Dan and I are not good at Netflix. We put a bunch of stuff in our queue and forget about it until we’re ready to watch a movie. Then we open up the red envelope and find that we’ve gotten some lame, stupid movie that neither of us admits to actually adding to our queue. When I’m stressed or anxious, we always end up with something scary or action-packed. When we’re feeling romantic, we end up with a kids’ movie. We cannot plan it right to save our lives.

In the last month we’ve sent back several movies without ever watching them. I even pulled one movie out of the envelope at the mailbox, took one look at it, put it back in the mailbox and lifted the little red flag. So, when Little House on the Prairie, Season One arrived a couple of weeks ago, I almost did the same thing. I loved the show as a kid, almost to the point of obsession, talking like Laura, dressing like Laura (my mom made me the complete outfit, bonnet and all), pretending in all ways that I WAS Laura Ingalls Wilder.

Lately Magoo’s been teaching us a lot. He watches Dinosaur Train on PBS and then quizzes us on the food preferences of the various extinct species. He likes to teach me -- repeatedly -- to count to 10 using his fingers, toes, sticks and whatever else is available. He feels it imperative that I learn this important math skill. I’m not sure quite how to prove to him that I’ve pretty much mastered it already.

But his lessons are not always just about facts. Sometimes they’re about lifestyle and behavior.

My four-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Corrie, has an imaginary friend named Katie Mexico. Katie lives in our house, joined occasionally by her brother Mel Mexico (he tends to be in and out -- a vagabond imaginary friend, if you will). Katie may be simply a figment of my daughter’s charming imagination, but she is also wearing me out.

(Before I explain further, let me clear up that I am sympathetic to the importance of imaginary friends -- I had one as a child, too. Her name was Tonya, and she wore a dress remarkably similar to that of Scooby Doo’s Daphne. Come to think of it, she was often joined by her brother, Kimmy-ko, who tended to stop by only occasionally. I guess transient imaginary siblings must run in the family.)

I remember enjoying my “talks” with Tonya, and I remember how much fun it was to have a playmate who operated entirely by the dictates of my own imagination. So when Katie Mexico joined our family, I welcomed her.

Some days I rue the fact that I’m raising children in the digital age, with a seemingly endless range of cyber-dangers looming on the horizon. It overwhelms me, sometimes, and I’d like to herd them into a remote cave where they can only encounter well-mannered unicorns and butterflies who do not have Internet access. It’s a nice dream.

At the same time, though, there are plenty of days when I feel thankful that I can Facebook with my kids’ teachers, check the school lunch menu online, and send a cell phone with a kid on a sleepover. It’s a trade-off, I suppose. The digital age may be introducing new parenting challenges, but it’s also introducing new tools.

It seems like every other month or so my son decides to spend time in the Little Imp Gym, working out his "NO!" muscle and running Escape from Mommy sprints. I don't know what it is -- Grandma Withdrawal Syndrome since coming home from our trip? Just getting back to normal? The full moon? -- but Jack is currently experimenting with every button I have, trying to find out what happens when he pushes them all at the exact same time. I am trying to come up with a counterattack that doesn't bring CPS to my house.