy list to remind yourself once in a while that yes, you’ve got this.
Geek Parenting: 14 Signs You’re Doing It Right
• You read GeekMom. (Bonus points if you also read GeekDad.) You could be trolling Pinterest for Chris Hemsworth photos, but instead you’re reading blog posts about doing stuff with your kids.
• You know when it’s time to put away the screen. That means the times you switch off your iPhone to play LEGO or My Little Pony (or both) with your kids.
• You cried during The Force Awakens trailer because, not only is it all the nostalgia feels for you, you know your kids will also get to marvel at new Star Wars movies at the theater during their childhoods.
• You laugh at your kids’ corny jokes.
• When your kids geek-out about something, you don’t mock or laugh—you know the feeling.
• You’ve stood in line for more than 30 minutes for an Iron Man made out of balloons or Frozen face painting that your kid just has to have.
Basically, if you give your time, attention, and love to your kids, you’re doing it right.
What would you add to the list? Let us know in the comments below!
We all want to make sure that our children have plenty of healthy foods. Those things include fruits and vegetables and whole grains and all of the stuff the doctor asks about every time you bring your precious in for that yearly physical. But what we want, and the reality of what they eat, is sometimes miles apart. That’s what makes “You Have to F*cking Eat” so darn funny.
I once set myself on a mission to have my kids try a new fruit or vegetable every day. They were very little, and the going wisdom was to get them started young so they’d love good food forever. Whoever came up with the going wisdom never met my kids.
I tried, oh, how I tried, but after the umpteenth time that I watched them choke down healthy food, I gave up. That’s right. I just stopped and started making them things that they would eat in order to save my sanity.
Chicken nuggets, pizza, even hot dogs and all their evil whatever-it-is that everyone tells me they shouldn’t eat are all regular parts of their diet. Sometimes, even stuff they love they won’t eat, and I am totally okay with that, too.
That’s why when I saw the book, You Have to F*cking Eat, I feared someone had been spying on me during the great veggie-a-day experiment. But no, this is simply the sequel to Go the F*ck to Sleep.
Two of the great trials of parenting are getting your kids to sleep and getting your kids to eat and these two books turn those struggles into children’s books that are really for adults. Just look at all those happy, fuzzy animals on the cover eating while that little girl is clearly not interested. That’s my life, minus the happy, fuzzy animals, unless you count my daughter’s gerbil.
Go theF*ck to Sleep ($14.95) is available right now, while You Have to F*cking Eat ($14.95) can be preordered with a November 12th release date, just in time for Thanksgiving. You can take solace in its pages after you kids eat nothing of the feast save a roll and a piece of turkey so small it would leave a mouse hungry.
danah boyd is a Principal Researcher at Microsoft Research, a Research Assistant Professor at New York University, and a Fellow at Harvard University’s Berkman Center for Internet and Society who recently completed eight years of field work interviews with over 160 youth in order to write her new book It’s Complicated: The Social Lives of Networked Teens. The book winds up being a nuanced treatise on teen social media consumption that moves beyond accepted assumptions and digs into the research to answer questions like:
Is teen use of social media addictive in nature or a new extension of typical human engagement?
Is it true that teens are uninterested in privacy and prone to over-sharing, or instead, are adults limiting teen privacy and then taking teen social media content out of context?
Is social media use amplifying bullying and increasing the risk of sexual predation, or are the causes of these issues more complex and less ubiquitous than we’ve been lead to believe?
Yale University Press has kindly allowed GeekMom to carry an excerpt of boyd’s new book. I found this section on social steganography particularly interesting—it would seem that while parents are trying to protect their children from danger, teens are also trying to protect their parents as they carve out their emerging social identities.
By danah boyd,
Author of It’s Complicated: The Social Lives of Networked Teens
Children love to experiment with encoding messages. From Pig Latin to invisible ink pens, children explore hidden messages when they’re imagining themselves as spies and messengers. As children grow up, they look for more sophisticated means of passing messages that elude the watchful eyes of adults. In watching teens navigate networked publics, I became enamored of how they were regularly encoding hidden meaning in publicly available messages. They were engaged in a practice that Alice Marwick and I called “social steganography,” or hiding messages in plain sight by leveraging shared knowledge and cues embedded in particular social contexts.
The practice of hiding in plain sight is not new. When ancient Greeks wanted to send a message over great distances, they couldn’t rely on privacy. Messengers could easily be captured and even encoded messages deciphered. The most secure way to send a private message was to make sure that no one knew that the message existed in the first place. Historical sources describe the extraordinary lengths to which Greeks went, hiding messages within wax tablets or tattooing them on a slave’s head and allowing the slave’s hair to grow out before sending him or her out to meet the message’s recipient. Although these messages could be easily read by anyone who bothered to look, they became visible only if the viewer knew to look for them in the first place. Cryptographers describe this practice of hiding messages in plain sight as steganography.
Social steganography uses countless linguistic and cultural tools, including lyrics, in-jokes, and culturally specific references to encode messages that are functionally accessible but simultaneously meaningless. Some teens use pronouns while others refer to events, use nicknames, and employ predetermined code words to share gossip that lurking adults can’t interpret. Many teens write in ways that will blend in and be invisible to or misinterpreted by adults. Whole conversations about school gossip, crushes, and annoying teachers go unnoticed as teens host conversations that are rendered meaningless to outside observers.
These practices are not new. Teens have long used whatever tools are around them to try to share information under the noses of their teachers and parents. At school, passing notes and putting notes in lockers are classic examples of how teens use paper, pen, and ingenuity to share information. Graffiti on bathroom walls may appear simply to be an act of vandalism, but these scrawled markings also convey messages. As new technologies have entered into teen life, it’s not surprising that teens also use them in similarly cryptic ways to communicate with one another. Texting gossip during class serves much of the same purpose as passing a note, yet it doesn’t require having to move a physical object, which reduces the likelihood of getting caught. But encoding messages guarantees only that if all else fails, the meaning will not become accessible, even if control over the information itself is unsuccessful.
When Carmen, a Latina seventeen-year-old living in Boston, broke up with her boyfriend, she “wasn’t in the happiest state.” She wanted her friends to know how she was feeling. Like many of her peers, Carmen shared her emotions by using song lyrics. Thus, her first instinct was to post song lyrics from an “emo” or depressing song, but she was worried that her mother might interpret the lyric in the wrong way. This had happened before. Unfortunately, Carmen’s mom regularly “overreacted” when Carmen posted something with significant emotional overtones. Thus, she wanted to find a song lyric that conveyed what she felt but didn’t trigger her mom to think she was suicidal.
