Not only is it naïve to believe that social media education is not part of parenting in 2016, it’s utterly negligent. As negligent as not teaching your kids about skin cancer and smoking and nutrition and road safety.
I know never touch fire, that’s hot,
but I can touch ice, ’cause it’s not,
and puppies are soft and kitties are too,
(so’s most of the stuff moms and dads give to you).
I know never tell people they’re fat.
(It will hurt them, if I do that)
and rocks aren’t for throwing at others
but it’s OK to throw pillows at brothers.
I know daddy says swears I can’t say,
and I have to wear clothes out to play,
… ’cause one time I went outside naked and Mrs. Johnson saw me and she called Mommy and Mommy came outside and got mad (sniffle) and she yelled at me (sniff) and I had to sit in a chair for a time out and …
I know cookies smell better than cheese,
and to get one, I have to say please.
I know how to go pee in the potty,
but not in my pants, ’cause that’s naughty.
I know flowers don’t needs any feet,
no dessert if I don’t eat my meat
and I got to blow boogers in tissue,
and don’t wipe off where ladies kiss you.
When I wake mommy up, never holler,
pennies are not more than a dollar,
and scissors are never for cutting my hair,
(the barber does that, but I hate going there).
I laugh ’cause it’s better than cry,
and you can’t squeeze a worm, it will die.
I know Daddy will laugh when I burp,
and Mommy’s kiss helps where I hurt.
I know SO many things, now I’m three
and it helps me be a good ME.
I know lots more than I did when I’m two,
all the stuff that I can and I can’t do.
I tried a little more sweetness with my daughter but she only grew more stubborn. I looked at her then and was suddenly done. I sank beside her and stared into the middle distance. To the onlooker it would have seemed angelic and patient, but it wasn’t. I was thinking about how I was going to throw my daughter off the side of the mountain. And how good it was going to feel.
I thought a lot of angry things until eventually, I realised something. Staring out at the distance I saw how beautiful and expansive the view was. If I was to be forced to sit and think somewhere this wasn’t so bad. Maybe some of the inflexibility here was mine, not hers.
Zuzina mi poslala toto video (ďakujem) práve, keď som dumala nad tým ako si nachystať talk o feminizme, ktorý mám onedlho pre 10-14 ročné decká… veci sa niekedy stávajú v zaujímavých súhrach…
And then I explained to him how naive we were, that the world did know and remain silent. And that is why I swore never to be silent whenever and wherever human beings endure suffering and humiliation. We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented. Sometimes we must interfere. When human lives are endangered, when human dignity is in jeopardy, national borders and sensitivities become irrelevant. Wherever men or women are persecuted because of their race, religion, or political views, that place must – at that moment – become the center of the universe.
but the best code is no code at all. Every new line of code you willingly bring into the world is code that has to be debugged, code that has to be read and understood, code that has to be supported… If you love writing code– really, truly love to write code– you’ll love it enough to write as little of it as possible.
“Be careful. People like to be told what they already know. Remember that. They get uncomfortable when you tell them new things. New things…well, new things aren’t what they expect. They like to know that, say, a dog will bite a man. That is what dogs do. They don’t want to know that man bites a dog, because the world is not supposed to happen like that. In short, what people think they want is news, but what they really crave is olds…Not news but olds, telling people that what they think they already know is true.”
Terry Pratchett through the character Lord Vetinari from his novel, “The Truth: a novel of Discworld
You may wonder how we get our kids to eat kale and clams, and here is the answer: we make them (we’re warm but firm), and we don’t offer choices. Psychologists will tell you that kids respond to consistency and confidence. While I can’t say I’m great at this when it comes to bedtime, I never waver at the table. People don’t want to hear this because we live in the Age of Coddling but I strongly believe that kids need and actually crave guidance and direction, especially when they’re young. And since I also believe that we should eat the same meals as our kids—showing unity and companionship—I don’t want to eat boring food, so they’re not getting boring food.
Frazey Ford: “And my joy, my joy, my joy takes nothing from you”
A writer friend comes round. She brings her son, who is the same age as my older daughter. Once we carried these children in our arms; at other times we pushed them in strollers, or led them by the hand. Now he follows his mother in like a pet lion on a leash, a proud, taciturn beast who has consented, temporarily, to be tamed. My daughter has this same aura of the wild about her, as though beneath a veneer of sophistication she is constantly hearing the summons of her native land, somewhere formless and free that still lies inside her and to which at any moment she might return. The manners of adulthood have been recently acquired. There’s no knowing how quickly they could be discarded. She and my friend’s son greet each other in territorial monosyllables. It is as though they are two people from the same distant country who have met here in my sitting room. They’ve met before, often, but you’d never know: Those were old– versions of themselves, like drafts of a novel the author no longer stands by. All the same, I expect them to take themselves off elsewhere, to another room; I expect them to flee the middle-aged climate of the sitting room, but they don’t. They arrange themselves close to us, two lions resting close to the shade of their respective trees, and they watch.
My friend and I have a few years of conversation behind us. We’ve talked about motherhood — we’ve both spent a large part of our time as a single parent — and its relationship to writing. We’ve talked about the problems and pleasures of honoring reality, in life and in art. She has never upheld the shadowless account of parenthood; and perhaps consequently, nor does she now allude to her teenage son as a kind of vandal who has ruined the lovely picture. We talk about our own teenage years, and the hostility of our parents’ generation to any form of disagreement with their children. Any system of authority based on control fears dissidence more than anything else, she says. You two don’t realize how lucky you are, and the lions roll their eyes.
Advise low‑risk multiparous [and nulliparous with additional explanation] women that planning to give birth at home or in a midwifery‑led unit (freestanding or alongside) is particularly suitable for them because the rate of interventions is lower and the outcome for the baby is no different compared with an obstetric unit.
Faith… the choice to believe in something without proof (and yes, for us, it is a choice)… does not ever work for us. Our heads and hearts simply do notfunction that way. I know this because I’ve tried to believe, driven myself to ulcers, and failed. Trying to use faith with smart kids is a lot like trying to mix oil and water without any additives. Yes, you can do it… sort of… if you beat the snot out of it. But even then it’s strictly temporary, eventually it still separates.