BEWARE of Toddlers with Technology

untitled (2)It is not uncommon these days to see a young child adeptly pressing icons on an iPad, typing away on a computer or completely engrossed in a conversation on a cell phone.  I am, however, uncomfortable asking a five year-old to get me “un-stuck” while trying to navigate the three remotes on an Apple TV.  I suppose it’s pointless to say that I have never been considered a technological genius, although I know enough about children to say, that just because a toddler knows how to use technology, doesn’t necessarily mean he or she should!

CASE IN POINT: 

One of the families for whom I worked in the past, had quite a complicated system of linked electronics.  All phones, computers, pads and TVs were Apple products and everything was synced.  For example, photos that were taken on one phone could be viewed on the computer, pad, other phones and automatically played gallery style on the Apple TV when there was no other programming being streamed.  It goes without saying that the children in this home, from oldest to youngest, knew how to use all of this equipment better than I.

One rainy day, the children were watching an episode of “The Magic School Bus”  with two neighborhood friends.  When the show ended, the screen automatically began running family photos from the computer, on the television.  There were Christmas memories, beach vacations, snow pictures, school plays, Halloween costumes – and then something odd.  The blurry, oddly shaped, flesh colored blob filled the entire 70 inch television screen and was then replaced by an Easter Egg hunt.  I cocked my head, wondering what on earth I had just seen.

A few minutes later, there was another blurry flesh colored blob.  However this time, the thing had a head and blonde hair.  It was then I realized, that the blob filling the entire television screen was a poor quality photo of the children’s mother in what appeared to be a state of either total, or near total undress.  The odd body position continued to baffle me a bit, although much less of a concern than the early education of the minors present.

“Look Nanny!” squealed the four year old, pointing at the TV while I dove for one of the three remotes. “That’s Mommy’s bottom and fluffy bits!  I took her picture with her phone.”

I lunged for the remote and began madly pushing buttons.  Nothing happened – wrong remote.  However, the X-rated picture was replaced by a sweet one commemorating the first day of Preschool.  I knew that it was only a matter of time.  I had to find the correct remote and press the correct button, or explain to the neighbor children and their parents why Mommy was naked on television.

Then it came to me – naked bottoms and fluffy bits are funny.  But when you are a child, ice cream trumps.

“I’VE GOT POPSICLES!” I shouted.  Instantly all unclothed body parts were forgotten, as an ear-splitting cheer arose from the squatty crowd, and the tots moved like a swarm of bees to the kitchen.  With the children safely slurping away on popsicles, I had plenty of time to push enough buttons on all three remotes in order to end the unintended adult movie.

 

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At the end of the day, I gave the children’s Father the daily report:

  1.  “You are out of popsicles for some reason.”
  2. “I might have messed up all three of the remotes – again.”
  3. “Could you please remove the naked pictures of your wife that your four year-old took from all of the electronics, so that I do not have to figure out how to teach Toddler Sex-Ed tomorrow?”

Note:  The odd body positions were explained following a lengthy and humorous discussion with the children’s Mother.  Apparently the child had been given Mommy’s iPhone for entertainment while Mom dressed for work.  Beware Mommies and Daddies everywhere – Entertainment is in the eye of the beholder!

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“I thought she was playing Candy Crush!”

Toddlers, butt-cracks and bosoms

Wrong!  They are mushrooms.

Wrong! They are mushrooms.

Working late one evening, two sleepy toddlers snuggled against my chest, as I read our fourth bedtime story.  At the end of the story, the three of us sat in a moment of rare silence.  Suddenly, the eldest, a curious fellow of four, leaned back, took both of my breasts in his hands, gave them a considerable ‘honk’, and said…

“Nanny, what do you call these big things?”

Here we go.

“These are Nanny’s fluffy bits.” I said casually, removing his hands and snuggling him again.

“Mommy says they are for feeding tiny babies.  You don’t have any tiny babies.  So, what do you use your fluffy bits for?” he inquired.

Smart toddlers…can’t live with them.  Can’t use dog crates and duct tape.

“You’re right, smart boy.  I explained.  Mine are built-in safety devices.  You see, if I fall forward, I would bounce right back up without hurting myself.  When I go swimming, I never have to remember floaties…mine are attached!  When I’m not falling or floating, I can use them as pillows for people I love.”

“That’s neat!”  He said.

This prompted the boy’s younger sister to grab the top of my shirt with both hands, pulling it roughly away from my body to inspect what was hidden beneath.  She sucked in her breath sharply.

“Nanny…why is your bottom way up here?”  She shrieked, as she stuck one tiny finger directly into my cleavage.

At first I didn’t understand what she meant….

Note:  These are not mine...unfortunately

Note: These are not mine…unfortunately

Note:  neither of these are mine...fortunately

Note: neither of these are mine…fortunately

But now her point has become crystal clear.

This conversation has undeniably headed south, from “Goodnight Moon” to cleavage and butt-cracks at an alarming rate, which is a clear indicator of immediate bedtime.  However, when I kissed the four-year-old goodnight, he appeared to have one last comment…

“Nanny, when I grow up, I want to have great big fluffy bits just like you.” he says with a yawn.

Oh crap…here we go again.

“Well, honey…Boy’s don’t usually grow great big fluffy bits.” His eyes filled with tears and he began to sob uncontrollably.

“It’s not fair…I want big fluffy bits too!” He wailed.

I sat next to him on the bed, and in a hushed tone, said “But I didn’t tell you the worst part of having big fluffy bits yet.  I thought your little sister might be afraid.” He immediately stopped crying, excited that he might harbor secret information before his little sister.

“What is it, Nanny?”  He asked, eyes wide.

“It’s the horrible contraption we have to wear every single day to tie them down and keep them out of the way.  It’s called…

“The Over-the-Shoulder-Fluffy-Bit-Holder”:

Straitjacket

“It’s made of rubber bands, rope, nails, wire, hot glue and poison ivy.”

“Can I see it, Nanny?”  he asked.

“No, sweetheart.  But ask your Mommy tomorrow, and maybe she will show you hers.”

“I don’t want to wear one of those.”  he said, before rolling over to go to sleep.

“Me either, Bud.”

He seems to have accepted this unfair difference between the sexes and no longer laments his woeful lack of large fluffy bits.  A few days later, he created this moving portrait of he and I together, which now lives on my refrigerator.

It is entitled:

ODE DE HEAFTY FLUFFY BITS:  NATURE’S CRUEL AND UNCOMFORTABLE TRUTH

notice that I am not smiling

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