She was also attentive to the way in which her mother’s presence on Facebook tended to disrupt the social dynamics among her friends. Carmen and her mom are close and, for the most part, Carmen loves having her mom as one of her friends on Facebook, but her mom’s incessant desire to comment on Facebook tends to discourage responses from her friends. As Carmen told me, when her mother comments, “it scares everyone away. Everyone kind of disappears after the mom post.” She wanted to make sure to post something that her friends would respond to, even if her mom jumped in to comment.
Carmen settled on posting lyrics from “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life.” This song sounds happy but is sung during a scene in the Monty Python movie Life of Brian in which the main character is being crucified. Carmen knew that her immigrant Argentinean mother would not understand the British cultural reference, but she also knew her close friends would. Only a few weeks earlier, she and her geeky girlfriends had watched the film together at a sleepover and laughed at the peculiar juxtaposition of song lyric and scene. Her strategy was effective; her mother took the words at face value, immediately commenting on Facebook that it was great to see her so happy. Her friends didn’t attempt to correct her mother’s misinterpretation. Instead, they picked up their phones and texted Carmen to see if she was OK.
Part of what makes Carmen’s message especially effective is that she regularly posts song lyrics to express all sorts of feelings. As a result, this song lyric blended into a collection of other song lyrics, quotes, and comments. She did not try to draw attention to the message itself but knew that her close friends would know how to interpret what they saw. And they did. Her friends had the cultural knowledge about what references were being made to interpret and contextualize the message underneath the song lyric. Thus, she conveyed meaning to some while sharing only a song lyric with many more.
The above is an excerpt from the book It’s Complicated: The Social Lives of Networked Teens by danah boyd. It is a digitally-scanned reproduction of text from print. Although this excerpt has been proofread, occasional errors may appear due to the scanning process. Please refer to the finished book for accuracy.
This book arrived at the perfect time for me, as my parenting confidence was at an all-time low. As a family, we’re adjusting to a new baby who abhors continuous sleep, plus a four-year-old who is currently specializing in challenging behavior. I knew that lack of sleep colors everything negatively, but I was starting to feel like I wasn’t really doing a great job. What I needed was reassurance that my feelings were normal, that other people find this parenting lark as difficult as me. Could All Joy and No Fun really help me understand my feelings about parenting?
The book grew from an article exploring why parents have been observed to be no happier than non-parents, and sometimes are considerably less happy. Children are supposed to fill our lives with unending joy and happiness, so why aren’t parents happier? Guiding us through a selection of reasons why this might be the case, author Jennifer Senior expands on the idea that actually, parenting is a difficult job, especially in modern times, and explores different ways that parents are dealing with these issues. Where this books differs from many of the other scientifically-based parenting books available is that the author looks at research on how children affect their parents, rather than the other way around. She pulls together research from a range of scientific papers, interspersed with interviews with parents from broadly middle-class backgrounds. This makes the text accessible and interesting, as it allows the reader to see how their experiences are similar. I certainly identified with stories of attempting to negotiate with a recalcitrant child and trying to balance the needs of my children with my own needs as a person, not just a mother.
One area which really struck a chord for me is that Senior explains that there is no real way to prepare for a baby. You can paint the nursery and buy a crib, but until the baby arrives, there’s no predicting exactly what looking after an infant entails. This “Transition to Parenthood” is abrupt and can be traumatic, not even taking into account the physical effects of childbirth on the mother. This was very true for me personally. I’d never looked after a baby or even changed a diaper before my daughter arrived. Although I understood the basic concept, the actual day-to-day reality of infant childcare was a shock, especially the lack of sleep. Moving far away from my family has meant that I don’t have relatives available to give me a break, and my friends have children of their own to manage. This puts more pressure onto parents—how can you cope if you don’t have the metaphorical village to help you?
Another aspect which I found interesting was the fact that the trend is for first babies to be born to older mothers. At 33 when my first was born, I wasn’t the youngest in my antenatal class, but neither was I the oldest. At that point, I’d had 12 years after finishing university where I had been an independent adult with my own life and hobbies. Suddenly, along came someone who completely subsumed me and took away my autonomy. Senior suggests that this is more of a shock when you are used to your independence, and that younger parents might find this transition easier. I think that this is something that is even harder for us geeks. We are passionate about things, our hobbies define us in some ways, and they tend to take up a great deal of our free time. For me, my darkroom became a nursery, the time to draw or photograph became consumed by the needs of my infant, and my spinning wheel became dusty in the corner of a room. When I do try to balance my need to be creative with the needs of my children, I find I’m constantly interrupted and unable to reach the state of flow in which the creative activity will actually have a restorative effect.
Flow, that lovely feeling when you’re “in the zone” as athletes describe it, is when you are so engrossed in a task that time seems to stretch and bend. Geeky hobbies, by their very nature, tend to be time-intensive and when your free time is split into two-minute chunks by interruptions, it can be more frustrating than relaxing. For example, some of this article was written on my phone, in the dark, while trying to convince my seven-month-old son that it was time to sleep. This type of interruption to your thoughts can leave you feeling like your life before children has been completely swept away, which is a difficult feeling to cope with.
I particularly enjoyed the sections which talked about how some childhood behavior can be explained by the way that their brains are developing. Biologically, children have an underdeveloped prefrontal cortex. This section of brain, which is placed just behind the forehead, controls the organization of thought, allows adults to focus on tasks, allows us to plan, and controls inhibitions. No wonder children are so different, as their brains have not yet developed the functions which we as adults consider to be normal. Even though I see this as a teacher and work round it in my lessons, to understand that some of the things which my daughter does that are so infuriating can be explained through the development of her brain was a revelation. It takes the pressure off a little. It’s not our bad parenting which is causing the behavior, four-year-olds really are just like that!
Although this is not a book of advice, one thing which really helped me was that Senior describes a theory of “ego depletion,” which explains why tempers can fray so easily. Suggested by psychologist Roy F. Baumeister and columnist John Tierny, it argues that self-control is a limited resource, so that the more you try to hold yourself together in the face of annoyance, the more likely you are to explode at the next infraction. As a teacher, I’ve always been proud of my ability to hold my temper when dealing with children and their annoyances, but recently I’ve found it harder to do that at home. As well as stressing for me how important it is for me to create time for myself, if only two minutes to have a cup of tea while the baby explores a new toy or takes one of his short naps, this theory explains why tempers become more frayed in the evenings in our house. It clarified for me that it’s easier to take a deep breath and not explode at yet another difficult episode with our four-year-old in the morning when we’re rested and have topped up that self-control somewhat overnight.
