Hell, I was always happy to have my kids spend nights away from us and later we were always waking up with extra kids in the bonus room. I think my kids were the last of the free rangers.
21ST CENTURY PARENTING: Canceling the Sleepover: Americans need to make a practice of fearing each other less.
Almost any Millennial internet user will have been targeted by a meme that roughly says, “It’s Friday night. Mom just put Totino’s Pizza Rolls in the oven. Your best friends are sleeping over, and you will all play GoldenEye on Nintendo 64. Life will never be better than this.”
It’s not true, of course. The hedonic pleasures of staying up too late, mainlining Pizza Rolls with Mountain Dew, and passing out on the living-room floor are nothing compared to what most adults regularly arrange for themselves. And yet, nostalgia started to sneak up on me when the Washington Post informed me that sleepovers are now controversial among parents. . . .
In other words, Americans no longer assume they share values with their peers in their actual communities. And so they continue to withdraw from one another into ever-more-elaborately curated virtual communities, where they nurture more refined suspicions of their neighbors. Their homes become little foreign countries unto themselves, with entirely unique dietary, sleeping, and media-consumption regimes. Being a helicopter parent now implies the duty to exfiltrate your child at 10:30 or midnight from a “late-over” rather than allow them the danger of a sleepover.
Negotiations with other households are just too exhausting. Parent 1: Oh, our child only eats Kraft Mac & Cheese, not homemade. He wants to bring his iPad and watch HBO Max. I let him watch whatever, LOL. Parent 2: Ah, well ours only eats Annie’s Mac & Cheese, or prepared food from Trader Joe’s. He uses his one hour of screen time to watch episodes of Octonauts that I’ve screened beforehand. Also, the third and fourth members of our polycule will be sleeping over with my spouse and me that night, is that okay? Parent 3: People still eat carbs from cardboard boxes? No wonder the frogs are turning gay. My child eats offal. I put him in blue-light-blocking sunglasses at 6:30 p.m. to help his circadian rhythm settle down. We shut off the electricity at the circuit-breaker box at 8 p.m. to avoid “dirty electricity.”
Sleepovers were a crucial part of the social ecology of my own childhood. They forced you to deal tolerably with another household’s routines and taboos, helpfully putting your own in perspective. It was just another one of those little, easy, horizon-expanding experiences. It was at sleepovers where I saw how brothers fight and still love each other, or found out what it might be like to keep a bird as a pet. There were other less-flattering glimpses into what other families were like. At the edges, the culture of sleepovers as a matter of course among so many of my friends provided weekend escapes or respites for children in unhappier homes, or adolescents who were suffering a strained relationship with their siblings or parents.
It’s actually a good thing for children to learn how to manage without Mommy for a night, or to get an idea of living to different standards, whether you perceive them as lower, higher, or just different. It’s good to learn what it’s like to sleep in a sleeping bag. Or how to say no to friends who try to pressure you into something stupid. Or how to ask forgiveness when they do and you do it. Or how to consume a meal you don’t like and express gratitude for the people who prepared it for you.
All of this is true, but as usual, we’re letting the most neurotic 10% of upper-middle-class women set the agenda. And that never goes well.
Hell, I was always happy to have my kids spend nights away from us and later we were always waking up with extra kids in the bonus room. I think my kids were the last of the free rangers.
21ST CENTURY PARENTING: Canceling the Sleepover: Americans need to make a practice of fearing each other less.
Almost any Millennial internet user will have been targeted by a meme that roughly says, “It’s Friday night. Mom just put Totino’s Pizza Rolls in the oven. Your best friends are sleeping over, and you will all play GoldenEye on Nintendo 64. Life will never be better than this.”
It’s not true, of course. The hedonic pleasures of staying up too late, mainlining Pizza Rolls with Mountain Dew, and passing out on the living-room floor are nothing compared to what most adults regularly arrange for themselves. And yet, nostalgia started to sneak up on me when the Washington Post informed me that sleepovers are now controversial among parents. . . .
In other words, Americans no longer assume they share values with their peers in their actual communities. And so they continue to withdraw from one another into ever-more-elaborately curated virtual communities, where they nurture more refined suspicions of their neighbors. Their homes become little foreign countries unto themselves, with entirely unique dietary, sleeping, and media-consumption regimes. Being a helicopter parent now implies the duty to exfiltrate your child at 10:30 or midnight from a “late-over” rather than allow them the danger of a sleepover.
