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| Call yourself a good parent? Click. Click. Sucker. I'll show you. Click. Click. |
Original post date: January 13, 2014 (Moving my content from one blog to another. It just feels right.)
With the click of a mouse I can access immediate information on virtually any topic in the world. I no longer feel the need to ponder or wonder. Google can answer all of my questions. They say that knowledge is power and I personally feel like I have heaps of power, pressing down on my shoulders, watching my every move. This adds an interesting burden to my life. A burden I couldn't have imagined in 1993, as I happily purchased bags of flour and extra wagon wheels on the virtual Oregon Trail. (That was the peak of technology as far as I'm concerned. We should have stopped there.)
More specifically, this burden of knowledge has turned me into "neurotic mommy" or "the mommy who knows too much" or more accurately, "the mommy who has mere surface knowledge of many topics, turning her into a terrified, ranting maniac."
Observe.
1. Dropping my three-year-old off at school.
Me: "Bye honey, I love you. Be good. Listen to your teachers!"
Google: Wrong. What is the matter with you? Are you trying to get your child abducted? Telling your child to "be good" and to "listen" implies that they should blindly comply with all adult directions, making them more susceptible to potential pedophiles, creepies, and villains in general. Come on now!
Me: "Um, okay, don't be good, be um, assertive and discerning and watch out for weirdos in vans? Forget it. Just have a great day."
- Do. Not. Get. Into. Van. Ever.
2. Feeding my baby solid food.
Me: "Kootchie kootchie koo, baby girl! Do you want some yum-yums? Yes!! You want yum-yums!! Mommy getchyou yum-yums!
How about some yummy, yummy rice cereal?"
Google: Nope. Rice is teeming with arsenic. Carcinogen. Try again.
Me: "How about some yummy chicken? Protein!"
Google: Okay, super-mom. That cutlet is laced with antibiotics and hormones. Do you want her to grow breasts in time for kindergarten?
Me: "Um, okay. How about a banana? That's not even on the Environmental Working Group's Dirty Dozen list."
Google: Sure, the thick peel may protect the fruit from most of the pesticides, but did you ever think about the 8-year-old Ecuadorian child picking the fruit as she is working the fields, getting doused with said pesticides? It's not just about your baby, ya selfish Sally. Think globally.
Me: "Christ almighty! I'm exhausted. Let's just have a nice, cool glass of tap water."
Google: Idiot.
3. Cleaning my house.
Me: "Well, I only clean my house with vinegar, baking soda and essential oils, so I'm sure that I'm getting this one right."
Google's BFF Pinterest: You're going to clean your house instead of chasing rainbows with your precious children? Monster.
Me: "But, but, but... Have you seen my house?"
- These are really my dishes. This is what my sink looks like. Right now.
Google: Sure. Wash those dishes. But soon you'll be a lonely old woman with an empty womb in an empty house. You can just sit in your rocking chair and remember washing dishes. Alone.
Google: Alone. All alone. With just your memories of dishes, laundry, and baking soda in the toilet. But go ahead, don't let me stop you.
- Aren't you glad you neglected your children so you could wash those dishes?
Me: "Oh God." (Sobbing quietly.)
4. Reacting to my son's tantrum.
Me: "For the love of God buddy. You're being ridiculous. This cup is too yellow? Is that even a thing? Give me a break." (Sigh loudly. Look longingly at wine bottle. Remind self that it is 10:30 in the morning.)
Google: Nice job. You're probably creating a future sociopath. Belittling his problems. Failing to really listen and empathize. Research shows that an effectively empathetic response to his tantrums now will reduce the frequency of tantrums in the future. Furthermore, his prefrontal cortex (that little part of his brain that controls social behavior and regulates emotions) is not yet developed at this age. Are you really chastising him for his typical development? Hey, hey! Are you even listening to me?! Focus! Quit looking at that wine bottle!!
Me: Glug, glug, gulp.
So. As you can see, the Internet has turned me into a raving lunatic who may or may not drink wine before Sesame Street is over.
Screw you Google.