The interviews with parents are also enlightening. We see parents coping with shift work and young children while trying to divide the workload fairly, parents trying to work from home, and parents trying to deal with the way that their adolescents are moving towards adulthood. One of the most moving parts is the story of Sharon Bartlett, who had adopted her grandson Cameron after his mother had died. Sharon was incredibly committed to Cameron and when she was sadly diagnosed with brain cancer, her only thoughts were for Cameron’s welfare. It shows that parenthood is a broad brush; it comes in all colors and flavors. Sharon embraced the parenthood of a young child again, if only for a short while, and that made Cameron’s life all the richer for it.
This is a very readable book, which covers much more ground than I’ve been able to mention here. I can see myself coming back in years to come to reread the sections about adolescents and the way that their parents are coping, for example. It’s helped me think about parenting in a wider context, particularly how attitudes to children have changed as children are no longer expected to work to support the family. I don’t normally highlight books, but whole passages in my Kindle version are yellow, which says a lot about how much impact this book has had with me.
On the joy side of things, Senior describes the “bursts of grace” which pepper the child-rearing experience. These have been a saving grace for me. I try and burn them onto my brain, so that I can recall them when times are more difficult. The time when my son fell asleep in my arms, smiling, while a Chopin étude played, my daughter’s first steps, and when she said she loved me to the moon and back one hundred times. I’m cutting myself a little more slack these days, and trying to remember that my daughter’s underdeveloped prefrontal cortex is causing her outbursts, not my actions. I read the last chapter of this book in the dark while feeding my son to sleep, his warm smooth fingers holding onto my arm. These are the moments that make things worth it, and it’s these I’m holding onto as my parenting journey continues.
My 3-year-old daughter was playing with a toy. It was slightly broken, in that it was still functional but the pieces didn’t fit together as easily as they used to. She attempted to connect two pieces which retaliated with stubborn resistance against the one thing they were designed to do: fit together. As quickly as you can say “dagnabbit,” my daughter lost her patience and threw the pieces on the floor in frustration.
As my husband and I watched the scene unfold, my first reaction was one of admonishment. I could feel the parental reprimand forming in my mouth. I wanted to tell her: Don’t lose your temper. When something doesn’t work, calm down and try again. Control your emotions, don’t let your emotions control you.
But instead, I remained quiet. I remained quiet because what I was feeling, even more so than disapproval of her reaction, was guilt. She inherited her impatience from me. If anything, I had only served to cement that characteristic more strongly through my own actions.
Feeling rather dejected with myself, I joked self-deprecatingly to my husband about the apple not falling far from the tree. I told him how bad I felt when I saw something in her that I wasn’t especially proud of in myself.
Shockingly, he replied that he always viewed it as a good thing. I believe my response was the ever-so-eloquent, “Are you freaking kidding me?!” I knew in my heart of hearts that this behavior could not be good in any sense of the word.
I knew I had, on multiple occasions, gotten so angry at a piece of software with a terrible user interface that I had to hand the laptop to my husband, nearly yelling, “You handle this before I throw this thing out the window!”
That could not be good.
I knew the feeling of being so frustrated when things don’t work the way they should, the feeling that your atoms shake a little harder against each other, all wanting to shout, “Hulk, smash!”
That could not be good.
My husband laughed. He reiterated that it was good. The world isn’t improved by those who calmly put up with things that don’t work well, he said. Seeing a problem and having this uncontrollable surge of emotion against it? That’s the source of innovation.
When you meet a man who thinks you have enough spitfire to change the world, that’s how you know you’ve found The One.
At the 2014 Winter Olympics in Sochi, the women’s skeleton event featured two fierce competitors from Team USA. Noelle Pikus-Pace, one of the women representing the U.S., had some very special fans cheering for her in the stands—her husband and kids.
After a disappointing finish in the Vancouver games in 2010, Noelle Pikus-Pace decided to put her family before her Olympic career. In the years since, Pikus-Pace has returned to the skeleton track, but determined to have her family with her every step of the way.
For Sochi, Pikus-Pace created an unusual training schedule for this year’s event, but one that many moms can easily picture in their own day-to-days. Once she dropped off one of her young kids at preschool, Pikus-Pace squeezed in a workout, toting along her toddler to the track to play as she ran. (Bringing along sandbox toys for him to play with as she trained? Brilliant.) Skeleton training came in the evening when the kids went to bed.
And all that hard work paid off: Pikus-Pace earned a silver medal on Friday in women’s skeleton.
Pikus-Pace shows all moms (and dads) that even on days when you’re changing diapers or making school lunches, you can still fight to make your dreams come true.
It’s not just Olympians who work hard to reach their lifelong goals. Geek moms might recognize some of these creative minds who “have it all,” working hard to fit in their dreams while staying focused on family time. These artists often squeeze in work while the kids are at school or sleeping nearby:
While we’re not all destined for Olympic medals, you can always think back to these hard-working parents for inspiration when contemplating reaching for dreams of your own. But if you’re just getting started, what are the best ways to find the time to explore your own creative outlets? Over at GeekDad last week, David Faith tackled that very question.
The only time I stood up to my bullying stepfather was about Star Trek: The Next Generation. The show was on and I walked to the kitchen for ice cream. Returning, I went for the remote, but my stepfather took it first and changed the channel.
I told him that I was watching Star Trek. He replied something snarky like, “You snooze, you loose, kid.”
There were many ways this man held dominance over our lives, and being annoying about the TV was a small one. My usual response would have been to shrug and walk to my room to read a fantasy novel because I really hate fighting. But something snapped.
“I. WAS. WATCHING. STAR TREK!!!!” I screamed.
There was silence for a few seconds. My stepfather didn’t say a word, he just put the remote down and walked out of the room. I sobbed into my ice cream and watched the rest of my show alone.
Only a few short years later, I was a teen mother with a beautiful daughter. I had dropped out of college to take care of her, with my boyfriend going to school and working to take care of us. It being winter in Syracuse, New York, I was trapped in a tiny apartment with the baby. My (real) father came to visit and noticed we had no TV reception. With two different Star Trek series going on at the time, this was not acceptable. He started sending me video tapes with episodes of Deep Space Nine and Voyager.
Oh, how they got me through it.
Although DSN is great, Voyager captured my heart like nothing else. I wanted to be a crew member under Captain Janeway! She would know I was strong, capable, and intelligent—words that our culture does not tag onto teen mothers. The Doctor made me laugh. Chakotay made me swoon. The plots made me think.
Once the warm weather set in, our little family moved to Albany so my (now) husband could attend graduate school. We had TV reception. No matter what was happening in his lab, my man knew that Wednesday nights were Voyager nights. His job was to keep the kid (soon to be kids) out of the living room while mommy watched her show. If there was mint-chip ice cream brought home that day, happiness would increase. And sometimes, sometimes, the children would go to bed easily and I might even get a foot rub while watching my intrepid crew in space. Sci-fi fan heaven.