Negotiations with other households are just too exhausting. Parent 1: Oh, our child only eats Kraft Mac & Cheese, not homemade. He wants to bring his iPad and watch HBO Max. I let him watch whatever, LOL. Parent 2: Ah, well ours only eats Annie’s Mac & Cheese, or prepared food from Trader Joe’s. He uses his one hour of screen time to watch episodes of Octonauts that I’ve screened beforehand. Also, the third and fourth members of our polycule will be sleeping over with my spouse and me that night, is that okay? Parent 3: People still eat carbs from cardboard boxes? No wonder the frogs are turning gay. My child eats offal. I put him in blue-light-blocking sunglasses at 6:30 p.m. to help his circadian rhythm settle down. We shut off the electricity at the circuit-breaker box at 8 p.m. to avoid “dirty electricity.”
Sleepovers were a crucial part of the social ecology of my own childhood. They forced you to deal tolerably with another household’s routines and taboos, helpfully putting your own in perspective. It was just another one of those little, easy, horizon-expanding experiences. It was at sleepovers where I saw how brothers fight and still love each other, or found out what it might be like to keep a bird as a pet. There were other less-flattering glimpses into what other families were like. At the edges, the culture of sleepovers as a matter of course among so many of my friends provided weekend escapes or respites for children in unhappier homes, or adolescents who were suffering a strained relationship with their siblings or parents.
It’s actually a good thing for children to learn how to manage without Mommy for a night, or to get an idea of living to different standards, whether you perceive them as lower, higher, or just different. It’s good to learn what it’s like to sleep in a sleeping bag. Or how to say no to friends who try to pressure you into something stupid. Or how to ask forgiveness when they do and you do it. Or how to consume a meal you don’t like and express gratitude for the people who prepared it for you.
All of this is true, but as usual, we’re letting the most neurotic 10% of upper-middle-class women set the agenda. And that never goes well.
I always had to at least meet the parents of the kid my son(s) were spending the night with. Most of them I already knew through youth sports. Always thought it was a little weird when some kid I didn't know would show up at the house and then later on my guys would ask if he could spend the night. I always made the kid call his parents first and the I'd talk with them on the phone. I never let my kids spend the night with some people I didn't even know and had never spoken to.
Hell, I was always happy to have my kids spend nights away from us and later we were always waking up with extra kids in the bonus room. I think my kids were the last of the free rangers.
21ST CENTURY PARENTING: Canceling the Sleepover: Americans need to make a practice of fearing each other less.
Almost any Millennial internet user will have been targeted by a meme that roughly says, “It’s Friday night. Mom just put Totino’s Pizza Rolls in the oven. Your best friends are sleeping over, and you will all play GoldenEye on Nintendo 64. Life will never be better than this.”
It’s not true, of course. The hedonic pleasures of staying up too late, mainlining Pizza Rolls with Mountain Dew, and passing out on the living-room floor are nothing compared to what most adults regularly arrange for themselves. And yet, nostalgia started to sneak up on me when the Washington Post informed me that sleepovers are now controversial among parents. . . .
In other words, Americans no longer assume they share values with their peers in their actual communities. And so they continue to withdraw from one another into ever-more-elaborately curated virtual communities, where they nurture more refined suspicions of their neighbors. Their homes become little foreign countries unto themselves, with entirely unique dietary, sleeping, and media-consumption regimes. Being a helicopter parent now implies the duty to exfiltrate your child at 10:30 or midnight from a “late-over” rather than allow them the danger of a sleepover.
Negotiations with other households are just too exhausting. Parent 1: Oh, our child only eats Kraft Mac & Cheese, not homemade. He wants to bring his iPad and watch HBO Max. I let him watch whatever, LOL. Parent 2: Ah, well ours only eats Annie’s Mac & Cheese, or prepared food from Trader Joe’s. He uses his one hour of screen time to watch episodes of Octonauts that I’ve screened beforehand. Also, the third and fourth members of our polycule will be sleeping over with my spouse and me that night, is that okay? Parent 3: People still eat carbs from cardboard boxes? No wonder the frogs are turning gay. My child eats offal. I put him in blue-light-blocking sunglasses at 6:30 p.m. to help his circadian rhythm settle down. We shut off the electricity at the circuit-breaker box at 8 p.m. to avoid “dirty electricity.”
