Thursday, April 3, 2014
Friday, January 31, 2014
The Modern Child. It's Really OK!
You know, it is really starting to get quite old, all this anti-technology/anti-internet hate hype that is constantly circulating around…funnily enough, the internet, when it comes to “new age children”.
There’s an array of pictures, memes, instagrams, tweets etc
that all follow the same kind of mantra.
“Kids
today are all loaded with iPhones and iPods and iPads etc. When I was a child,
all I had to play with was some chalk and a skipping rope outside in the fresh
air!”
Well woop-de fucking doo!
When our parents were children, they didn’t even have chalk!
They just stole some coals from the bottom of their fire place to draw their
hopscotch markings out in the street. But you didn’t see them complaining about
our coloured chalk.
Images of children playing with game consoles versus images
of children holding birds. With slogans about how kids these days are messed up
and should spend more time outside in nature.
What an absolute crock. This kind of absent minded, negative
attitude is what will be sheltering your children from an added learning source
that their peers will already be well advanced in by the time they hit primary
school!
My child has an iPhone, which she uses as an iPod. I hooked
it up to our wifi connection, installed a handful of educational games, and a
few non educational games and she uses it when she feels like it.
She also has coloured chalk and a skipping rope. And believe it or not, she still plays with both.
She also has coloured chalk and a skipping rope. And believe it or not, she still plays with both.
At some stage throughout an average weekend, she might chose
to sit in a quiet spot, grab her iPhone and start playing some of her games. 20
minutes later, she is outside in the back yard, IN THE FRESH AIR, WRITING HER OWN
NAME in coloured chalk on the concrete. She has only just turned four.
On other days, she might go into her room, switch on her iPhone’s
music playlist and blast Katy Perry from the speakers as she sings in front of
the mirror. And she knows every word.
When she’s finished this, she will set up a picnic blanket under a shady tree in the back yard, IN THE FRESH AIR, and have story time with me as I read to her. The books we borrowed from the library. Each week she memorises at least one book, so that she can “read” them to me.
When she’s finished this, she will set up a picnic blanket under a shady tree in the back yard, IN THE FRESH AIR, and have story time with me as I read to her. The books we borrowed from the library. Each week she memorises at least one book, so that she can “read” them to me.
Another time will see her playing her dentist game on her iPhone,
she says she wants to be a dentist when she grows up. Then moments later, when
she’s done playing dentist, we will sit and practice her sign language. She can
sign the alphabet. She can sign her own name.
At times she sits and opens her numbers app on her iPhone. 1
+ 1 is 2. 1 + 2 is 3. And so on and so forth.
After she’s had enough phone time, we discuss, using parts of our lunch, the way mathematics works. She demonstrates the equations she has just learnt on her phone, using grapes and shows me, that 1 grape plus another 1 grape, does in fact, equal 2 grapes.
After she’s had enough phone time, we discuss, using parts of our lunch, the way mathematics works. She demonstrates the equations she has just learnt on her phone, using grapes and shows me, that 1 grape plus another 1 grape, does in fact, equal 2 grapes.
“Look mummy, I learned something. I love learning.”
Wow… yeah… I totally see how her owning an iPhone, or to be
more specific, using my old iPhone as an iPod, has totally messed her up. She
really should go back to the stone ages and just play with chalk and stones and
pebbles like they did way back before technology, when dinosaurs roamed the
earth.
Technology is the way of the future. Whether you want to
admit to it or not, it’s here to stay and the best thing you can do for your
growing child, is educate them on the advances of technology.
Just because modern children of todays world are using iPhones/iPods/iPads
as part of their growing and learning activities, doesn’t mean they are worse
off than our generation or our predecessors. It simply means they are moving
forward with the rest of the world.
So long as you continually educate your child in all aspects
of the technological world, on an age appropriate scale, then their use of such
gadgets and resources gives them a greater ability than we had growing up. They
can start learning more and more at a younger age.
Keeping in mind as they become older children, young teens
etc, it is of the utmost importance to educate them on the dangers of the
internet and how to be smart with the device that’s at their very fingertips,
but that is something that every parent will need to do at some stage
throughout their lives. Regardless of whether or not their young children
learnt to use an iPod as a toddler.
A child using an iPad or other such device doesn’t make them
lazy, or stupid, or missing out or whatever it is that is implied with all
these anti-device bandwagons.
It doesn’t mean that they don’t still read books.
It doesn’t mean that they don’t still play outside.
It doesn’t mean that they don’t still use interpretive play with their peers/siblings/family.