Being a parent is hard. Being a wife is hard. Being a young woman in this culture is really hard. Voyager showed me week after week that using your brain, working as a team, and caring for the people around you were the way to solve all problems. While lost in space trying to get home, no one on that ship cared what each other’s pasts were. They were only concerned about everyone doing their job to the best of their ability. I took that to heart.
As a child my role model was Sara Crew who taught me to have self-respect no matter how people treat you.
As an adult, I needed a new role model, and I found her in Captain Janeway. Thank you to the creators, writers, directors, actors, and everyone else involved in Voyager. You got me through it all.
This is the fourth New York Comic Con that I’ve had the joy of attending and this year, more than others, the number of kids and parents enjoying the convention created some of my favorite moments of the weekend.
There were so many adorable cosplaying kids! Sometimes it was just one little kid in a costume with her parents, but there were also groups of kids who had clearly worked together and a few parent-kid cooperative outfits. The one thing they had in common was that they were all having fun.
It’s as difficult to go to a big convention like NYCC with kids as it is to go to an amusement park. There are lots of people and lots of things to see and it’s loud and crazy and in your face. It’s easy for parents to forget that everyone is supposed to be having fun. Fun. Not stressing out because everything isn’t perfect, because the fact that you’re sharing this time with your kid means that it is perfect.
Let them wander and see what they want to see. Don’t worry if they miss Stan Lee walking two feet away from them because they are completely immersed in the booth with those little electric cat ears that move. The ears are cool.
Take joy in the things they find and love, even if this means they discover they cannot get enough of the wonder of Batman and you hate Batman. I don’t know why anyone would hate Batman, but if you do, and your kid loves the guy, get over it and go along for the ride.
That’s really the key to taking your kids anywhere. Relax. Let them go. Find joy in their discoveries. Oh, and teach them how to cosplay because parent-kid cosplay done right is the most adorable thing on Earth and you’ll have the most embarrassing pictures ever to show their prom dates some day. No. I’d never do that. Just sayin’ it’s an option.
A few weeks ago, I created a survey about which character traits do we most want to instill in our children. I included the answers from our GeekMom writers, who favored creativity, humor, and curiosity. I also encouraged all of our readers (and their family and friends) to take the survey as well. Combining the GeekMom responses and our audience responses, I received a total of 87 acceptable responses. Not too shabby! Curious to see how it added up?
First, here’s a graph representing the most popular answers among all of our survey takers. Like the data for the GeekMoms only, curiosity and creativity once again won a spot in the top three. Humor, however, fell down to the 13th spot, replaced instead by compassion.
Part of what I was hoping to see in the results was the difference in favored character traits divided by gender and geekiness of survey takers. Unfortunately, I did not receive enough answers from males and non-geeks to generate significant data. Surprise, surprise. This is GeekMom, after all! I was, however, able to get enough data to see some interesting differences among the desired character traits when divided by the age group of the survey taker’s oldest child. The theory here is that parents of infants may have a wildly different perspective than, say, parents of teenagers.
As it turns out, that theory was mostly true. The top three by age group were:
Mana (not a parent yet): Curious, Adventurous, Considerate
We have recently been enjoying one of my son’s favorite birthday presents from his second birthday. The wonderful book Goodnight, Goodnight Construction Site was given to us by a relative who would never have given it to a girl, but that’s no problem–it’s an adorable book and my son loves it.
But my husband and I started doing something when we read this book out loud that we’ve done with a few other books: randomly taking some of the male characters and talking about them as female characters. Otherwise there wouldn’t be any girls in the books at all.
To his immense credit, my husband starting doing this with another favorite book called Superhero Me! by Karen Katz. This touch-and-feel book depicts toddlers playing superheroes, but my husband was really surprised that every kid in the book—six characters— was a boy. So he started switching one character, Astrokid, to female: “Astrokid ZOOMS into space, then back to Earth, her home base.” This made me love him even more than usual, since I’m a NASA engineer.
It also reminded me of my pre-parenthood days playing with my nephew. He was five, and his parents had their hands full with 18-month-old twins. My husband and I made sure to spend extra time with him. He was hugely into the Japanese T.V. show Ultraman, so he had us play the different hero characters. I’m sure everyone knew this but me, but the color-coded heroes are also strictly gender defined. I asked to be the Blue Ranger (probably the wrong title of the character anyway, forgive me), and was told by a very shocked young boy, “No Aunt Karen, you can’t be Blue! Blue is a boy!” Same response for Green. I was left with Pink or Yellow. (I hate pink and yellow, have since I can remember.) But I figured I wasn’t there for a consciousness raising session. I just said, “Aww, that’s sad. OK, I’ll play Yellow.” We were there for five days, and by the last day my nephew very generously (and unprompted!) said, “It’s OK Aunt Karen, you can play Green!” Yay!
I’ve noticed that the Richard Scarry books from the 1970s don’t have this problem. In Cars and Trucks and Things that Go, Mistress Mouse operates a tow truck service in her pink overalls and is rescuing people and fixing things on almost every page. Ma and Pa swap driving duties. Pa fixes a flat tire but Ma puts on snow chains. In Richard Scarry’s Best Word Book Ever, girls are shown playing with construction toys just like boys. It’s not unrealistically gender-neutral, since girls are shown wearing different fashions, but Pa and Ma are also both cooking in the kitchen. It seems really refreshing compared to some of the newer books that my son has received.
Getting back to the Construction Site book, it has five characters, all using he/his pronouns. It’s understandable given the assumption that boys like stories about big construction equipment like dump trucks, but it just struck us as wrong somehow. So we’ve started alternating the genders of the characters. I notice my husband and I swap different characters different times (so sometimes the Bulldozer is a he and sometimes a she), but our son doesn’t seem to notice or mind yet. Someday he’ll call us on it, and we’ll talk a bit about boys and girls and what they can do, and that will kick off probably a life-long conversation about gender.
I should also note: We’ve never swapped when the story is focused on a single character, so Pete the Cat stays firmly male, no many how times I have to sing the “I love my white shoes” song.
When my daughter was about a year old, I took her to our favorite local park to hang out, look at the ducks, and play in the sandbox. She was dressed in a cute Captain America shirt that I got in the boys’ section of Target. I must say it took me off guard when another mom asked me if Ella was wearing her big brother’s hand-me-down hero shirt. My reply, as it almost always is, was given with a smile and a wink and a direct message that no, she can like superheroes and wave her tiny geek flag just like her mom does.
It was quickly on the heels of this that I formed a meetup.com group with the intention to gather like-minded parents who speak the geek shorthand and know what it means to be a parent raising a geekling.
