Tag Archives: children and iPads

Why I’m glad I enjoyed childhood before technology

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Adirondack Park painting
“When I was your age, I was playing soldiers in the forest,” DH glumly told our sons. They were lying sprawled on the sofa, the glow of their screens casting an eerie shadow over their faces. “Come on – off you go! Time to get outside.”

“Shoo,” I added, for good measure.

The boys sat up and stretched their limbs as though limbering up for unaccustomed exercise. DH turned to me, with frustration plastered all over him. “Why don’t they want to play in the forest? … I don’t get it.”

I shrugged. “Lost the instinct maybe? More used to shopping malls.”

It did seem a massive travesty. There we were in upstate New York, in a lovely airbnb holiday home, surrounded by six million acres of wilderness. A wild and magical place, the Adirondack Park is full of pristine lakes, coniferous forest, tranquil rivers and towering mountains.

Paddling routes weave through the dense woodland and rapids swirl along the Ausable Chasm canyon to the east. Whiteface Mountain’s ski runs are nearby, a beautiful area that has hosted the Winter Olympics twice.

We were straight out of Dubai, where the ‘feels-like’ temperature had reached 64 degrees C; it was like finding paradise. On a massive scale. The largest publicly protected area in the US, the Adirondack Park is bigger than the Yellowstone, Everglades, Glacier and Grand Canyon national parks combined.

All around us there was hiking, canoeing, fishing and white-water rafting – which we made the most of. But, still, when we were in the house, it seemed the boys would rather plug themselves into their devices than go outdoors.

“Right, that’s it,” said DH the next morning. “iPads are banned.” SCREEN.TIME.WAS.OVER.

Cut off from technology, the boys had to make their own entertainment, while I attempted to sneak in a book and some painting. As long as they didn’t start a bonfire, the kids were free to do wholesome things like building camps and hide-and-seek. It was all going well …

… Until …

Son1 got sick and ended up back on the sofa. This meant Son2 lost his playmate, leaving him in need of company (read: bored) and giving us (well me at least – I’d got really into the painting pictured above) another challenge.

“Mummy, will you come and play in the forest with me?”

“Can I just finish this?”

“NOOOOOOO!”

EDITED TO ADD: Pokemon Go might be the answer! I’m told it tricks them to get out and after about 30 minutes they actually start looking around and realise they are outside. Sad but …

Internet Scam Warning: Son2’s £280 iTunes bill

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Parents Beware: My app-ortunistic son managed to innocently purchase adds-on to his FREE game without a password – arrrrghhh!

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Hungry Shark Evolution: There was no indication in the game that he was being charged for any of the clicks

It’s a Dubai problem, I know, but due to our compound pool springing a leak (think: standing in the middle literally paddling) the facility closed just after the Easter school holiday started, and is due to reopen the day after the kids go back.

Timing, eh!

To be honest, my boys weren’t too concerned: they just got busy doing the thing they do best – leaving their smeary fingerprints all over their iPads. Which was all very well until I got an email from my mum saying she’d been contacted by Barclaycard Fraud Squad.

I should explain: my boys and my mother share an iTunes account; it’s her credit card that gets billed. I’m the gatekeeper and my mum is in the lucky position of receiving, overnight, any apps we download. Son2 is convinced that his grandmother must LOVE playing with his Lego Batman app over her cornflakes.

In her email, my mum asked: “Have the boys sussed the password?” The fraud squad were querying two items from iTunes: one to Hungry Shark (Son2’s favourite game this week) for £79.99 and another for £39.99.

A cacophony of alarm bells clashed horribly in my head.

I questioned Son2 immediately. What’s the password, I asked? A tiny, thin line appeared between his eyebrows.

“Is it L – A …” His voice trailed off, and I could tell that was all he knew.

“We know your phone password, Mum,” interrupted Son1, “because you say it when you type it in.”

“OK, something’s not right here,” I said, blowing the air from my cheeks and making a mental note to myself: Change phone password and don’t absentmindedly tell them this time.

Within minutes, the extent of the strange Hungry Shark charges had got worse: there were TWO payments of £79.99 that day, and one of £39.99, plus another £79.99 on 29 March, and I was still questioning Son2 as to how the hell this had happened.

I watched as his face quickly ran through a gamut of emotions, the initial denial giving way first to guilt – Am I in deep trouble? – and then to indignance. His eyes darted round the room as Son1 helpfully mentioned that his brother had indeed acquired every single shark in the sea: magalodon; hammerhead; mako.

“But how?” I asked.

Son2 shrugged. “I clicked on 20 gems, and it gave me 2,000,” he said quietly, and then burst into loud, upset tears.

And, you know what, as I hadn’t put the password in for him, and I’d confirmed he didn’t know it, the damn game must have racked up that bill all by itself, whether due to a scam or a bug. £279.96! Wtf?

The good news is iTunes refunded the lot (three cheers to Apple!) and Son2 is now the envy of all his wide-eyed friends for having got to the highest level of the game, with the highest number of sharks.

But you can imagine my horror, when the next morning Son1, ever the tittle-tattle, told me: “Guess what Mum!” He grinned widely. “… All his sharks have had babies!”

TIP: Go to Settings, iTunes & App Store, Password Settings and Always Require should be ticked. (Do it now! Son2’s iPad was already set up like this, so we’ve still no idea what happened…sigh!)

App-ortunistic Son 2

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I realise that in posting this, it’s going to sound like my children spend their whole time playing on electronic gadgets. I do force them to do other stuff too, like outings, homework and eating.

But, let’s face it, the iPad does have its uses, especially during those times when you need to get things done, like make dinner or drive.

Son 1 even takes his to school now, as part of their bring-your-own-device (BYOD) scheme. “We do research on it, Mum!” he claims. “I only use Safari.”