These devices don’t replace everything else the child has and plays with. These devices join the child’s collection of toys and learning activities.
It doesn’t mean that they don’t still read books.
It doesn’t mean that they don’t still play outside.
It doesn’t mean that they don’t still use interpretive play with their peers/siblings/family.
These devices don’t replace everything else the child has and plays with. These devices join the child’s collection of toys and learning activities.
We are so lucky that our children have this opportunity.
They have a world of knowledge at their fingertips. With the right guidance
from their parents/guardians, they can learn great things.
They can achieve greatness.
They can achieve greatness.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Dear Mum...
**I had seen snippets of this floating around facebook recently and refused to read it because I thought it was going to be something else. Tonight, I gave in and read it. I am so glad I did. Every mother needs to read this. Every time I have "one of those moments", I will remember this and breathe and hopefully feel better**
Dear Mum,
I've seen you around. I've seen you screaming at your kids in public, I've seen you ignoring them at the playground, I've seen you unshowered and wearing last night's pajama pants at preschool drop-off. I've seen you begging your children, bribing them, threatening them. I've seen you shouting back and fort...h with your husband, with your mum, with the police officer at the crosswalk.
I've seen you running around with your kids, getting dirty and occasionally swearing audibly when you bang a knee. I've seen you sharing a milkshake with a manic 4-year-old. I've seen you wiping your kids' boogers with your bare palm, and then smearing them on the back of your jeans. I've seen you carry your toddler flopped over the crook of your arm while chasing a runaway ball.
I've also seen you gritting your teeth while your kid screamed at you for making him practice piano, or soccer, or basket weaving or whatever it was. I've seen you close your eyes and breathe slowly after finding a gallon of milk dumped into your trunk. I've seen you crying into the sink while you desperately scrub crayon off your best designer purse. I've seen you pacing in front of the house.
I've seen you at the hospital waiting room. I've seen you at the pharmacy counter. I've seen you looking tired and frightened.
I've seen a lot of you, actually.
I see you every single day.
I don't know if you planned to be a parent or not. If you always knew from your earliest years that you wanted to bring children into the world, to tend to them, or if motherhood was thrust upon you unexpectedly. I don't know if it meets your expectations, or if you spent your first days as a mum terrified that you would never feel what you imagined "motherly love" would feel like for your child. I don't know if you struggled with infertility, or with pregnancy loss, or with a traumatic birth. I don't know if you created your child with your body, or created your family by welcoming your child into it.
But I know a lot about you.
I know that you didn't get everything that you wanted. I know that you got a wealth of things you never knew you wanted until they were there in front of you. I know that you don't believe that you're doing your best, that you think you can do better. I know you are doing better than you think.
I know that when you look at your child, your children, you see yourself. And I know that you don't, that you see a stranger who can't understand why the small details of childhood that were so important to you are a bother to this small person who resembles you.
I know that you want to throw a lamp at your teenager's head sometimes. I know you want to toss your 3-year-old out the window once in a while.
I know that some nights, once it's finally quiet, you curl up in bed and cry. I know that sometimes, you don't, even though you wanted to.
I know that some days are so hard that all you want is for them to end, and then at bedtime your children hug you and kiss you and tell you how much they love you and want to be like you, and you wish the day could last forever.
But it never does. The day always ends, and the next day brings new challenges. Fevers, heartbreak, art projects, new friends, new pets, new fights. And every day you do what you need to do.
You take care of things, because that's your job. You go to work, or you fill up the crock pot, or you climb into the garden, or strap the baby to your back and pull out the vacuum cleaner.
You drop everything you're doing to moderate an argument over whose turn it is to use a specifically colored marker, or to kiss a boo-boo, or to have a conversation about what kind of lipstick Pinocchio's Mummy wears.
I know that you have tickle fights in blanket forts, and that you have the words to at least eight different picture books memorized. I've heard that you dance like a wild woman when it's just you and them. That you have no shame about farting or belching in their presence, that you make up goofy songs about peas and potatoes and cheese.
I know that an hour past bedtime, you drop what you're doing and trim the fingernail that your 3-year-old insists is keeping her up. I know that you stop cleaning dishes because your kids insist you need to join their tea party. I know you fed your kids PB&J for four days straight when you had the flu. I know that you eat leftover crusts over the sink while your kids watch "Sponge Bob."
I know you didn't expect most of this. I know you didn't anticipate loving somebody so intensely, or loathing your post-baby body so much, or being so tired or being the mum you've turned out to be.