Geeklings and Parental Units was born on February 22, 2012. We are 188 members strong today, and have quite an active group composed of locals and online-only folks from all across the galaxy. Even though meetup.com has been around for awhile, I had only heard of it from one other extroverted friend pre-parenthood. It sounded cool but I was not into going out and collecting new friends. That all changed when we stepped through the wormhole, undergoing the massive transition from being a couple to being parents. Suddenly, those lazy Sunday afternoons playing Settlers of Catan and Power Grid til the wee hours all went the way of the ill-fated 2007 Bionic Woman reboot. We dropped out, fell from the stars like two Neil Gaiman characters, and found ourselves feeling very out of step with everything.
It was difficult in those first days to get anyone other than myself and maybe one other member to attend. Many of the geeky guild are introverts; it’s not always easy to socialize even at the best of times. I get it. It’s weird, right? Showing up to interact with people whom you’ve only chatted with online. Hoping that they are cool and do not mind that you’re not current on The Walking Dead because sleep deprivation has turned you into zombie parents. On one of my first encounters with a new mom member, I remember breathing a sigh of relief when I saw her with a Doctor Who shirt and TARDIS ringtone. I felt immediately at home.
As the group grew, members began to share their histories. They shared what they felt about parenting and the last Game of Thrones episode. Bonding happened over mutual fandoms and the feeling that it was sometimes hard to relate to other normal parents. I admit my heart grew very fond of our amazing, talented, brilliant members. Just a bit of communication and seeing new friends meant so much to me. I found the courage to pull myself out of postpartum depression and began to enjoy the sunlight again.
When members talked about why they joined the group, many of them echoed how I felt about the mutual respect for their geeky lifestyles. They, too, had a hard time approaching and maintaining friendships with other parents. Some members came from shared social circles, but more found the group through searching on meetup.com. The site has been a good hub and jumping off point. Without asking for donations from the members, the group raised enough money at the geekling garage sale to cover the bi-annual $78 renewal fee for the next two years.
As the organizer and creator, I have tried to let the growth of the group happen organically. I never pressure people to host an event or feel bad if their baby is having a warp core breach day and they have to cancel. There is enough pressure on parents. I wanted to be the Risa of social groups, a place where members could feel comfortable, escape, and maybe wear some tacky pseudo-tropical space outfits if the mood hit us. Being geeks, the group naturally tended to gravitate towards communication through the biggest social site, Facebook. There, members routinely post funny pictures, articles from GeekMom, and laugh along with George Takei’s daily funny.
To give you an example of Geekling awesomeness, just this past Sunday the group gathered Time Lords and nap deprived alike to sample the wares at the Doctor Who Craft Faire at my favorite local place, The Harry Potter store known as Whimsic Alley. They had butter beer on tap, jammie dodgers, and more long scarves and TARDIS blue bow ties than you could shake a Sonic Screwdriver at.
Truth be told, one of my driving reasons to start adding scheduled events to our meetup calendar was to keep pushing me out that door too. Another reason: After I suffered a mini stroke when Ella was two months old, some things like calendaring and numbers had to be relearned and brought into focus again. A year later, the attention I needed to apply to these dates has helped heal these problem areas. I may not be a master at leading us where no families have gone before in a overly organized type A way, but damn it Jim, I got a lot of heart.
I am grateful every day for my tribe called geek, and it is my hope is to see more branches of the group settle in different cities and share just as much fun. It’s a good thing, being geeks and being parents, and the collective flag is waving high.
When we were expecting our first child, my husband and I attended a childbirth class at the local hospital. One particular exercise they made us do in class really stuck with me. The nurse passed around a worksheet to each attendee, which contained a list of character traits, then ask everyone to fill out which traits they would most like to instill in their child.
It was an exercise for expectant parents to communicate with their partners what core values they would like to see in their homes. My husband and I had similar results, with character traits akin to our rebellious streak. What really surprised me, when the nurse asked us to read our selections aloud, was how many couples valued the exact opposite from our responses. Character traits I had snickered and scoffed at while doing the exercise, such as obedient and loyal, came up more than once.
It was the first time I felt “different” from other parents, a feeling that grew to become the core of my geekmom identity. Since then I have frequently pondered: As a general rule, would geeks really answer the test differently than non-geeks?
Time to answer that question! I formulated my own survey, which I hope you will take and share with your geek and non-geek friends alike. Take the survey here! There’s a few extra questions about your geek status, age, and gender, so I can further divide the data into possible trends. I’m curious to see if a pattern will emerge between geek and non-geeks, parents of young kids vs parents of grown kids, and women vs men. Let’s get some data, wooh!
As a test run, I asked the GeekMoms to take the test. Here are our results…
Out of 47 available character traits, 25 were selected at least once. Creative was the most popular choice, with 9 votes, followed by humorous with 8 votes and curious with 7 votes.
The fourth place, with 5 votes each, is split between compassionate, considerate, and adventurous. Sharing the fifth place are open-minded, and resilient. In the sixth place are responsible, kind, confident, hard-working, and respectful. Seventh place are capable, optimistic, knowledgeable, trustworthy, book-smart, and honest.
Finally, with only one vote each are witty, wise, determined, generous, independent, and realistic.
Even if it’s an anonymous test, I had fun seeing the results roll in. I wasn’t sure if I’d see much overlap between our selections, and was pleased to see some definite favorites.
Much to my puzzlement, one GeekMom selected both optimistic and realistic. When I was designing the list, I definitively pictured optimistic and realistic as opposites. I never imagined one person could think they would complement each other! However, now that I think about it, I guess it makes sense. You’d want your kids to see the bright side of things, while remaining attached to reality. I get that!
Since the day we were married, I’ve never been sure what names to call my in-laws.
I don’t mean coming up with an expletive-laced nickname for when they’re not around. I am one of the lucky few who have wonderful parents-in-law. But my problem is that, almost ten years later, I still don’t know the best way to address them.
Conversations with them usually go like this:
“Hey, ….YOU. How are you? And how is… um… HE doing?”
I’m so good at not calling them by a name, it’s practically become an art form. Here’s a hint: A lot of tapping on shoulders is involved.
They’ve let me know I can call them by their first names, which is the most important thing to take into consideration in my raging internal debate.
But their first names always get frozen on my tongue. My strongest inclination has always been to call them Mr. and Mrs. It might be one of the last remnants of being taught to address my friends’ folks that way, and it has stubbornly stuck with me. Busting out a Mr. and Mrs. would certainly be met with weird looks, though, especially this late in the game. Strike that one.
And then there’s the other obvious choice: Mom and Dad. To me, that one fits the bill for our relationship, but also has the highest chance of offense to multiple parties. Cross that one off the list, too.
