Tagged With kids

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If you have a baby, and if something is wrong with that baby (something always seems wrong), somebody will suggest that you take your baby to a chiropractor. Perhaps you will hear this recommendation even when nothing is wrong. Friends, do not take your baby to the chiropractor.

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It's easy to conclude that people generally suck. Don't they, though? There's the driver who cut you off, the lady who appears out of nowhere to swipe the last free sample off the tray when you've been waiting patiently in line, the "friend" who's forgotten your birthday three years in a row. I get why we'd assume others just aren't trying.

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How we feel about our bodies - and how we treat them - is influenced by many different factors, but one of the biggest is how we were raised. As a longtime fat activist, I have heard tons of stories about well-meaning parents who'd talk about food choices in terms of weight loss rather than nutrition, or exercise as a moral imperative rather than a fun way to spend time. And their children grew up to develop harmful attitudes and behaviours because of it.

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When I was a child there weren't many options for entertainment after school or on weekends: I could walk to a friend's house. I could watch TV on our 13 fuzzy channels. Or I could read. And so I read, and read, and read -- hours and even whole days would pass with no interruptions. I didn't have any choice but to concentrate.

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As parents, you often hear about life's great injustices:

"While I was drawing, his elbow moved my hand so now my princess has a moustache!"

"She moved eight spaces instead of seven! I saw it with my own eyes."

"He ate the last lolly even though I had written on the box, 'Do not eat the last lolly!'"

You're expected to mediate, to help find a solution -- for the 17th time this morning. No more, you say. It's time call in an unbiased third party.

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What happens if your picky-eating child doesn't grow out of it? What if you're begging a 15-year-old to just taste a green vegetable? After all, by the time they're adolescents, kids have spending money, autonomy, and access to plenty of junk food. So what is a parent supposed to do when the strategies they used when the kid was six simply don't work anymore?

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There are plenty of accounts from dismayed parents about how they're losing their kids to Fortnite, the wildly popular video game that's consuming kids' days, destroying some schools and spawning neighbourhood support groups. Less hyperbolic, but just as concerning, are the the reports from mums and dads who are losing actual cash because their young players made in-game purchases without them knowing.

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"Please help me find a replacement for a lost 'best friend'," a person who goes by piper2010cameron wrote in an online post. "I have searched everywhere." The description of the missing companion: A tiny stuffed tiger with orange and black stripes, a small triangular nose, and a fuzzy white belly. And then there came this heartbreaking line: "My poor kiddo has been asking why 'Itsy Bitsy' hasn't come home and it kills me."

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If you are a parent and have been suddenly thrust into the world of kids' music, I am sorry. Most of the stuff out there is mind-numbingly bad. Nobody wants to hear Alvin and the Chipmunks singing, "Hot body, rock the party," or another rendition of "Finger Family", or a tune about a kid who brought home a baby bumblebee and then ate it (why?). And after five years and about a gazillion replays in my house alone, can we finally let "Let It Go" go? 

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All day, every day, the struggles your kids face are real. And you can bet they will let you know about those said struggles. Maybe they can't figure out a homework problem. Or how to place the correct arm into the correct armhole of a jacket. Or maybe the moat of their LEGO palace does not look like the picture, and therefore it's all wrong, all of it.

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I know, chores are chores. But take it from Mary Poppins, the O.G. Supernanny: "In every job that must be done, there is an element of fun." To save yourself from the drudgery of daily household maintenance, you must find that element.

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While not everyone was thrilled about the fidget spinner explosion of 2017, one thing it did bring is more awareness about tactile aides for kids with ADHD, autism and other disorders, or those who may simply be feeling overstimulated and anxious. There are all kinds of items that occupational therapists keep in their tool bags to help children calm down and stay focused.

Here are five products that parents say have made a big difference in their kids' lives.

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You may have taken the quiz as a child: What type of learner are you? You'd answer questions such as, "When you see the word cat, are you more likely to a) picture a cat in your head, b) say the word 'cat' to yourself, or c) imagine yourself physically petting a cat?" Once you made your selections, your so-called learning style would be revealed. Congrats! You're a visual, auditory or kinesthetic learner!

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The University of Florida Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature has a digital archive of 6000 children's books from the 19th and early 20th century, all free to read online. A redditor discovered the treasure and shared it it Reddit's Books community. Fans of history and children's literature will be delighted to click through the pages of titles such as Aesop's Fables, The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe and Grimm's Fairy Tales - and share them with their kids.

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It would be terrifying if baby wipes caused food allergies, right? Good thing we have zero evidence of that (phew). A recent study was reported as if this is the answer to why everybody's allergic to peanuts, but guess what? The study didn't prove that. And it didn't involve baby wipes. It didn't even involve (human) babies.

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There's a lot of advice about giving your kid a credit card. Find one with a low interest rate. Don't cosign for the card because you might ruin your own credit. Make it extremely clear to them that yes, it's real money and yes, they must pay it back on time and in full.

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I remember the moment my mother brought home our first chick, Victoria, better than I remember most of my birthdays. It was a warm, spring afternoon, and we came home from school to find my mother had finally started the flock she'd been wanting for so long. Looking at the downy fluff of Victoria's body and her scrawny, dinosaur legs, it occurred to me then, as an eight-year-old, that I'd never really observed a bird up close before. Birds were probably my least favourite creatures, what with their beady eyes and sharp beaks, but Victoria was something else. She chirped in her sleep and made a mess of her water bowl and responded to treats just like all the puppies I'd loved before her.