Just recently, Son 2’s use of the iPad has started causing me some concern, though. He’s begun collecting apps – anything from Lego apps to airplane simulators. He, somehow, knows how to find these apps (he’s only 5!), and can get as far as the password prompt.

He then cajoles me into putting the password in (he’s only allowed the free apps), and Bob’s your uncle, it starts downloading. Except he’s become very app-happy, and can’t stop at just one or two. He’s bugging me continually about new apps, to the point that it’s driving me crazy.

“Let’s go for a bike ride,” I suggest. “Your iPad will run out of memory. It might IMPLODE if you put too many apps on it.”

How the iCloud works beats me

Dodgy photos, apps and games get rained down thousands of miles away by that clever little iCloud (beats me how it works)

Their screen time is limited, but you’d be amazed how many apps he’s got his hands on. My screen-ager intuitively knows that the iPad isn’t a toy; it’s a toy chest of apps and games, and his little fingers literally fly round the screen, leaving smeary fingerprints as they go.

Then came the email from my mum. Son 2 has her old iPad and the password is hers. “Is someone trying to reset the password?” she asked. “It’s just that I keep getting messages saying someone’s attempting to reset it.”

That someone = Son 2.

And that’s not all. It appears the cloud has been busy too.

“And the thing is,” she continued, “overnight, all the apps appear on my iPad too.”

You can imagine how over the moon Son 2 is – that his grandmother in the UK must surely be playing with his Lego Batman app over her cornflakes.

You might also like: A cold call from the world-wide web

Schmaltz alert: I love you all the way to…

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Several months before BB was born, our realtor in the States gave me a gift: the children’s book Guess How Much I Love You.

It was the first story I read to BB and quickly became part of our nightly ritual – a.k.a., my desperate attempts to get him to go to sleep.

How did we go from this at bedtime to a sneaky go at Minecraft under the covers?

How did we go from this at bedtime to a sneaky game of Minecraft under the covers?

The book still holds a special place in my heart because, just as Little Nutbrown Hare thinks he’s found a way to measure the boundaries of love, the children and I like to fondly one-up each other at bedtime.

“I love you all the way to the moon,” BB will say.

“I love you all the way to Pluto and back,” I’ll respond.

And so on, until we find ourselves doing circles round the Universe.

Recently, though, there’s been an uninvited guest at bedtime: the iPad. BB has managed to sneak it up to his top bunk a few times now to play games under the covers (and with a BYOD – Bring Your Own Device – programme at school, it won’t be long until it finds its way into his school bag too).

My 4yo is fast following in BB’s electronic footsteps, and took our little game to a whole new dimension tonight.

“I love you Mummy,” he called out in the dark. “I love you all the way,” he said, pausing for a second to think how to outdo me…“all the way to the highest level.”

What did you do at school today?

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My children hear me say this every day after school. I must ask at least four or five times, phrased in slightly different ways in an attempt to get an answer.

“Who did you see at school today?” “What did you learn?” “Did you have French…or Arabic today?” “Maybe PE?” I probe.

But quite honestly, it’s like getting blood out of a stone.

“We watched TV, Mum!” (I’ve learnt he means they used the smart board)

It must be because I have boys, but they tell me very little about what actually goes on during their school day. Sometimes BB will tell me there was a ‘bad boy’ who got put in time-out (never him, funnily), or that they watched something on the smart board.

But most of the time, he replies, “We did nuff-ing.” Or, when pressed, gives me an exasperated eye-roll and sighs, “I can’t remember.”

Often, I try again later on, hopeful that one last open-ended question might work, but by this time he’s usually head down over my iPad, downloading the video clips he likes watching using our sometimes-fast new internet connection.

Interestingly, though, the thing he has mentioned is the fact his teacher is pregnant. She must only have about four weeks to go and has told the class she’s having a boy.

“There’s a baby inside Ms. C’s tummy,” he told me yesterday, quite proud of the fact he was privvy to this news.

“That’s right,” I said. “And do you know when she’s having her baby?”

“Dunno,” he replied. “The baby’s still loading in her tummy.”

Technology infiltrates prayer time

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Have you ever watched a three-year-old play with an iPad? It’s actually quite shocking. The way those chubby fingers fly round the screen, leaving smeery fingerprints as they go, and the way the machine is handed back to you with 2% battery power.

While nobody was looking, something has happened to today’s tots. They’ve become ‘screen-agers’, who intuitively know that an iPad isn’t a toy, it’s a toy chest of apps and games.

Here at Circles, I’m continually nagged, harassed and cajoled until I give in and pass the iPad over to the children. LB can find and play a whole raft of kids’ apps (check iGameMom.com for some great ideas) and his six-year-old brother is just a click away from downloading hundreds more from the Apple Store.

“Books….nah! Mummy’s iPad is much more fun AND it can teach me to read”

And, I’m the first to admit, it’s the most wonderful electronic babysitter – especially during those times when you need to get things done, like make dinner, or drive.

I’d go so far as to suggest that iPads might even have been designed with young children in mind. They’re small and compact, with no power cords to trip on or chew, and they’re instantly on, cutting down on whinge time. What’s more, they’re made to be touched, with no keys to get jammed up with juice or bashed.

I worked out today that by the time my children reach middle school, they’ll have been using an iPad almost every day for eight years.

But just as noteworthy is the way modern technology has crept into every part of our children’s lives. Kids can learn to read and count on iPads, they can colour in virtual colouring books, bake electronic pies and video the ceiling. They can watch cartoons and movies on iPads and play games galore. And that’s not all: modern technology can even infiltrate prayer time.

My good friend and mother of BB’s girlfriend told me yesterday that after saying a prayer for her five-year-old daughter that evening, she was asked: “Mommy, say ‘send’.

So cute, it was worth a whole blog post!