Are laptops for school children a good idea?

I’m sitting here with my daughter’s school laptop in bed (feeling crapola with a cold) as I write this so I’m aware that I’m being a bit hypocritical…

Here’s the thing. My daughter has gone to a new school this year. A school that insists that every child should use a laptop from Grade 5. Their argument is that we live in an age where computers and digital devices are a part of our lives and that we should make use of every tool we can to educate our children. And yes, I get that.

But since we’ve had this third computer in the house we barely see our 11 year old. It’s Youtube 24/7 - or until Groover goes mental because we’ve been shaped again. She doesn’t seem to read books anymore - it’s chapter after chapter of fan fiction.

We insist that she uses the computer in public and we’ve learned that you take the laptop away from her at bedtime - what I’m not seeing is a whole lot of homework done on the computer and given that, I wonder why the school doesn’t store the wretched things in the classroom. Do they really need to take them home?

The only good thing is that at least she’s not fighting with my son now over the second computer.

So here I am enjoying her MacBook interface on our wireless system (which doesn’t seem to work for my work laptop) and whinging.

Partly it’s the lazy parent in me that finds it hard to cope - I get tired of continually taking it away from her and telling her off for exceeding our bandwidth quota again.

And part of it is my old fashioned sense of media. I want my child to enjoy books as books! Not fan fiction. Although, having said that if she was writing her own stories… well now, that would be different. And maybe endless reading of it will lead to writing her own…

In the meantime my darling Dipp has earned a merit award at school. So maybe the laptop isn’t the monster I make it out to be.

Oh, you ask, why do I have precious time on the new toy? Ah, she’s out on her brother’s bike getting some fresh air.

I asked her first!

Some parenting tips please! How do you manage computer time in your home?

photo credit: Apollo-Jack

When to let your teenager off the leash

Today is Hugamuga’s Independence Day.

This is Hugamuga in 2002, a somewhat younger version - aged 8, I wouldn’t have let him go alone at this age. :)

Today, he met his friends on the train, travelled to Adventure World (two trains and a bus), enjoyed the day with his mates and returned home. He was responsible for organising himself, his money and his lunch. I did ask that he ring me when he left home so I knew he was on the road (and could begin worrying). He’s 13.

It was a scheme dreamed up by his friends at school. This one mate worked out the plan and invited his classmates and then whoever showed up showed up. Four showed up.

They had a blast. Roaming Adventure World in a little pack. I asked Hugamuga:

“So is it more fun with there with his mates or his family” (we go every year for a work Christmas party)
“Oh with my family of course!”
“We’ll go anyway…” I say sagely.
“Definitely with my mates!”

Yeah right.

My heart was in my mouth. Sure it’s just a mum cutting another of the apron strings (guffaws of laughter from friends imagining me wearing an apron), another step towards independence… but it was a milestone.

Not that I wrap the kids in cotton wool. I’ve let them walk to the corner shop on their own for years. I encourage them to walk to school, to their friends houses. Hugamuga rides his bike to training on his own…

Two trains and a bus.

W00t.

And I thought I was evil

So you know how I was waffling yesterday about Easter Egg hunts and whether creating one for the kids would allow me time for a brief nanna nap. Well I went back up to the house (from the internet cafe where I’m writing this as we speak) and had a chat with the other mother…

She agreed that it was worth a try. We banished the kids to the bedroom and told them they had to stay there while we went for a walk and hid the eggs. It was midday and quite warm outside. Hot even, in full sun. The bush is very dry at the moment too and prickly.

Well we got about 20 metres from the house and my friend says to me:

“Hey, what if we don’t hide the eggs?”

“You mean… pretend to hide them, get the kids to go look for them and then just hide them somewhere in the house?!”

“Well,” she says, “We’d be doing them a favour. The eggs are going to melt in this heat…”

So that’s what we did. Walked around the 5 acre block shouting out things like… “Over here - here’s a good hiding place!”

