The real world and how to hide it

I read a nice book last year called Simplicity Parenting, liked it very much, and one of its recommendations was to keep "the real world" away from your kids until they're old enough to handle it. Don't discuss world news with them when they're 5. Don't tell them someone's sick and going to die if they don't need to know. Don't ask their opinion about your money problems. Sounds like a good idea, right?

In theory, sure. But in practice... Well, we almost never watch the news around them, and our discussions of news tend to be pretty boring (mostly criticisms of Republicans). But then there are children's books. I got a book out of the library for them last week about fire fighting, since they love fire trucks and firefighters. I didn't look at it very closely. Turns out the book (Hotshots by Chris Demarest) is actually very scary. It has beautiful pictures of a fire being started by sparks from a train -- in an area that looks very much like California. Then the fire grows enormous and spreads and burns down houses. Baby A wants to hear it every night. Baby B is clearly frightened by it. The whole time I'm reading it he's murmuring "Fire is scary." I think it's going to be due next week (2 weeks early) and I'll look more closely at what I'm checking out next time.

When we go out and about on all our road trips we often encounter "the real world" and it's a bit hard to keep it away from the boys. Especially since I don't think on my feet very well. For example, a few weeks ago we visited the ghost town of Ballarat, which is in the Panamint Valley, on the road to Death Valley. It was hot and barren. Here we are having root beer and water outside the Ballarat Store.

Rocket Boy and I discussed the fact that the Manson gang hid out near Ballarat at one time, and their old truck is still in the middle of town, rusting away. That was probably OK, since we didn't mention what the Manson gang was known for. But then we wandered over to the Ballarat cemetery. Here they are looking at the grave of Seldom Seen Slim, a famous prospector from the area:

The grave had some mementos on it -- an empty whisky bottle, and a hat, and a lot of coins that people apparently throw on it -- maybe like a desert wishing well? The boys were messing around trying to grab the coins through the bars and I scolded them, telling them that this was a grave and they shouldn't mess with it. "What's a grave, Mommy?" "A grave is where they bury a dead person. There's a dead person right under the dirt here." Eyes widen. Oops. We quickly leave.

On the home front, we have learned that our rental house is going into foreclosure soon, and Rocket Boy and I have discussed this at length in the boys' hearing. It's not really a crisis for us, more of an intense irritation, because we don't want to sign another 12-month lease in Ridgecrest (we're month to month in this house), nor do we want to move WITHIN Ridgecrest -- we want to move AWAY FROM Ridgecrest. But if we have to, we will.

But for the boys? This is their home. I doubt whether they have any memories of the Boulder house -- we moved here when they were 11 months old and have only been back once for a few days. So for them the thought of losing their only home must be very upsetting. On the other hand, maybe our talk is preparing them, because it looks like a move is inevitable -- we just keep hoping Rocket Boy will find a new job elsewhere before we have to leave the house.

So I don't know how you keep the real world away from little kids. We could probably try a little harder! But it does seem to creep back in...