Living Out of an Age

I'm quite convinced that every generation of parents looks at the gauntlets their children face and think, "Man, I'm glad I didn't have to deal with that." 

Recently, there have been a spate of articles about the link between staying online and mental disorders including depression.   It makes sense. 

Reading about the study and knowing of the tendency to search with ever increasing dissatisfaction for the next "hit" so to speak of news, of humor, of sweetness and light and having to journey ever farther in between successes but searching with hyper vigilance for lost hours, I am reminded of the quote of Gollum about himself when possessed by the ring. 

"And we wept, Precious, we wept to be so alone. And we only wish to catch fish so juicy sweet. And we forgot the taste of bread... the sound of trees... the softness of the wind. We even forgot our own name. My Precious."

And I see that my children will have to cope with televisions and phones and computers everywhere, always, with no time where they cannot be reached, or select the people they wish to interact with, and avoid all else.   I see the ubiquitous overload of access to pornography, the endless capacity for perpetual stimulation with 24-7 cartoons, political diatribes, stupidity, drivel and all the noise noise noise noise noise and wonder, how will they run through this with the cannons to the left of them and cannons to the right? How do we seize back time in the age of the instant, when twitter rules our attention span?   

Yes I know there's an off button and we unplug the Internet every night.   But it's a culture that we are having to both adapt to, and learn how to swim upstream from, and that requires a lot of will.   Our world is supersaturated with the icons of technology. My 18 month old can operate the Ipad and she tries very hard to use the phone, the remotes and the computer. We have kindle and Wii and one daughter bought her own Xbox with her own money.  We have four computers when my son is home. 
Everyone knows the advice to set limits and explain the consequences, but the way of things often circumvents the practice of said limits, like the one hour screen time rule that gets trumped by an assignment requiring online assistance.  Today it is 106 degrees.  Inside is better, more comfortable, even beckoning.  It is so easy to practice vigilant sloth.  It's like turning on the TV rather than parenting.  Five minutes becomes an hour, becomes longer.   Because it's easy to drift with the current of cable.

So I'm trying to live outside of the age today.  I gave them markers and paper, and the baby, a huge cardboard box.   It's rather like exercise. I expect them to hate it at first.  But I'm betting they'll discover this is a bit more satisfying than a touch screen.  We'll see if I can make real reality trump virtual, even though the real comes with winning and losing, scraped knees and bee stings.  I'm going to start small though, Hey kids...this is a book.  I'm giving them blankets, books and an ice cream...outside. (I said I'd start small. I never said I'd fight fair).

Rules of the Two Foot Dictator

Despite coming very heavily referenced by my multiple siblings, these parents haven't yet to understand the true nature of my role in their lives.  As such, I am stepping out beyond my normal comfort zone and putting thoughts into words to convey the scope and breath and depth of my every day needs and their role in fulfilling them.   It is I confess, a sacrifice on my part, but one I'm willing to bear if it will bring them along to be better servants.

10) Walking is what you do.  Walking is not what I do.  As a means of transportation, if I need to get to point B, please be advised that your arms are the optimal mode for such an endeavor. 

9) Don't put me down unless I say so.  And sometimes, I don't really mean it. 

8) Pick me up when I say so.  Even if I just said to put me down. 

7) About the car and car seat...see #10.  Further "road trips" (ahem, vacations, errands, long drives) shall incur my instant wrath.

6) Phones, I-pads, laptops, remotes and computers amuse me.  Do not take them away....they are mine.

5) I do not like the shower. You do not like me when I'm in the shower.  The screaming is hard on my throat and your ears. So we agree.  No more showers.

4) I do not like the bath. I do not like you washing my hair (a.k.a. waterboarding).   I insist.  No more baths.

3) I consent to eating, but only in  your lap. Do not serve me elsewhere.  Those high chairs are for other people. Not me.

2) My other siblings are not suitable substitutes for your arms.  Don't even try it.

THIS ISN'T MOM OR DAD!

1) Lastly, I love you utterly even though I expect/demand/crave/need utter devotion first.   Now pick me up. 

The Bonus

Today I was dealing with envy. 

My daughter who is ten, longs to be part of her older sisters' world. She's not. 

She loves shopping and sparkles and clothes and singing rock songs on the radio.  She knows who is who and what's what and has a fashion sense, but it is still laced with ponies and fairies and other things that scream child rather than teen, and so her overtures of friendship often falls on deaf ears because the older siblings see her with the stigma of being younger.   She was feeling it keenly, that no one in this family, is her close friend.  (Mom and Dad don't count).

It is a tricky parenting moment, because I can feel her heart like a bubble, threatening to burst with the pre-teen pain of not belonging, and of seeing that age barrier as being insurmountable.  

How does one convince someone who has only begun to establish friendships and connections and story arcs in her life, that there are far more wonderful as of yet undiscovered relationships and that her family will come to hold her tight even as she grows when all she can see is they didn't want her to go to the mall with them?  It would have been my right to insist, but I also knew, it would have been a misstep. 

"You have a unique position in our family." I explained.
"I'm a middle child." she answered.
"Yes.  So you will know both your older siblings and your younger ones in a way that neither know.  You will watch the older ones grow older and leave for school, you will also know the younger ones as they mature.  The older ones will be less familiar with their stories and struggles as they go out in the world.  You will be a memory keeper, of what they were like when they were younger for the younger ones, and of what the younger ones are like as they grow up, for the older ones.   You will have all the stories." 

Her eyes grew wide. She had not considered this possibility.
"I have a whole shelf full of journals." she offered, and got out of bed to show me.
"Write the stories of what happens, not just what you feel." I suggested.
She nodded, her mind full of the idea that somehow, being fifth of ten was a gift, a bonus. Whatever had threatened to pop with a flood of pain, was gone.  

Leaving and turning off the light, I made a mental note to buy her some more pens, and make sure whatever stories she might come to hold in that stack of books by her bedside, were as good as we could make them.