So I settled into the no-name method, which I like to think is subtle and has gone unnoticed, but I have a feeling it hasn’t.
Then we had our daughter, and I thought I was golden. I can call them Grandma and Grandpa without a care in the world… until bedtime. I found out the hard way that continuing to call them Grandpa and Grandma when none of the kids are around makes it sound like I’m oozing sarcasm.
“Hey, Grandpa, can we turn up the volume on the football game?”
My friend’s dad has chosen the name Obi-Wan instead of a variation of Grandpa, and I have to admit I’m a little jealous. I would say without hesitation, “Hey, Obi-Wan! How are you? That’s great, Obi-Wan!” and it would always be cool. Always.
What do you call your in-laws? Do you simply go with first names without a second thought?
Hello, I’m Cathé, and I have a three-and-a-half-year-old son (Hi, Cathé!). I love him. But recently, we have had to come home from errand runs early simply because he will stop holding my hand in the parking lot and run off, not keep his hands to himself (in an aisle of glass at a store), scream and hit when he doesn’t get something he wants, or other embarrassing behaviors that I never thought my children would exhibit in a million years. Also, if I hear the word “no” in a whiny tone one more time!
I know I am not alone. I recently attended a BBQ where the parents of a handful of boys (between the ages of 3-and-a-half and 4-and-a-quarter) handed each other another beer and talked about the embarrassing similarities in our boys’ behavior. I came home that evening to an email from a co-worker asking for help with her little boy who was acting in the same manner.
How are we to survive this?! Well, it isn’t easy. But, here are some tips that might help you feel better in the short and long term:
1. Take pictures. Laugh. Delete the pictures…or make a blog: We’ve talked about Why My Son Is Crying. Love it or hate it, the idea of taking pictures during the not-so-happy times can serve a humorous purpose at a later time. For instance, on your son’s wedding day, bring out the bath pictures and the tantrum photos. Okay, maybe that is cruel. But, if you ever have grand-kids who are in trouble with mom and dad, you can show them that dad had hard days too.
2. Drink: I have heard several parents recently say they never imbibed in booze until they had a three-year-old son. If you like wine, there are geeky varieties for almost any fan. If it is a mixed drink you are looking for, I have a board on Pinterest and there are books available.
3. A Fence: This can be a very geeky way to survive your energetic child. If you have a chain-link fence, you can use Fence Weave to create any 8bit design for a colorful enclosure. Otherwise it is still nice to know that if you let your child loose so you can regain your sanity they will at least be contained.
5.Tablet devices: Screen time is a big deal to many parents. But that screen time can also make the difference between meltdowns and angelic behavior on a shopping trip. One GeekMom spied triplets who each had their own iPad Mini on a shopping trip. I even turn to technology like my Kindle to give to my three-year-old in a pinch; this includes keeping him from taking a nap so he sleeps at night, and keeping him from touching all of the trophies at the Taekwondo studio his sister attends.
8. Broken gadgets: One GeekMom keeps broken gadgets so her kids can go to town with that screwdriver without caring if the device is put back together. There are also books available with ideas on what to do with your broken computer and other gadgets.
9. Save the furniture!: Autism furniture is a great way for kids who have to spend a lot of time indoors from destroying your furniture. One GeekMom recommended a swing that hangs from the ceiling. We have ceiling heat so we have pillows instead. The rule in our house is you sit correctly on the couch, and the coffee table is for eating at. If you want to jump on the furniture, you go to the crash pillow (we purchased from a local company) and get the jumping out of your system. It has worked so well that we asked Santa for a cube last year that has been very popular. We love the autism furniture because it is extremely durable. You don’t need to have an autistic child to appreciate the furniture.
10. A kitchen timer: Yes, a simple and loud kitchen timer can save you for up to an hour! My husband received a bell timer for his birthday a few years back. We slapped some Mario stickers on it and mounted it between the kids’rooms. When quiet time is needed, we set the timer for anywhere from five to thirty minutes. When the bell rings, the kids can come out of their rooms. Oh yea—we make them try to go potty before we stick them in their rooms so there are no excuses for coming out early!
Do you have (or have you had) a 3-year-old that’s driving you crazy? Have you tried any of these methods or have any of your own? Let us know in the comments!
One of the most delightful things about being part of the community of GeekMom writers is that we’re all over the map—philosophically as well as geographically. I read my fellow GeekMom Ariane’s post, “Why I Hate Why,” with interest, and my reply grew so long it turned into a post.
Here’s why I actually love the why stage:
Because at that age—two, three, four, five years old—language is a magical thing. It’s slippery and malleable and full of possibility, and meanings are hard to pin down. And “why” is the most magical word of them all. It means, “I’m baffled/delighted/scared/excited/an infinity of adjectives but I can’t figure out how to frame this experience in words.” It means, “Do the rules of the world stay the same, or do they shift around as much as it seems like they do?” A chair stays a chair, but water can be ice, water can be the steam floating up from Mommy’s mug of tea. The people who get made to take naps don’t want them, and the people who don’t take naps want nothing more. Uncle Jay is Daddy’s brother and Grandma’s son and THIS IS ALL VERY CONFUSING.
But there’s this powerful talisman, this incredible word that takes all the millions of questions flooding into those tiny, giant-brained heads, and distills them into a form that people understand. Why.
Why is the word that signals: “I need clarity. I need to make sense of this. I need to know what this feeling is called. I need to know if I’m going to feel it forever.”
Why is a chameleon-word that shapeshifts into all the questions put together. Who, how, when, what, where, will. Why is the wonder-word. It collects the flurry of bewildering input that swirls around a small child like leaves in a tornado—and in a single syllable, it tames the wind. It puts form to the formless: When other words are leaping all over the place with their jittery meanings (leaves fall in the fall but snow doesn’t winter in the winter), why stays put. Why is reliable. When grownups all around you are failing to comprehend the very clear statement you’re making about eating opiemeal in the hoffabul, why is a word they understand. Sometimes it’s the only word they seem to understand, so you use it in place of all the other words they can’t quite grasp.
Can being on the receiving end of endless whys grow exhausting? Sure—I’m in the thick of my sixth child’s why stage right now, and that means I’ve been answering this question almost without pause since 1997, when my oldest daughter was two. What delights me is that she is still asking it. At 18, she’s a young woman of insight and curiosity; she probes and counters and debates. She argues with things she reads. She wonders.
