How young is TOO young for Facebook?

A friend asked me a couple of weeks ago whether he should allow his 11-year-old daughter to start using Facebook. Hmmm … now that’s a tough one. If you have children, you understand why. On one hand, it’s getting harder and harder to shelter, or maybe I should say “shield,” your children from anything. The viral nature of social media is mind-boggling, faster-than-light, it seems.

Too, most of this girl’s friends already have Facebook pages. There’s the eternal, “But so-and-so’s mom lets HER do it!” argument. As a mom, I always hated that one, because I always answered it just like my mother did. “I don’t care what so-and-so’s mom lets her do. You’re my child, and these are my rules!” That answer, by the way, goes over every bit as well now as it did 40 years ago.

What I told my friend by way of advice went something like this:  “If she has access to a computer or a cell phone, she is likely already on Facebook. Rather than fight that or forbid it, thereby making its appeal even greater, go ahead and lay some ground rules now. Her computer should be in an area of the home that’s central and available to you and Mom. Let her know that you have the right (and will exercise it) to jump in and look around her ‘page’ anytime you choose. And if it at any time it looks like she isn’t exercising good sense, she loses the privilege.” That’s really all you can do aside from never granting your child access to a computer or phone, and how practical is that?

What I should have also told him, and I intend to next time I see him, is to never, EVER, try to outsmart your kid when it comes to these social media sites. I speak from experience. You see, I am of that very last generation of people who went right through high school, college and graduate school without ever touching a computer. Don’t bother doing the math. It was a very long time ago.

When our youngest daughter was in middle school, that’s when the My Space craze was taking off. I was amazed at how much time kids spent on there, and I had already heard that everything from bullying to sharing inappropriate photos to predatory stalking had made their way to that new arena. I made the mistake of bypassing the above conversation about ground rules and mutual trust with my daughter. Instead, I put on my spy hat, and the end result was both frustrating and humiliating.

I created a fictitious identity for myself and set up a My Space page (or whatever you call it). I didn’t do anything weird; I just didn’t want to look like a mom out there checking up on her daughter. The problem was, I promptly forgot my username and password, so in essence I had locked myself out of My Space. When I called a friend of mine to help me figure out the mess, it took us another two hours before I was completely locked out of my own computer. Not only could I not oversee my daughter’s activities on My Space, I couldn’t check my own e-mail or use the Internet at all.

Whom did I have to finally break down and ask to unravel the whole mess? My daughter, of course. Not only did she learn of my lame cloak-and-dagger attempt to monitor her activity, she has never let me forget it. It was only then that I took the time to sit down with her, explain my concerns and ask her to humor me with respect to using My Space and eventually, Facebook. She knew that I could get in there and look around at random (because she set it up), and I think just having that knowledge and knowing that it mattered kept her mindful of her choices. Eventually, as she got older and more mature, I didn’t feel the need to (lurk? creep? Whatever this week’s term for “spy” might be).

To my advice-seeking friend, if you happen to read this before we see each other again, just be honest with your daughter and lay all the cards on the table. Be honest, and be firm. Our kids have such sophisticated tools at their disposal, but they’re still kids. It’s nearly impossible for them to foresee the likely conclusions to most of their actions and choices, so they need us to help guide them. They need us to step in if a situation gets out of hand. They’ll never admit that, of course, but it’s our job as parents to know it, nonetheless.

And whatever you do, don’t create a fictitious identity and try to get your child to “like” you on Facebook so you can follow her activity. It’s too complicated, it’s just one more password to remember, and it’s really embarrassing when you have to own up to it.

Do you let your children use Facebook or other social media sites? Do you have any rules or tips to share with other parents?

How on earth did we raise our kids in the stone age?

I have been invited to a baby shower. I haven’t figured out yet whether I’m excited about it or I’m dreading it. It’s been a few years since I’ve been to one and even then, I felt so out-of-touch with what’s going in the baby world these days. Truth: I felt like a dinosaur. How on earth did I raise my children without all the gadgets and contraptions on the market today?




