As a child of the ‘90s, I was able to experience many amazing events. I was born in 1991, which allowed me to experience the majority of the glorious decade. Iconic images and memories such as O.J. Simpson’s white Bronco, Bill “I did not have sexual relations” Clinton, the “Rachel” haircut and that lovely piercing sound your computer’s dial-up Internet made all come to mind. It’s one thing to have lived through the ‘90s, but to have grown up in it is a whole other story.

Kids of the ‘90s are the last of the simple generations. It was a nostalgic time and the calm before the technological storm, if you will. The ‘90s were the years just before the peak of the advent of the smartphones and most importantly, social networking. Children today don’t zip around on their bikes or rollerblades or Razor scooters. They don’t play with their Skip-Its or Bopits or Super Soakers. They’re too worried about Facebook, Instagram and tweeting . (No wonder the obesity epidemic is at an all-time high.) Even my 7-year-old cousin has a cell phone (I was barely eating solid food when I was seven). Back in my day, the only time I went on a computer was to play “The Oregon Trail” at school.

Let’s take a trip down memory lane and remember what it was like to grow up as a child of the 1990s.

Waking up, your alarm radio goes off and it’s set to Radio Disney. Lou Bega’s classic, “Mambo No. 5” wakes you up, and with lyrics like “A little bit of Monica in my life, a little bit of Erica by my side.” It was the perfect song for every 8-year-old to wake up to at 7 a.m. You’re so tired, if anyone tries to talk to you, you hold your hand up and demand they talk to it. Sometimes—if you’re feeling sassy—you tell someone to “talk to the booty, because the hand’s off duty” (My dad didn’t like that one very much).

Depending on the day, you either wore a baby doll sunflower dress with Dr. Marten boots or denim overall shorts with Kurt Cobain-inspired flannel tied around your waist. You were “da’ bomb.” Moms made Eggo Waffles or Reese’s Puffs for breakfast because there’s nothing better than a child consuming 5,000 milligrams of sugar before 8 a.m.

School’s a bore, but it’s alright, because you were “Saved by the Bell,” and it’s time to go home to watch some after-school television shows. For 22 minutes at a time, you were glued to your television set, watching Helga Pataki pine over that lovable football-head, Arnold. Tommy Pickles and the Rugrats gang get into trouble and Rocko, everyone’s favorite wallaby, lived his modern life. Weekday shows were fun, but the weekend lineup was “all that and a bag of chips,” with Friday’s TGIF and Saturday’s SNICK. Every girl wanted to be Topanga Lawrence and every boy wanted to be with Topanga Lawrence. And forget In-n-Out, the 1990s were all about Good Burger. (Home of the Good Burger. Can I take your order?)

After you finish watching TV and your homework is done, you’ve run out of things to do, right? As Cher Horowitz from “Clueless” would say, “As if!” Your best friend wants a play date and you ride your scooters around until it gets dark. When it’s time to come in, you turn on your boom box, play your favorite boy band, (raise the roof if you were an N*SYNC fan!) take out your “microphone” (hairbrush) and belt your favorite tunes.

When you’re out of breath from all that popping and locking, you do something requiring less effort: Play with your Furbies, Beanie Babies, Tamagotchi’s and Koosh Balls. You could also play M*A*S*H* or make a cootie catcher if you were feeling frisky and wanted to know about your future. Because if there’s anything that can predict your future, it’s randomly picking numbers and colors.

Finally, the day comes to a close and of course you can’t sleep because you’re hyped up on the sugar that you consumed throughout the day, but you’re excited to sleep because you get to do it all again.

If you’re still confused and don’t know if you were a true child of the ‘90s, take my foolproof test: If you know who loves orange soda, if you still think there’s a chance that Jack and Rose could have both floated on that wooden door together, if you still wish it was acceptable to write with your gel pens and Mr. Smelly Markers in your Lisa Frank notebook and you wish Britney and Justin were still together, you are a true child of the ‘90s.