“Alright, guys. Seriously, I said no more videos. Step away from the screen.”
I marched toward the familiar little figures hunched over the couch, their backsides sticking up in the air. With the iPad nestled in its comically oversized protective case, they were engrossed in whatever was playing. As I reached between them to snatch the device, my oldest recoiled, looking guilty. To my surprise, it wasn’t PBS Kids or even that strange app featuring a bouncing sun and farm animals.
It was Pandora.
“I just wanted to see who was singing, Mommy.”
“Oh,” I sighed, feeling my frustration evaporate as quickly as it had risen. As a self-proclaimed music lover, I was secretly thrilled that my child was showing interest in tunes. I desperately tried to hold onto my annoyance. “I still think you’ve had enough time on the iPad.”
“Can I use your phone instead?”
“For what?”
“To make a video.”
“But I’m running low on memory, and I need it for work.”
“Just one more, Mommy. I promise.”
With that, I agreed, thinking it would give me a moment to craft a clever social media post about my budding audiophile. “Alright, go ahead.”
As I attempted to wrest the iPad away from my toddler, who was using it as a chew toy, my oldest returned, panting and excited. “Do you want to see it?”
“Sure, kid. Show me your masterpiece.” I took a sip from the toddler’s sippy cup, feeling a bit defeated.
“Let’s watch it somewhere cooler.”
Once settled in front of the air conditioner, I hit play. The screen displayed blue digital numbers. “Is this a clock?” I asked, puzzled.
“It’s the radio, Mommy.” His hands were balled into excited fists.
“You filmed the clock on the radio for four minutes? No wonder my phone is so slow.” Frustration bubbled up again.
“Just listen!”
I turned the volume up, stepping away from the roar of the air conditioner. The bass thumped softly. “It’s our song,” he announced proudly.
Oh no, I thought. This is it, right? This is as close as my children will get to lying on a shag carpet, surrounded by records. They’ll miss out on the tactile experience of flipping through LPs or the thrill of recording their favorite songs from the radio. It hit me hard: my kids would never know the joy of liner notes.
I let that realization sink in. Then, as the self-appointed Sergeant of Screen Time, I guided my son back to the living room, the iPad still damp from the toddler’s explorations. I settled on the floor, brushing away the remnants of snacks from the couch.
“New family rule,” I declared, “if you’re listening to music, not videos, you can use the iPad whenever you want.”
“Now,” I said, grabbing the iPad and unlocking the screen, “let’s see who’s singing, buddy. This sounds like a band I used to love!”
“It’s They Might Be Giants.” I hadn’t heard them in forever! They had an amazing track called ‘Particle Man’ that your uncle adored. I was obsessed with that little blue canary song.
“No, Mommy, you’re wrong.”
I hesitated, hearing lyrics about tube meat. “I’m not wrong. It’s definitely They Might Be Giants!”
He adamantly pointed at the album cover. Wait, are they still called album covers? “No, Mommy. You’re mistaken. Mickey Mouse is singing,” he insisted, despite the lyrics being questionable. While it would be delightfully awkward to play that at his wedding someday, I look forward to guiding him through more appropriate musical discoveries, regardless of the medium.
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In summary, while screen time can be a double-edged sword, allowing my child to engage with music through the iPad has opened up a world of creativity and discovery I never expected. By setting new rules, I hope to foster a love for music that transcends the limitations of digital media.