At its heart, that’s where the incessant why comes from: a sense of wonder, a sense that the world is a mysterious place but—and this is huge—where there are questions, there are answers. So I respectfully disagree with the notion that some questions—sincere ones, I mean, the kind a child asks—are stupid. The question itself is a sign of that spark that makes us human, our insatiable thirst for knowledge and understanding. We don’t take the world for granted. We want to know what makes it tick, what makes the sky blue, what makes freckles and spaghetti and smoke. As we grow, we learn to add more words to the question—but with luck we never lose that sense of the magic of it all, the endless scope for possibility. My kids’ whys have kept me asking questions; they’ve shown me a thousand different ways of looking at things so seemingly ordinary I might have forgotten to notice. Somewhere along the line, I came to realize that their whys weren’t just helping them make sense of an astonishing world; they were making it continually astonishing for me too.
When I was pregnant with my first child, one of the things I was looking forward to the most about becoming a parent was answering all of my child’s endless questions. I often saw adults get annoyed at their children’ endless throng of whys, and I was not going to be that parent. For as long as my child had a question, gosh darn it, I was going to answer it.
It was the GeekMom post “Why I Hate Why” that made me reconsider my position of this famous three-letter question. Jen Tylbon, a museum employee, explained how “ask better questions” became her official mantra. She explains:
‘Why?’ is a great question, but is there is often a better way to phrase the question. I’ve become alarmingly skilled in the art of giving vague but true answers to kids. Not because I want to toy with them (although that part’s awfully fun) but because I need them to think.
My child is now three years old and I’m knee-deep in whys. To my surprise, I realized it is ever so annoying!
We’re going to grandma’s house. “Why?”
Because she wants to see us and we want to see her. “Why?”
Because we love her. “Why?”
It’s not annoying because I have better things to do than answer her questions. It’s not annoying because I get bored with her questions. I find “why?” so annoying because it’s such a lazy question. Here’s why—pun intended:
It is unspecific and open to interpretation.
Whenever I unconsciously answer a why, I end up later realizing I’m not even answering her intended question. Because a preschooler’s mind works so differently from ours, the logical segue we use to deduce the meaning of a vague question is often far more sophisticated than that of the child.
For example, if I tell my daughter that we’re going to the dentist because she has a cavity and she asks why, I might be tempted to assume she means “why do I have a cavity” and answer something about sugar. In reality, her question might have been “why are we going to the dentist instead of a doctor,” “why do we need to go to the dentist right now,” or “why do you need to fix a cavity?” Heck, that imaginative mile-a-minute scatterbrain might have already forgotten all about the dentist conversation and really wanted to know “why is it Tuesday?” If all she asks is “why?”, you’d be none the wiser. “Why what?” is what I end up replying to her whys most of the time. I don’t answer incomplete questions, period.
She really ought to figure it out herself.
When my daughter gets stuck in an endless string of whys, it often degenerates to her asking nonsensical questions like “why did I pick to eat grapes?” Come on, child, I don’t know why you wanted to eat grapes! Those are things only you can answer. It’s time you stop asking questions and start thinking.
Sometimes it doesn’t even have to be nonsensical questions no one can answer, it could just be simple questions I know she could answer herself. Either way, that’s when I bust out the old “why do you think so-and-so?”
There is such a thing as a stupid question.
I openly admit, though somewhat shamefully, to telling my child “that’s a stupid question” on more than one occasion. Sure, my sense of tact—or lack thereof—won’t win me Mother of the Year. But I’ve heard so many ill-phrased and aimless whys that I have little patience for them anymore. I know there’s a good question inside her, she just needs to think before she talks. (Uh-huh, it runs in the family!) I usually follow up my unfortunate “that’s a stupid question” with “think about what you want to ask and then try again.” Forcing her to take the time to formulate a good question usually seems to do the trick.
How about you? Are you as uncompromising as I am about not accepting lazy three-letter questions? I hope I’m not too harsh on my daughter, but in the end there’s no greater sense of joy than hearing her explore the world in a concise and thoughtful way.
You may have heard about this dad who recently punished his daughter through a video on YouTube. Through writers on GeekMom and various social media venues where the event has been shared, I have seen every opinion in the spectrum of possibilities from chastising the father to praising him.
The video was a very timely topic in our house as my husband and I are preparing to hand over my netbook to our almost-6-year-old as part of her Valentine’s Day gift. We have discussed at length what parameters will be set for her when using the computer (out at the kitchen table, ask first, etc.). All of that aside, if and when we allow our kids to use Facebook, they will be required to have Tim and I as friends (not because I don’t trust my kids, but because I don’t trust other people). I would hope my kids would have the sense to either tell me to my face if they had a problem or tell one of their friends over the phone or in person.
The dad was nice enough to work on the daughter’s computer and put money and time into it for her to use in completing school work. The dad found the upsetting status by going to the family dog’s Facebook page – she didn’t block the dog, so it showed up in the feed. Ranting about Facebook’s privacy practices isn’t going to solve anything in this case since the dad wasn’t snooping. If anything, the daughter should have been a little smarter about airing her feelings in a technology-based public arena when her dad works in IT and is working on her computer.
Finally, the shooting of the laptop: I do not own a handgun, but I have been in competitive target shooting. I commend the dad for following through (and, he has responded to his following through on Facebook). He had told his daughter the FIRST time she pulled a stunt like this that if it happened again, he would put a bullet in her computer – and he did! Means of punishment aside, the dad followed through. You have no idea how frustrated I get with parents who let their children get away with stuff by saying, “if you do that one more time, I’ll punish you,” for the fifteenth time in a row. I have to wonder what buttons this girl pushed on her parents to have a parent have to follow through on a threat of this magnitude.
Personally, I would have just password protected the laptop and hid it in my closet with a post-it saying, “You get the password when I get $130.” Good software that was just paid for doesn’t need to be destroyed when it can be used by someone else.
It’s a sad situation all around. Technology is a two-sided coin; it makes our lives easier and harder all at the same time. I’m sure this girl will need a computer to finish school work. Sounds like she’s going to have to beg to use the family computer or huff it to the library. I’ve also seen some opinions wondering if the father just made the video for his own validation and not to punish the daughter, because with destroying her computer, she won’t see the video. Kids have cell phones. She’ll see the video, and hopefully be reminded she needs to follow the rules or suffer the severe and embarrassing consequences. How would you have handled the situation?
NOTE: Much of the text of this post is from a post I had written for my personal blog on Thursday, November 10th, shortly after the university Board of Trustees made their decision to remove President Graham Spanier and Head Football Coach Joe Paterno. Some of my emotions and information in this post have been overcome by events.
Only the most die hard of GeekMom fans might have realized what a Penn State fan I am. Because of the first avatar image I had used for my first six months writing here.
This picture. I have been a proud life member of the Penn State Alumni Association since I graduated in 1995. My house is decorated all over the place, my husband and I have a closet full of sweatshirts, polo shirts, hoodies, football jerseys, and my sons have more than their share of posters, pennants, and stuffed Nittany Lions decorating their bedrooms.