Ten minutes later we came back to the house and sent the kids off with this clue:

“Up hill and down dale,
In Paradise the kids wail,
Where are our eggs!
Our mean mums!
Til back at home,
They sit with full tums.”

They were also told that the eggs were at the four corners of the property.

We got half an hour.

The best four year old party

I’ve been to quite a few parties for four-year-olds in my time but today’s at a neighbourhood gym for my nephew, was the best.

Now my judgement may have been skewed by the fact that at 13 and 10, my children didn’t need close supervision, actually on reflection that was probably a big part of it, but the main reason I enjoyed this party was because I got the chance to let my inner child go.

I also loved the trampolining made even better by the terrific guy who ran the place who gave tips to adults and kids alike and was pretty good himself.

Usually I hate kids parties. Especially when they’re not my own kids. You don’t know the other adults who are distracted by their kids running amok, high on sugar and fast food. You sit there being polite when what you’d rather be is sat in the car reading your book.

But this time, despite the maxi-dress, I got into it. And I especially liked it when the trampoline man complimented me on my pointed toes.

The Pillow Wall: What they don’t tell you about falling pregnant

A number of people I know are pregnant at the moment and they’ve reached that happy stage of the third trimester where everything is oh so slightly uncomfortable, including sleep.

Slowly over the months they have been collecting pillows one by one. Arranging one behind their back, one between their thighs, one under the belly - now full and heavy - until it takes at least ten minutes to settle in the right spot - cocooned on what was once Passion Central and is now divided by… The Pillow Wall.

It’s in fact remarkably comfortable as I discovered when posing for this photograph to illustrate my point, but does tend to exclude the non-pregnant other.

My friend the other night complained bitterly that night after night he was slowly edged to the side of the bed until now his head rests on the bedside table and it is only by the most precarious of balancing acts that he sleeps - and he’s got six weeks to go!

(How is it that men hijack the most female of journeys? Once again - it’s all about them!)

He was slightly hysterical - not coping with the musical experience that was Miss Saigon.

In fact, just after the big chorus girl number his girlfriend got up and left rather quickly during the applause as if she was in the midst of a medical emergency. A minute later, my friend, acting all worried and concerned, followed her out. It was a performance that left us gasping with laughter.

The conversation at interval though did take me back nearly 11 years to my last pregnancy and my pillow wall.

Did you have one?
PS: An historical note. The pyjama pants I’m wearing in the photo were bought for me to wear in hospital the day Dippity was born. Groover had learned from Hugamuga’s birth, when he bought me the foulest, most unattractive, nasty nighties - a bit like surgical gowns without the gap in the back - to TMATP! The tee-shirt we bought on our honeymoon when we visited Eurodisney - which puts it at circa 1992.

PPS: TMATP=Throw Money At The Problem

An awkward conversation

Watching this gem from Servant of Chaos:

Me: Laughing at video

Dipp: Can I see mum?

Me: Um yes.

Dipp after watching final ad: I don’t get it. What is that?

Me: It’s a vibrator.

Dipp: A what?

Me: It’s used by women to feel good.

Dipp: ???

Me: Er… um… it’s a sex toy.

Dipp: …

Me to myself: Hmmm that went well…?

Making friends

It’s not easy making friends at a new school, even if you know some of the girls already.

My daughter has recently moved from a small school with just five girls to a big girls’ school with 56 girls in her year, and she’s finding it surprisingly hard to make friends.

She’s generally a confident little soul but I think all the “newness” is a bit overwhelming. Also I imagine she had the idea that the gang of 5 would stick together. That hasn’t been the case. The other girls seem to have hooked up faster than she has and she feels left out, and a little lost, maybe even betrayed.

But what can you do as a parent?

One night last week she was inconsolable. :(

I offered to have new friends (or old) over for a play. I suggested she listen more to new acquaintences to see if they had some things in common. I even asked her to consider chatting to her teacher - also new - who might have some ideas.

