Cammi

Saturday, 12:30 PM. The scene is a local burger hangout. The pleasant aroma of burgers and fries fills the air. I am sitting at a table with my kids and another family. A group of older middle school children are hanging out at the next table waiting for their food. Each one has a smartphone. Each one is texting furiously. None of them are talking, looking at each other or engaging in any way. My friend says to me “They are probably all texting each other” and I realize this is probably true.

As I continue with this article, critiquing our society’s obsession with electronic media and subsequent non-human interaction, I want you to know that I am no media saint myself. The kids watch too much TV, we have a Wii, they play computer games more than they should. I have an iPhone, which I look at during dinner at restaurants with my family. My kids see me check my e-mail first thing in the morning and frequently during the day. I am not a great role model, and am therefore as much to blame as anyone else in the growing concern regarding the effect that TV and new media obsession has on personal interactions.
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I recently had 8 first-grade girls in my house for a play date. (Remember a few articles back when I said I was not certifiable or a loon? I may need to rethink that statement.) Since I also have an eight-year-old son, and have had as many as seven boys in my house at once as well, I wanted to dispel the myth that girls and boys are equal, the same, simpatico. Because I am here to tell you, ladies and gentleman, starting at a very young age, there are BIG differences in boys and girls.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not saying it’s a bad thing, or that we shouldn’t celebrate those differences. But trying to make girls like boys and vise versa is probably a very, very bad idea. And that is the point I am trying to make here. I have put together a chart to illuminate some of those differences as I see them in the kids. (Generalizing here, of course. There are ALWAYS lots of exceptions.)
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The Scene: A video store on a rainy Saturday afternoon A video plays on the TV above the counter.

Cast: My six-year-old daughter and myself.

The Plot: Mom and daughter stand in line waiting to pay. Six year old’s eyes grow as large as saucers and her jaw drops to the floor. Mom looks up at the TV and notices two actors on the TV sweating, half naked, and clearly enjoying a nice afternoon delight of their own on this rainy afternoon. Mom quickly covers her daughter’s eyes while daughter shifts to try to see. Girl at the counter notices and says, “Oh, would you like me to skip this part?” Um, YEAH.
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I have a dilemma, and it’s a conflict between my children’s safety and my wallet. I know you’re thinking that my children should always win out. But stay with me here. My husband, who I love dearly, is out of town. (Now, I won’t mention that he is out of town having fun for his 40th birthday while I slave away with the children, because that would be indicating that I am slightly bitter about the situation, which, of course, being an angel of a wife, I am not.) But, he is out of town, whooping it up, while I slave away, and I have a meeting that I need to go to and no one here to watch the children.
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My cutie patootie six-year-old daughter is standing in front of the mirror with me, donning eye shadow, lip gloss, and blush. (OK, spare me the lecture on how she is too young to wear makeup….that’s a debate for another article.) I’m watching her, wondering how she manages to make it look so good, and feeling a little frightened at the future prospect of middle school, boys, and all that comes with that. Not once do I worry about the product itself, or the fact that dangerous chemicals may be, at that very moment, entering her body, wreaking havoc on her hormones and irritating her skin.
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