Tik-Tok….tik-what?

Omg. I got sucked into a tiktok vortex and dragged one of my friends along for the ride.

I was stalking children, but not in the way that sounds.

Here’s an idea. If you have a kid with a tik-tok account or even if you don’t think they have a tik-tok account, log yourself on and take a squiz. You might be surprised at what little Johnny or Mary is doing and/or watching. Just giving you the heads up that in TikTok land Johnny may be known as “dixi_normus” and Mary could be “sassyqueen482❤️”. It’s a free-for-all. God knows what our generation’s grandchildren will be named. I draw the line at underscores (pun intended) and silent letters.

Second idea. If you find out your kid has a tik-tok account make sure it’s private. I can see all sorts of stuff. I can see inside people’s houses, parents in the background, school and sports club logos and what they ate for tea last night. I now know what school your kid goes to, who they play sport for, what you look like, what car you drive, what their siblings look like and if I was a sick a perverted idiot I could spend a bit of time and find your house aswell.

Am I over-reacting? Probably. Am I being hypocritical because I use social media, with a public page and I blog about my family? Possibly. Am I a 10 year old child who doesn’t know a lot about online safety, potentially being exposed to strangers who see me as an easy target? No. Am I being followed by hundreds of people. No 😏. Am I a pre-pubescent boy following a tiktok account called Sexxyyyy Ladieeessss being exposed to a bit of soft porn while I scroll through my Tiktok feed. Also NO. Plus I’d be more inclined to be following Sexxyyy Mennnn thanks.

Like many parents I grapple with social media. I love it in many ways and hate it equally as much. It’s definitely here to stay, so there’s no point fighting it. I personally use it quite a bit. It’s a source of entertainment, news and connection. I do most of my news reading online. I collect a lot of recipes to cook for my family to whinge about. I follow my favourite artists, comedians, actors and social commentators online and also follow leaders and organisations who I have learnt a lot from. It’s a big wide world out there and it’s all accessible through the click of a few buttons. All great stuff, until suddenly it’s not so great.

Much to the disgust of our teen I’ve had the “porn on the internet is not what sex is really like” conversation aswell. Someone told me once the average age that a child is exposed to online porn is 8. What in all fuckery is that? I also added details about the fact that “most women don’t look like that in real life and no, you probably won’t be doing THAT the first time you explore the world of sexy-time. It will probably be exciting but awkward and weird as well as possibly being over before it begins”… (I think he’d left the room at this point yelling “we learn this at school… please stop talking mum, you’re weird”). But it’s our job to talk about this stuff isn’t it? It’s our job to launch into their world a bit and keep a “watchful eye” (totally not spying.. 🧐)….They’re gonna stuff up for sure, and that ok. That’s what kids do. I just want mine to be safe and informed. I need to have a bit of confidence that I’m sending kids into this online world armed with a bit of knowledge.

Kids can be savvy and smart and sneaky though. If my kids wanted to have private accounts and hide or block me, so they can watch sexyyy ladiesss or someone busting out some bad dance moves accompanied by some totally inappropriate swearing, that’s understandable. Come to think of it, they can get all of that from me on any given night in the kitchen… why the hell do they need Tik-tok? Anyway, who wants their parents watching everything you do? I sure as hell didn’t, so I don’t expect mine would either. I like to remind them though that I’m honing my investigation skills. Some of my favourite books to read and podcasts to listen to are based on true crime investigative journalism and I’m starting to think I could change my name to Cagney or maybe Lacey? Who was the one that always seemed tired and had the annoying kids?

Good luck and stay strong out there. 2020 parenting is a far stretch from the days of spokey dokes and cabbage patch kids with the most controversial topic of debate being whether Boy George was a boy and if so how did he get such great eyebrows?

M

Operation Secret iPod Confiscation – The jig is up.

 

For the punters playing along at home….

The cat  is out of the bag.

The can of worms has popped.

The beans have been spilled.

The game has been given away.

Mr. Hooch couldn’t help himself. Damn him.

Let’s just say there’ll be some more literary pursuits occurring in the top bedroom.

Operation Secret iPod Confiscation has officially concluded.

The results are hazy.

(If you have no idea what I’m talking about.. head on back to the last post “Liar Liar Pant on Fire”).

I’m sure when she is 25 years old and I give her the iPod back, she will appreciate the life lessons I am trying to instill. Yeah, that’s right, TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OLD…. I actually said that. It’s OK though because, by the time I got to that part of my monologue, I’m pretty sure her eyes were rolled so far back into her head it had turned off her ability to hear.

While I was imparting my wisdom upon the pony-tail wearer, there was a little 7 year old loving the absolute shit out of seeing his sister getting ripped a new butt-hole. It wasn’t ripping actually….more like a carefully planned surgical incision. He had a surgical butt-hole procedure only last week, so he was simultaneously tender and gleeful as he watched on with eyes as big as saucers.

As our daughter made her way back to her room, with her new butt-hole, to spend some time “reflecting”, or possibly making a voodoo doll with red curly hair, I wondered if my stealth operation had any more value than pure entertainment for myself. This parenting gig is hard, and I’m lucky because my kids are pretty awesome kids. I have probably made Miss iPod sound like a right little turd, but she’s not. She is the bees knees and despite my rant, I, of course, adore her. She is kind, smart, clever and reliable. She is thoughtful and caring. But she’s also a kid, learning her way through childhood at the same time we are learning our way through parenthood. How’s that for twisted irony? I am the first one to stick my hand up and recognise that I stuff this job up all the time. If I had a boss, I’d be on a permanent Performance Management Plan, mainly for inappropriate language I suspect.

I hope something gets through to them when I launch my monologues of wisdom. I hope some kind of lesson was learned, or re-learned. I hope for so many things for our children.

Mainly, I hope they don’t turn out to be raging morons.

I hope they turn out to be good eggs – honest, kind and thoughtful.

I hope they know their worth.

I hope they live a life of purpose and meaning.

I hope they have back-bones and speak their truth.

I hope they find happiness.

The list is endless.

But mostly, I hope they know they are loved, because, without that, nothing else matters.

M