You thought you had it figured out. Or you were blind and terrified. You hired the perfect nanny. Or you quit your job and learned to assemble flat-packed baby furniture. You get confused by the conflict of feeling like nothing has changed since you were free and unfettered by children, and looking back on the choices you made as though an impostor was wearing your skin.
You're not a perfect mum. No matter how you try, no matter what you do. You will never be a perfect mum.
And maybe that haunts you. Or maybe you've made peace with it. Or maybe it was never a problem to begin with.
No matter how much you do, there is always more. No matter how little you do, when the day is over, your children are still loved. They still smile at you, believing you have magical powers to fix almost anything. No matter what happened at work, or at school, or in playgroup, you have still done everything in your power to ensure that the next morning will dawn and your children will be as happy, healthy, and wise as could possibly be hoped.
There's an old Yiddish saying: "There is one perfect child in the world, and every mother has it."
Unfortunately, there are no perfect parents. Your kids will grow up determined to be different than you. They will grow up certain that they won't make their kids take piano lessons, or they'll be more lenient, or more strict, or have more kids, or have fewer, or have none at all.
No matter how far from perfect you are, you are better than you think.
Someday your kids will be running around like crazy people at synagogue and concuss themselves on a hand rail, and somebody will still walk up to you and tell you what a beautiful family you have. You'll be at the park and your kids will be covered in mud and jam up to the elbows, smearing your car with sugary cement, and a pregnant lady will stop and smile at you wistfully.
No matter how many doubts you might have, you never need doubt this one thing: You are not perfect.
And that's good. Because really, neither is your child. And that means nobody can care for them the way you can, with the wealth of your understanding and your experience. Nobody knows what your child's squall means, or what their jokes mean, or why they are crying better than you do.
And since no mother is perfect, chances are you are caught in a two billion way tie for
Best Mum in the World.
Congratulations, Best Mum in the World. You're not perfect.
You are as good as anybody can get.
I've seen you around. I've seen you screaming at your kids in public, I've seen you ignoring them at the playground, I've seen you unshowered and wearing last night's pajama pants at preschool drop-off. I've seen you begging your children, bribing them, threatening them. I've seen you shouting back and fort...h with your husband, with your mum, with the police officer at the crosswalk.
I've seen you running around with your kids, getting dirty and occasionally swearing audibly when you bang a knee. I've seen you sharing a milkshake with a manic 4-year-old. I've seen you wiping your kids' boogers with your bare palm, and then smearing them on the back of your jeans. I've seen you carry your toddler flopped over the crook of your arm while chasing a runaway ball.
I've also seen you gritting your teeth while your kid screamed at you for making him practice piano, or soccer, or basket weaving or whatever it was. I've seen you close your eyes and breathe slowly after finding a gallon of milk dumped into your trunk. I've seen you crying into the sink while you desperately scrub crayon off your best designer purse. I've seen you pacing in front of the house.
I've seen you at the hospital waiting room. I've seen you at the pharmacy counter. I've seen you looking tired and frightened.
I've seen a lot of you, actually.
I see you every single day.
I don't know if you planned to be a parent or not. If you always knew from your earliest years that you wanted to bring children into the world, to tend to them, or if motherhood was thrust upon you unexpectedly. I don't know if it meets your expectations, or if you spent your first days as a mum terrified that you would never feel what you imagined "motherly love" would feel like for your child. I don't know if you struggled with infertility, or with pregnancy loss, or with a traumatic birth. I don't know if you created your child with your body, or created your family by welcoming your child into it.
But I know a lot about you.
I know that you didn't get everything that you wanted. I know that you got a wealth of things you never knew you wanted until they were there in front of you. I know that you don't believe that you're doing your best, that you think you can do better. I know you are doing better than you think.
I know that when you look at your child, your children, you see yourself. And I know that you don't, that you see a stranger who can't understand why the small details of childhood that were so important to you are a bother to this small person who resembles you.
I know that you want to throw a lamp at your teenager's head sometimes. I know you want to toss your 3-year-old out the window once in a while.
I know that some nights, once it's finally quiet, you curl up in bed and cry. I know that sometimes, you don't, even though you wanted to.
I know that some days are so hard that all you want is for them to end, and then at bedtime your children hug you and kiss you and tell you how much they love you and want to be like you, and you wish the day could last forever.
But it never does. The day always ends, and the next day brings new challenges. Fevers, heartbreak, art projects, new friends, new pets, new fights. And every day you do what you need to do.
You take care of things, because that's your job. You go to work, or you fill up the crock pot, or you climb into the garden, or strap the baby to your back and pull out the vacuum cleaner.