Sleepovers were a crucial part of the social ecology of my own childhood. They forced you to deal tolerably with another household’s routines and taboos, helpfully putting your own in perspective. It was just another one of those little, easy, horizon-expanding experiences. It was at sleepovers where I saw how brothers fight and still love each other, or found out what it might be like to keep a bird as a pet. There were other less-flattering glimpses into what other families were like. At the edges, the culture of sleepovers as a matter of course among so many of my friends provided weekend escapes or respites for children in unhappier homes, or adolescents who were suffering a strained relationship with their siblings or parents.
It’s actually a good thing for children to learn how to manage without Mommy for a night, or to get an idea of living to different standards, whether you perceive them as lower, higher, or just different. It’s good to learn what it’s like to sleep in a sleeping bag. Or how to say no to friends who try to pressure you into something stupid. Or how to ask forgiveness when they do and you do it. Or how to consume a meal you don’t like and express gratitude for the people who prepared it for you.
All of this is true, but as usual, we’re letting the most neurotic 10% of upper-middle-class women set the agenda. And that never goes well.
I always had to at least meet the parents of the kid my son(s) were spending the night with. Most of them I already knew through youth sports. Always thought it was a little weird when some kid I didn't know would show up at the house and then later on my guys would ask if he could spend the night. I always made the kid call his parents first and the I'd talk with them on the phone. I never let my kids spend the night with some people I didn't even know and had never spoken to.
I knew the parents that my kids were staying with. The unannounced spend overs were once they had their driver's licenses. My kids would have to call and tell me where they were spending the night. I knew the other kids spending over unannounced, have no idea what they told their parents. Didn't need to be woken up at 2:00 in the morning for my daughter to tell me some of the kids from her basketball team were staying over.
Christ. I told my parents I was spending the night somewhere and then would go off and drink beer in the woods or chase girls downtown.
The good ol days, where you told the parents you were headed to a friend's house, then you'd come home three days later after "checking-in" just once a day with a phone call. Only God and a few strippers at the Lusty Lady a few brave souls knew what you were really up to that whole time.
Hell, I was always happy to have my kids spend nights away from us and later we were always waking up with extra kids in the bonus room. I think my kids were the last of the free rangers.
21ST CENTURY PARENTING: Canceling the Sleepover: Americans need to make a practice of fearing each other less.
Almost any Millennial internet user will have been targeted by a meme that roughly says, “It’s Friday night. Mom just put Totino’s Pizza Rolls in the oven. Your best friends are sleeping over, and you will all play GoldenEye on Nintendo 64. Life will never be better than this.”
It’s not true, of course. The hedonic pleasures of staying up too late, mainlining Pizza Rolls with Mountain Dew, and passing out on the living-room floor are nothing compared to what most adults regularly arrange for themselves. And yet, nostalgia started to sneak up on me when the Washington Post informed me that sleepovers are now controversial among parents. . . .
In other words, Americans no longer assume they share values with their peers in their actual communities. And so they continue to withdraw from one another into ever-more-elaborately curated virtual communities, where they nurture more refined suspicions of their neighbors. Their homes become little foreign countries unto themselves, with entirely unique dietary, sleeping, and media-consumption regimes. Being a helicopter parent now implies the duty to exfiltrate your child at 10:30 or midnight from a “late-over” rather than allow them the danger of a sleepover.
Negotiations with other households are just too exhausting. Parent 1: Oh, our child only eats Kraft Mac & Cheese, not homemade. He wants to bring his iPad and watch HBO Max. I let him watch whatever, LOL. Parent 2: Ah, well ours only eats Annie’s Mac & Cheese, or prepared food from Trader Joe’s. He uses his one hour of screen time to watch episodes of Octonauts that I’ve screened beforehand. Also, the third and fourth members of our polycule will be sleeping over with my spouse and me that night, is that okay? Parent 3: People still eat carbs from cardboard boxes? No wonder the frogs are turning gay. My child eats offal. I put him in blue-light-blocking sunglasses at 6:30 p.m. to help his circadian rhythm settle down. We shut off the electricity at the circuit-breaker box at 8 p.m. to avoid “dirty electricity.”
Sleepovers were a crucial part of the social ecology of my own childhood. They forced you to deal tolerably with another household’s routines and taboos, helpfully putting your own in perspective. It was just another one of those little, easy, horizon-expanding experiences. It was at sleepovers where I saw how brothers fight and still love each other, or found out what it might be like to keep a bird as a pet. There were other less-flattering glimpses into what other families were like. At the edges, the culture of sleepovers as a matter of course among so many of my friends provided weekend escapes or respites for children in unhappier homes, or adolescents who were suffering a strained relationship with their siblings or parents.
