Consciously Luddite

Day 5 I realise this is probably not going to sell our new family rules but here goes. So far the kids have only asked for their devices a handful of times. Miss 8 began to whinge just once but changed her mind once she was reminded of our agreement. Mr 12 has suddenly become very invested in his dirt bike again. He’s barely ridden it for the past year unless we negotiate with him. He’s been on it this whole long weekend, of his own choice. However. As predicted, the kids have made their own fun. They’ve been creative, active and engaged. Unfortunately one of their ‘fun’ activities ended up with a visit to emergency for Mr 10. It involved a The Mannequin Challenge, a screwdriver and a nostril. I won’t glinting too much more detail except to say that Mr 10 is completely fine except for a tiny injury inside his nostril. Both boys are probably traumatised from trying to catch the bucketloads of blood cascading from said injury. I’m going to say they’ve both learnt a very scary les...

5:30am and Husband has rustled us all out of bed to ‘beat the traffic’ on the way to the farm. In the midst of us all stumbling about, the kids still manage to check the new rule’s parameters - can they play the Xbox at the farm? Does that count? Can they use the devices in the car? How long can they play their devices at the farm? That’s a no, kids. Same rules apply. So far we are all too tired to argue. Husband is threatening a MacDonalds’ breakfast, that no one likes except him. First failure - I’ve just bargained with the kids. They can have their hour in the car instead of at 4pm. Weirdly Mr 12 doesn’t want his. Miss 8 is also not using hers. Mr 10 used his for approximately 10 minutes. Mr 12 just puked. Into a paper bag. Which leaked. Everywhere. Kids arrived at the farm in one piece. All our friends arrived too with their kids in tow. They have all been jumping non stop on the trampoline and we’ve had surprisingly little whinging. Our friends are graciously accepting o...

Day One. 7am. My house is echoing with a relentless screaming. Not a great start. I get out of bed.... Wait. That sounds far too glamorous. ... I STAGGER from my bed and follow the screams to Mr 12's bedroom. Inside his room is Miss 8, screaming bloody murder as Mr 12 is unpacking a boardgame. Relieved that no one has, in fact, been tragically murdered, I query the screaming. Mr 12 has decided that in the absence of his Xbox, he's going to play a boardgame with Miss 8. Miss 8 is screaming because he's chosen HER boardgame and she doesn't trust him with it. Mr 10 is eating a bowl of cereal, oblivious to the drama going on at the other end of the house.  What a beginning. We get organised for the day and leave to visit the grandparents for a while. By lunchtime, the kids have happily played together for a total of about 10 minutes and Miss 8 has dissolved into tears to tell me that NO ONE WANTS TO PLAY WITH HER. Reflective thinking isn...

That title sounds very dark.  I've recently come to a decision to do something quite radical. Not radical as in facial tattooing, or travelling around the world in a combi with my cats. Something far scarier. About 4 months ago I cracked it. After an intense day at work, I returned home to find my house resembled something akin to a crime scene. There were clothes everywhere, broken objects, cups and plates overflowing on every available surface, including the ground. There were random branches and plant parts scattered about, the doors wide open, curtains billowing in the breeze.  My children were also scattered about, although completely whole and on their various devices. Mr 12 was on the Xbox playing the dreaded Fortnight. Mr 10 was on his iPod. Miss 8 was on her iPad.... ... And the dog was sitting happily in a next of twigs, shoes, dirty socks and cushions in the middle of it all. She was looking pretty fucking pleased with herself. In the centre of ...