You drop everything you're doing to moderate an argument over whose turn it is to use a specifically colored marker, or to kiss a boo-boo, or to have a conversation about what kind of lipstick Pinocchio's Mummy wears.
I know that you have tickle fights in blanket forts, and that you have the words to at least eight different picture books memorized. I've heard that you dance like a wild woman when it's just you and them. That you have no shame about farting or belching in their presence, that you make up goofy songs about peas and potatoes and cheese.
I know that an hour past bedtime, you drop what you're doing and trim the fingernail that your 3-year-old insists is keeping her up. I know that you stop cleaning dishes because your kids insist you need to join their tea party. I know you fed your kids PB&J for four days straight when you had the flu. I know that you eat leftover crusts over the sink while your kids watch "Sponge Bob."
I know you didn't expect most of this. I know you didn't anticipate loving somebody so intensely, or loathing your post-baby body so much, or being so tired or being the mum you've turned out to be.
You thought you had it figured out. Or you were blind and terrified. You hired the perfect nanny. Or you quit your job and learned to assemble flat-packed baby furniture. You get confused by the conflict of feeling like nothing has changed since you were free and unfettered by children, and looking back on the choices you made as though an impostor was wearing your skin.
You're not a perfect mum. No matter how you try, no matter what you do. You will never be a perfect mum.
And maybe that haunts you. Or maybe you've made peace with it. Or maybe it was never a problem to begin with.
No matter how much you do, there is always more. No matter how little you do, when the day is over, your children are still loved. They still smile at you, believing you have magical powers to fix almost anything. No matter what happened at work, or at school, or in playgroup, you have still done everything in your power to ensure that the next morning will dawn and your children will be as happy, healthy, and wise as could possibly be hoped.
There's an old Yiddish saying: "There is one perfect child in the world, and every mother has it."
Unfortunately, there are no perfect parents. Your kids will grow up determined to be different than you. They will grow up certain that they won't make their kids take piano lessons, or they'll be more lenient, or more strict, or have more kids, or have fewer, or have none at all.
No matter how far from perfect you are, you are better than you think.
Someday your kids will be running around like crazy people at synagogue and concuss themselves on a hand rail, and somebody will still walk up to you and tell you what a beautiful family you have. You'll be at the park and your kids will be covered in mud and jam up to the elbows, smearing your car with sugary cement, and a pregnant lady will stop and smile at you wistfully.
No matter how many doubts you might have, you never need doubt this one thing: You are not perfect.
And that's good. Because really, neither is your child. And that means nobody can care for them the way you can, with the wealth of your understanding and your experience. Nobody knows what your child's squall means, or what their jokes mean, or why they are crying better than you do.
And since no mother is perfect, chances are you are caught in a two billion way tie for
Best Mum in the World.
Congratulations, Best Mum in the World. You're not perfect.
You are as good as anybody can get.
**I did not write this, nor do I own copyrights to it. Simply sharing because I love it and think every mother should read it**
Sunday, May 5, 2013
If my life had a sountrack...
...Then this would be my song for 2012.
It is the hardest story I've ever told...and I haven't even told it yet.
It is the hardest story I've ever told...and I haven't even told it yet.
This is the way you left me,
I'm not pretending.
No hope, no love, no glory,
No Happy Ending.
This is the way that we love,
Like it's forever.
Then live the rest of our life,
But not together.
Wake up in the morning, stumble on my life
Can't get no love without sacrifice
If anything should happen, I guess I wish you well
A little bit of heaven, but a little bit of hell
This is the hardest story that I've ever told
No hope, or love, or glory
Happy endings gone forever more
I feel as if I'm wastin'
And I'm wastin' everyday
This is the way you left me,
I'm not pretending.
No hope, no love, no glory,
No Happy Ending.
This is the way that we love,
Like it's forever.
Then live the rest of our life,
But not together.
2 o'clock in the morning, something's on my mind
Can't get no rest; keep walkin' around
If I pretend that nothin' ever went wrong, I can get to my sleep
I can think that we just carried on
This is the hardest story that I've ever told
No hope, or love, or glory
Happy endings gone forever more
I feel as if I'm wastin'
And I'm wastin' everyday
This is the way you left me,
I'm not pretending.
No hope, no love, no glory,
No Happy Ending.
This is the way that we love,
Like it's forever.
Then live the rest of our life,
But not together.
A Little bit of love, little bit of love
Little bit of love, little bit of love [repeat]
I feel as if I'm wastin'
And I'm wastin' everyday
This is the way you left me,
I'm not pretending.
No hope, no love, no glory,
No Happy Ending.