It’s actually a good thing for children to learn how to manage without Mommy for a night, or to get an idea of living to different standards, whether you perceive them as lower, higher, or just different. It’s good to learn what it’s like to sleep in a sleeping bag. Or how to say no to friends who try to pressure you into something stupid. Or how to ask forgiveness when they do and you do it. Or how to consume a meal you don’t like and express gratitude for the people who prepared it for you.
All of this is true, but as usual, we’re letting the most neurotic 10% of upper-middle-class women set the agenda. And that never goes well.
I always had to at least meet the parents of the kid my son(s) were spending the night with. Most of them I already knew through youth sports. Always thought it was a little weird when some kid I didn't know would show up at the house and then later on my guys would ask if he could spend the night. I always made the kid call his parents first and the I'd talk with them on the phone. I never let my kids spend the night with some people I didn't even know and had never spoken to.
Whitlock is going savage more and more often. I heard Dungy speaking today and nothing he said should trigger normal people. But we know the Left isn't the place to find normal people. Zirin is a prime example. FTG.
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21ST CENTURY PARENTING: Canceling the Sleepover: Americans need to make a practice of fearing each other less.
Almost any Millennial internet user will have been targeted by a meme that roughly says, “It’s Friday night. Mom just put Totino’s Pizza Rolls in the oven. Your best friends are sleeping over, and you will all play GoldenEye on Nintendo 64. Life will never be better than this.”
It’s not true, of course. The hedonic pleasures of staying up too late, mainlining Pizza Rolls with Mountain Dew, and passing out on the living-room floor are nothing compared to what most adults regularly arrange for themselves. And yet, nostalgia started to sneak up on me when the Washington Post informed me that sleepovers are now controversial among parents. . . .
In other words, Americans no longer assume they share values with their peers in their actual communities. And so they continue to withdraw from one another into ever-more-elaborately curated virtual communities, where they nurture more refined suspicions of their neighbors. Their homes become little foreign countries unto themselves, with entirely unique dietary, sleeping, and media-consumption regimes. Being a helicopter parent now implies the duty to exfiltrate your child at 10:30 or midnight from a “late-over” rather than allow them the danger of a sleepover.
Negotiations with other households are just too exhausting. Parent 1: Oh, our child only eats Kraft Mac & Cheese, not homemade. He wants to bring his iPad and watch HBO Max. I let him watch whatever, LOL. Parent 2: Ah, well ours only eats Annie’s Mac & Cheese, or prepared food from Trader Joe’s. He uses his one hour of screen time to watch episodes of Octonauts that I’ve screened beforehand. Also, the third and fourth members of our polycule will be sleeping over with my spouse and me that night, is that okay? Parent 3: People still eat carbs from cardboard boxes? No wonder the frogs are turning gay. My child eats offal. I put him in blue-light-blocking sunglasses at 6:30 p.m. to help his circadian rhythm settle down. We shut off the electricity at the circuit-breaker box at 8 p.m. to avoid “dirty electricity.”
Sleepovers were a crucial part of the social ecology of my own childhood. They forced you to deal tolerably with another household’s routines and taboos, helpfully putting your own in perspective. It was just another one of those little, easy, horizon-expanding experiences. It was at sleepovers where I saw how brothers fight and still love each other, or found out what it might be like to keep a bird as a pet. There were other less-flattering glimpses into what other families were like. At the edges, the culture of sleepovers as a matter of course among so many of my friends provided weekend escapes or respites for children in unhappier homes, or adolescents who were suffering a strained relationship with their siblings or parents.
It’s actually a good thing for children to learn how to manage without Mommy for a night, or to get an idea of living to different standards, whether you perceive them as lower, higher, or just different. It’s good to learn what it’s like to sleep in a sleeping bag. Or how to say no to friends who try to pressure you into something stupid. Or how to ask forgiveness when they do and you do it. Or how to consume a meal you don’t like and express gratitude for the people who prepared it for you.
All of this is true, but as usual, we’re letting the most neurotic 10% of upper-middle-class women set the agenda. And that never goes well.
a few strippers at the Lusty Ladya few brave souls knew what you were really up to that whole time.Go to 28:37 of this podcast link and listen to Victor Davis Hanson doing his impression of Fang Fang for about 6 minutes.
Fucking Hilarious.
Chinteresting.
Crowder is playing a dangerous game here unless he's got a backup offer in hand.
Adams is right here.
Fuck you, Barry.