We all know kids won’t understand cassettes and eight-tracks, but what about the technology we grew up with? How much of what we know will be completely lost on our kids? Here are 12 pieces of technology that confound and befuddle my 2-year-old.
Lyz is a freelance writer, with an MFA in creative writing from Lesley University. She also works as a blogger for the Huffington Post and a regular contributor to Mommyish, Mom.me and The Real Moms of Eastern Iowa, a hyper-local mom blog and most importantly BabyZone. Her writing has been published in Real Weddings, Guidepost, The Des Moines Register and YourTango, LearnVest, and Babble.com. She has been syndicated on MSNBC, The Today Show Website, Yahoo! Shine, and MSN Glo. She maintains a blog about pants, chicken nuggets and babies over on LyzLenz.com.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that new parents are the most annoying people on Facebook. There are sites like STFU Parents that document their numerous social media failures and overshares. There are products like Unbaby.me, which blocks images of babies from your internet. And even the bloggers here have dedicated time to guiding new parents through the fraught world of posting about babies on Facebook. But a new study, suggests that new parents are not social media’s worst offenders.
When my 7-month-old son grabs my daughter’s hair, she cries and he laughs. In that moment, I’m not sure if he doesn’t know he’s being a little bit evil. But how far does an infant’s moral compass expand? Do babies know right from wrong? These are the questions being examined at the Yale Infant Cognition Center, where Karen Wynn and Paul Bloom are studying infant morality. Bloom, the Brooks and Suzanne Ragen professor of psychology at Yale University is also the author of the new book, “Just Babies,” wherein he argues, “Babies and toddlers can judge the goodness and badness of others’ actions; they want to reward the good and punish the bad; they act to help those in distress; they feel compassion, guilt and righteous anger.”
It doesn’t matter if it is the cold or the flu, illness moves through my house in the same way. At first there is denial (we aren’t sick!), anger (that lousy kid at the library did this!), bargaining (maybe if we all just take shots of Tylenol?), depression (we will never be well), and finally acceptance (someone deliver some soup, we will be here a while). And no matter what we do—covering ourselves in hand sanitizer, pounding vitamin C, illness always finds us.
Babies are mysterious little gremlins. One moment, they are chubby happy little things and the next moment, mewling monsters of sleep deprivation. I’m on my second baby and I still find myself staring into his big brown eyes and asking, “What is wrong with you?” Here are seven common problems that plague my babies. Maybe this can help you. But of course, keep in mind, I am no doctor. If you think something is seriously wrong or your baby is running a temperature, always call your doctor.
My daughter is two-going-on-crazy and, while I do my best not to raise my voice at her, I frequently find myself yelling the most bizarre things. And inevitably, after I yell something like, “Pickles don’t go in my bra!” She looks at me and asks, “Why?”
In our house, bath time is a ritual. It calms, soothes, and burns off some of those whiny minutes before bed time. Also, there is nothing quite like snuggling a squeaky-clean kid. We love bath time so much that we sometimes have baths in the middle of the day just because it’s winter and we have cabin fever. Here are 10 ways we love to make bath time fun.
Besides the obvious ruining of my lady bits and boob biting and bleeding, my kids are doing their best to maim me. Between distracting me with sleep deprivation and outright aggression, it will be a miracle if I make it through this with all my limbs intact. Here are six ways my kids are killing me.
My daughter hopped into her Cozy Coupe and slammed the red plastic door. “I’m going to the Internet to see my friends,” she said, then rolled away. “Did you hear that?” I said to my husband. “Did she honestly just say that?” He nodded.
Before I had kids, I often thought my sister was lying about the things my nephew said. No way he thought bunnies pooped marshmallows. But now, as the parent of an almost 3-year-old, I’m a lot more credulous.
I frequently find myself questioning what I just heard. Did she really call my boobs “milk bellies?” Did she really just try to turn her brother into a snowball with a piece of bread she’s calling a magic wand? Being a parent often means living in this suspended reality—is a small human really rolling on the floor and licking the mud off my shoe? Do I really have to explain why we don’t build poop towers? And as the only adult witness, you find yourself questioning your sanity.
It was only Monday and I was exhausted. Both children had eschewed naps and I had to stay up late to meet deadlines. My husband was working late and no one had vacuumed the floor in weeks. When he finally did manage to make it home after the kids were in bed, my husband found me on the couch, sans pants, slurping coffee and writing.
“Won’t that keep you awake tonight?” He asked.
I shook my head. At this point, coffee was like water. “I’m just so exhausted,” I said.
“But the baby slept in until 5 this morning. Didn’t you get extra sleep?”
My husband’s body is now in a wood chipper.