This is the way that we love,
Like it's forever.
To live the rest of our life,
But not together.
This is the way you left me,
I'm not pretending.
No hope, no love, no glory,
No Happy Ending.
I'm not pretending.
No hope, no love, no glory,
No Happy Ending.
This is the way that we love,
Like it's forever.
Then live the rest of our life,
But not together.
Wake up in the morning, stumble on my life
Can't get no love without sacrifice
If anything should happen, I guess I wish you well
A little bit of heaven, but a little bit of hell
This is the hardest story that I've ever told
No hope, or love, or glory
Happy endings gone forever more
I feel as if I'm wastin'
And I'm wastin' everyday
This is the way you left me,
I'm not pretending.
No hope, no love, no glory,
No Happy Ending.
This is the way that we love,
Like it's forever.
Then live the rest of our life,
But not together.
2 o'clock in the morning, something's on my mind
Can't get no rest; keep walkin' around
If I pretend that nothin' ever went wrong, I can get to my sleep
I can think that we just carried on
This is the hardest story that I've ever told
No hope, or love, or glory
Happy endings gone forever more
I feel as if I'm wastin'
And I'm wastin' everyday
This is the way you left me,
I'm not pretending.
No hope, no love, no glory,
No Happy Ending.
This is the way that we love,
Like it's forever.
Then live the rest of our life,
But not together.
A Little bit of love, little bit of love
Little bit of love, little bit of love [repeat]
I feel as if I'm wastin'
And I'm wastin' everyday
This is the way you left me,
I'm not pretending.
No hope, no love, no glory,
No Happy Ending.
This is the way that we love,
Like it's forever.
To live the rest of our life,
But not together.
This is the way you left me,
I'm not pretending.
No hope, no love, no glory,
No Happy Ending.
Monday, April 15, 2013
The Other Side
It's like I was almost an adult.
Like, I had an apartment, and a job, and a child, and a fiancé.
I was living this textbook life of what it all should be.
And then, one day, I dunno, it's as though I...woke up.
And everything was different.
The same but, different.
And I'm not an adult.
Yet I walk around this place, this "my apartment" and I feel like an intruder. Like I shouldn't be here.
Like I'm on the other side of the looking glass.
In someone else's life.
And it's so hard to breathe sometimes.
But I'll be home soon. Back to my life.
It will be different than before.
Different but, the same.
Like, I had an apartment, and a job, and a child, and a fiancé.
I was living this textbook life of what it all should be.
And then, one day, I dunno, it's as though I...woke up.
And everything was different.
The same but, different.
And I'm not an adult.
Yet I walk around this place, this "my apartment" and I feel like an intruder. Like I shouldn't be here.
Like I'm on the other side of the looking glass.
In someone else's life.
And it's so hard to breathe sometimes.
But I'll be home soon. Back to my life.
It will be different than before.
Different but, the same.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Christmas Brings Out The Best in People
Wondering whether or not to put up your Christmas tree yet?
I say DO IT!!!
Why should we only have one month to look at our beautiful trees and decorations! I absolutely LOVE sitting by my pretty sparkly twinkly fairy lights on the Christmas tree as I unwind for the night, snuggle Muffin before bedtime, or have my early morning coffee in the wee hours of the day when it's still darkish!
I'm not religious or very Christmasey...to be honest, I'm quite the Scrooge, but there is something about those beautiful lights and warm decorations that gives off a sense of love and warmth. Knowing, and actually feeling the joy it brings the little people in the world, remembering the magic of believing and the joys of my own childhood and Christmas memories...to hell with this 1st of December - 1st January rubbish! I don't know about others, but I like to savor these feelings and emotions and memories.
So I'll put my tree up proudly as early as I want and I'll procrastinate to take it down for as long as I want. Because the magic of Christmas can bring out the best in people and brighten others from the inside when they really need it the most!
Monday, March 26, 2012
If you only knew...
I constantly feel like I can't breathe.
I feel like I'm not strong enough to deal with this.
It hurts so bad.
My heart aches.
I feel like I'm sinking.
Every day is a cry for help.
But no one can hear me.
No one can see my tears.
No one can see the pain in my eyes, my heart on my sleeve.
My breath becomes shorter.
I'm fading away.
I'm broken.
.
I feel like I'm not strong enough to deal with this.
It hurts so bad.
My heart aches.
I feel like I'm sinking.
Every day is a cry for help.
But no one can hear me.
No one can see my tears.
No one can see the pain in my eyes, my heart on my sleeve.
My breath becomes shorter.
I'm fading away.
I'm broken.
.
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