But that pride has been bruised quite a bit this past week.
If you’re an American, unless you’ve been living under a rock, it’s hard to miss how the web world is filled with the Penn State Athletics Sex Scandal. Or whatever you want to call it.
Via e-mail, Twitter and Facebook, I’ve been commiserating with my PSU classmates. We’re convincing each other that the university will dust off, move on and continue to move forward. We’re pondering amongst each other what the leaders must have been thinking to cover up something like this, whether JoePa will receive any traditional retirement benefits, and all those great Linebacker U players who regarded Sandusky as a mentor right up through this year! The alumni association is pleading with their membership to continue support to the association and university. Ironically, we received an Penn State Annual Gift letter on Tuesday. We typically give a modest amount every year, specifically targeting the meteorology department and AFROTC. This likely won’t change…those departments still need support.
So now I get nervous thoughts about my kids going off to school each day, going off to college in the future, headed out to Boy Scout camp — without the parents — by the time they’re in 5th grade.
I don’t want to go through life like this. I want to trust people. After all, I trusted a 19-year-old with my sons for a few days in September while my husband and I traveled to Omaha on AF business, right? I trust my sons on a school bus every day, I trust them at birthday parties, at school, and at those occasional trips they take with friends’ parents. Other parents trust me with their kids.
So the decisions have been made swiftly, hopefully the justice system will work out and if found guilty, Jerry Sandusky will never be allowed to interact with youth ever again. Some of my friends and colleagues are wishing for much much worse, but I won’t go there with this audience.
After signing myself up for Glitch, I decided to let my kids develop characters of their own (under my e-mail addresses and with my close supervision). Over the weekend my oldest son took a trip to the dark side of Glitch: “Glitch Hell“.
Simply put, you visit Hell by dying. You can visit Hell several times, and there is even a separate set of achievements you can earn from multiple trips to Hell. Those who are experienced in the game might think that my son simply walked away from the computer, forgetting to “Exit the World.” But in my son’s case, he was mining rocks with another character who offered him a substance called “No-No Powder“.
No-No Powder is Glitch cocaine, my friends. You sniff it, get high, and then encounter this horrible crash that can only be saved from death by another “hit” of the No-No Powder. I have some in my backpack, picked up from someone who left it on the ground. I haven’t used it, but instead was planning to sell it for money.
His avatar sniffed the stuff, experienced the 6 minutes of maximum mood and energy, and then crashed HARD. The avatar died, went to Hell, then resurrected upon completing a task (my son crushed grapes). Upon resurrection, you have zero mood and near-zero energy and are very close to dying again. My son had very little food, very little currants (money) and no skills to make anything.
Sounds like a textbook drug addict…rehabilitation time!
This was not something I expected to have to do so soon, but I grabbed my arsenal of inspirational, lesson-teaching messages and quickly took over the computer control of my son’s Glitch character. We got Mace Windu fed, educated and built up his account a little under my direction. Then we had to discuss drug use, Internet chatting, the existence of hell and responsible gaming all at once on Saturday night.
“What did we learn?”
“Don’t sniff the no-no powder….”
“When is it a good time to use drugs?”
“When a doctor says so….”
“Will we ever sniff no-no powder again?”
“Do we take stuff from strangers?”
This whole experience — which took about an hour of our Saturday night, also got me thinking about how family-friendly this game might actually be. There’s a lot of…um, sophomoric humor scattered throughout the game that my sons probably won’t understand, but I feel nervous just the same about exposing them to it.
My feelings about my kids seeing Glitch are becoming similar to my concerns about my sons watching The Simpsons, by the way. They really enjoy the humor, but (a) Mom and Dad have to be nearby when they’ve watched it and (b) it has to be a rerun that Mom and Dad are already familiar with so they know what adult themes to expect.
When my son was born we swore we wouldn’t use a pacifier. On the second night in hospital, after nursing for two hours straight and 18 hours without a nap (me that is), we heeded the nurse’s words “It’s okay to use a pacifier you know.” Those four hours of sleep were so worth it.
When he became inter-active a short while later, we swore we wouldn’t let him watch television. We were going to be those parents that followed the warnings of pediatricians everywhere – no TV till two years of age. We ignored the fact that I was a Jungle Book junkie as a child and that my husband’s obsession with Super Grover is as old as he is. I don’t recall when that one went by the way side, but to the way side it went.
By this point we had watched a few Disney movies with him, though he lost interest after ten minutes or so. A cute British cartoon about a family of pigs, Peppa Pig, was our gateway drug. The cartoons were 4 or 5 minutes long and therefore a nice reward for him, a nice quiet few moments of snuggling for me. Then Toy Story 3 entered our lives, then Cars. We relaxed the rule. TV was okay, but no way were we going to allow TV to babysit our son.
Unless he had just thrown up, or one of us had the flu and the other needed a few minutes, or one of us needed the bathroom. It was never for something frivolous like facebook, or everyday like making dinner.
It was never for more than a few moments, but the television slowly became a tool in our parenting arsenal instead of a rare treat. Every other day, every other diaper change, instead of once a week. So we tried to cut back even more. However toddlers are surprisingly vocal about their preferences, and since he knew where the DVDs were and could identify the movie by the avatar-esque picture on the spine, we were sunk. After ten minutes of screaming for Buzz and confinement to the crib, I realized that it was more about me than him.
My husband has strong will power, but watching movies with my parents was one of my favorite things as a child. Sunday afternoons in front of The Simpsons with my dad became a daddy-daughter thing that lasted until I went to college. So with my son, I was harder to wean. I moved the DVDs into the hallway, he still asked for them but less often. Then I moved them into the entertainment center, behind the doors, with a child (parent) lock. He doesn’t ask for them anymore, and honestly, it’s no longer my go to for a five minute distraction. Now I have been reminded that I can hand him a book or his fire truck, I do. I can actually let him complain at me for a few minute as well, who knew? I’m not suite sure whether I retrained him or myself, but out of sight, out of mind really worked for us.
Just to clarify, my son doesn’t have attention issues, nor was he showing signs of being endangered by the evil of television. He is extremely active and runs circles around me. He plays with all his toys constantly and would rather be in our woods than anywhere else. Just the other day he heard a piece of music, listened for a moment and then said “Mozart.” This wasn’t a problem I wanted to fix because it was affecting him adversely for the long term, it really was more of an issue for me than for him.
It was something I felt I needed to address before he grows a little more, and either of us becomes dependent. I would like him to have options and TV will always be one of them, I just hope he chooses it less often than I do sometimes. Maybe I should hide myBuffy and West Wing collections!