At any rate I need to buy a gift, so I went to the well-advertised baby utopia superstore down in the city. No boring, run-of-the-mill gift for this little one, no way. I may have been out of the baby business for a couple of decades, but that doesn’t mean I have to flaunt that fact.



We didn’t even have a baby superstore twenty-two years ago, when I was patiently awaiting the arrival of my first bundle of joy. I suppose we really didn’t need one. Typical shower gifts back in the old days were clothes, toys, bathing and diapering paraphernalia and – for expectant grandparents and well-to-do-aunts and uncles – strollers, furniture and stuff like that.



This shiny, bright baby superstore in Atlanta is three floors of massive, overwhelming square footage crammed with kid stuff and subdivided by stages of development. Did you know that there is a pre-learning stage? I always assumed that was the nine or so months leading up to the big event (and for some children, a few years after), but apparently there are a few weeks after birth that officially qualify, as well. Go figure.



Primary colors screamed at me as soon as I entered through the sliding doors. Bells tinkled, choo-choos chugged, clowns cackled and stuffed animals hung like old west bank robbers along the entire length of one mile-long wall. I scanned the aisle markers looking for the “newborn” section.



I followed the signs to the area of the store devoted to brand new babies. I always feel a pang of nostalgia and yes, even a little bit of sadness when I think back to those days and my own children. Fortunately, those thoughts are almost always shattered by someone else’s little darling shrieking and snapping me out of it. As I age, the length of my fuse seems to likewise shorten. Anyway, back to my shopping.



The first twenty or so items I came across were completely unfamiliar to me; I had no idea what they’d be used for or how they might help baby or mom. I felt as out of place here as I usually feel in the Home Depot power tool section.



I looked through shelf after shelf of items that, to me anyway, were ridiculous and more of a bother than a help. There was the pee-pee teepee, a little tent sort of contraption that is supposed to prevent baby boys from accidentally spraying mom or dad during a diaper change. Hey, that’s just part of the deal when you have a boy, folks. There was a little inflatable ring that you’re supposed to put around a baby’s neck in a pool – a no-fail way to prevent drowning. It looked inhumane, like a cross between a whiplash brace and the lampshade dogs wear after surgery.



There were fake rubber hands that are supposed to simulate swaddling or cuddling (first thought: yeah, but who holds the hands in place?). Grotesque. There was a baby bottle cover, a stuffed animal-looking thing that has a nipple coming out of its mouth. Picture a mama bird regurgitating in her baby’s mouth.



There were gadgets designed to keep parents from smelling, touching or paying attention to their babies at all, ever. In fact, if you bought one of each item in this section alone, you’d never have to see, hear, smell or talk to your kid until he’s at least two. Where’s the fun in that?



I decided on a few gifts that are probably going to look boring and unimaginative at the shower Saturday. I bought mom a “What to Expect During the First Year” book (they wrote that one way after mine were school-age). I bought a couple of packs of diapers, some monogrammed baby linens (more for keepsakes than anything else – the kid’s initials will be the same no matter the sex), some adorable little newborn clothes for the little one in gender-neutral colors, and a gift card for what will be a much-needed dinner out that the parents can use a couple of weeks after Junior arrives. They’ll appreciate that one the most.



I’m probably just jealous of all the cool stuff out there but still, a lot of what I saw just looked like more of a bother than a help. I will say that those puffy, colorful little fabric high chair liners I see everywhere are awesome; I wish they had those when mine were little. All I used were anti-bacterial wipes when we took our little ones out to eat. Necessary, but not much fun.



No matter what stage of parenting you’re currently in, what was the coolest, most helpful gadget you had for those early years?

The teen handbook

Just kidding. There’s not one. Sorry.
If you are the proud parent of one or more teenagers, you likely live in a state of perpetual balancing, tiptoeing, hugging, crying, advancing and retreating. My husband and I have raised four of them. Well, the youngest is 19 and a sophomore in college, so I guess you could say we’re pretty much done. They get some sense when they go off to college for some reason. I think it’s that, “Oh, I took all this stuff for granted for so long. I miss it!” thing...

To read the full story, go to my blog in the Gwinnett Daily Post