On the train to work I met a colleague who had had a daughter go to the same school. She suggested I contact the principal of the junior school and see if she had any ideas but I hesitated.

I don’t want to necessarily rescue Dippity - I mean, this could be an important life lesson for her - but I don’t want her to be miserable at school either! (She of course wants me to rescue her)

Today she came home with the crumbs of new friendships. One girl had mentioned that she liked Avatar - Dippity LOVES Avatar, and she had fun with another girl during sport. She seemed happier and more like my darling Dippity.

So what’s your advice?

Hang back and be there for cuddles at the end of a disappointing day? Or is there something proactive I can do?

How to know if you’re a good mother

When I was a first-time mum at home with a new bub I was adrift. I’d gone from a full-time full-on job with lots of contact with other people to - well - nothing. I was the first of my set to have a baby, my husband worked full time, I didn’t have a lot of contact with my neighbours. I was, in short, lonely.

How lonely?

I went to the health nurse every week, religiously. Even though my baby was perfectly healthy. Even though I had no problems looking after him, the breastfeeding happened.

I only stopped when she kindly said one day “You know, you don’t have to come every week. You’re doing a good job.”

That day as I walked back home pushing my son in his stroller, I reflected on how dependant I’d become on this regular weekly outing. How much I needed an independent witness to my motherhood. How much I needed that witness to tell me I was doing a good job.

I hadn’t had any contact with babies before apart from fleeting glimpses of other people’s babes. I wasn’t the maternal type. I didn’t yearn to pick up and cuddle them. I was the type of person who handed the baby back or on at the earliest opportunity and now here I was the 24/7 carer of this little human unit.

With no frame of reference - how was I to know if he was okay? If I was okay? If I was a good mother?

I owe this child nurse a great deal.

Happily last year I met her again. She’s retired now. I wished I’d had my little baby with me to show her that he survived into teenagerhood. But of course there was no need. She had enough faith in me to know he’d be okay.

More mobile advice for parents of teenagers

A colleague of mine gave me some interesting advice on the mobile question…

“Cellobella”, she said, “don’t buy the phone.

“You rely on three things when you do so: one, that the phone is turned on, two, that the phone is charged and three, that the child has the phone with them.

“The chances of all these things happening at the same time are virtually nil.

“Besides, if everyone in the class has a phone, he can use someone elses.”

So I mentioned this to Feline as we went out to lunch today at Lamonts (did I mention it’s my birthday tomorrow…), and she said:

“The problem with getting him a phone is that then the arrangements you make become fluid. Instead of ‘I’ll meet you at the gate at 3.30 on the dot’ it becomes ‘I’ll meet you at the gate at 3.30 and will text you ten minutes before I get there’. The mobile allows plans to change and this can cause even more chaos.”

And as Feline wrote in comments, unless the phone is up-to-scratch rather than just scratched, he won’t use it anyway… That said both of Feline’s teenagers have phones. :)

Finally I spoke to a male colleague who told me about a phone available where you can program the phone with just 10 numbers so that it can’t be used “willy nilly”. Is that a gecko phone? I read one forum which said I would be setting my kid up to be bullied if I bought one… so maybe not…

So. I think I’ll get him a new phone on some cheap pre-pay with text plan. But who? In comments I have two “votes” for Optus and one for Virgin…

Caving to social pressure?

I’m getting my son (12 going on 13) a mobile phone. Yesterday I couldn’t get hold of him to tell him I’d be five minutes late to pick him up and he started walking and I missed him and he didn’t get home until close to 7pm which completely freaked. me. out. I decided it was time.

I’m going basic basic basic phone - possibly my munted old one - and the smallest pre-pay you can buy. After all this is for me, not for him.

Also his record with looking after kit is not great.

But perhaps you’ve been through the teenager with a phone thang. Any advice?

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