Summary

A mother attempts to reduce her family's screen time during the pandemic by implementing a weekly digital detox, only to be challenged by her son's clever counteroffer that exposes her own screen addiction.

Abstract

The author, a mother of three boys, describes her growing concern over her family's increased screen time due to the pandemic. With virtual schooling, video games, and the need to stay connected, screens have become a constant presence. Recognizing the addictive nature of screens, especially for her sons with ADHD, she proposes a weekly "digital break" from all devices. However, her oldest son, Matias, negotiates a deal where she must pay them if she uses a screen during the detox day. The mother quickly realizes her dependency on her phone for daily tasks and is humorously outsmarted by her son, who catches her using her phone multiple times, leading to an unexpected financial cost. Despite the setback, the family continues the digital detox challenge, with the son seeing it as an opportunity to earn money for a bow and arrow.

Opinions

The author acknowledges the irony of her own screen addiction while trying to enforce a digital detox for her children.
She expresses concern about the negative impact of excessive screen time on her children, particularly due to their ADHD.
The author's son, Matias, is portrayed as clever and perceptive, turning the digital detox into a game that benefits him financially.
The article suggests that the mother may have underestimated her screen dependency and the challenge of disconnecting, even for a day.
There is a humorous undertone to the mother's realization of her addiction and her son's savvy in capitalizing on it.
The family's digital detox experiment is ongoing, with the son showing interest in continuing for his own gain, indicating a potential shift in the family's screen habits.

I Tried to Unplug My Family From Devices for One Day

Learn from my attempts to disconnect

Photo courtesy of Ketut Subiyanto from Pexels

Like so many parents, I am worried about my sons’ screen use. Up until March, my sons Matias (9) and Tomas (7) watched 1–2 hours a week of PBS kids-mostly Wild Kratts, and Odd Squad. Our youngest son (3) almost never saw a screen.

Seven months deep into a pandemic, between virtual school, newly-negotiated video game time, and staying connected to friends and family, I feel like every part of our day is undergirded by some sort of shiny device. Screens are our not so silent chaperones. My smartphone is basically part of the family.

Turns out, screens are twice as addictive as sugar. Use a little bit and crave more. Almost every daily life activity is improved with a heaping dose of shiny, digital stimulation. And our boys have ADHD, which makes the input of screens even more compelling.

Photo courtesy of Andrea Piacquadio from Pexels

With no end of the pandemic in sight, and the start of the gray, rainy season dampening their outdoor play here in the PNW, I took stock a couple of weeks back. Inspired by a recent post I had read on the importance of disconnecting from our devices, I decided it was time for a digital break.

I introduced the idea of taking a day off screens every week, at dinnertime while my son’s mouths were full of our first autumn estufado of beans, squash and sausage. My boys burst into protest, jabbing the air with their spoons. They gasped against the tyranny, “A whole day? What will we do?”

Well, their response only cemented my decision. I took a deep breath and waited out the shrieking. And then, Matias, my oldest, fell quiet.

“OK, mom,” he said, leaning forward and wagging his spoon at me, “We will take a day off screens on one condition.”

That, of course, should have made the hairs stand up on my arms right away. Matias is deceptively perceptive of what happens around him. His insights have shocked me into silence in the past. However, I was just glad he was playing into my plan.

Photo by August de Richelieu from Pexels

“Of course,” I casually spooned some stew into my mouth.

“Every time you touch a screen, we get three dollars.” He smiled his cat-ate-the-cream smile which again, really should have been my clue. It is the smile he makes during a chess game with me that indicates he is holding back from a move so that the game will last longer.

Well, the nerve, I thought, trying to turn the tables on me.

“You’re on, buddy,” I narrowed my eyes at all three of my offspring across the table. The test of willpower was about to being. They had no idea who they were messing with.

When the Saturday morning sun washed over my face, I rolled over and reached for…my phone…past my slumbering husband, of course. As my hands wrapped around the sturdy (three boys, remember?) protective case and cold plastic face, I jolted awake. Time to start the day.

I checked the time: 7:00 AM. I could get a run in, do some writing, knock out some laundry. Drink these blissful minutes of silence in.

It was only while sitting up in bed, deeply sidetracked into Facebook, that I realized that I was doing all of this planning, time checking, looking for music, on my phone. Dumbfounded, I started at the device in my hands. How did one do all these functions without a phone again?

Photo courtesy of Artem Beliaikin from Pexels

No matter. My kids were still asleep. We would call that a dress rehearsal. I was parenting in a pandemic. I deserved some grace.

I slipped out of bed, and walked barefoot to the kitchen. I would check the sourdough pancake dough and prep the ingredients — lay them out beside the bowl — for the kids to finish if they rose early and I was still running. Was it a teaspoon of vanilla?

I would just check.

“Mom!” Matias grinned from the doorway where he had snuck over to spy on me. Flustered, I looked up.

“Good morning sweetie,” I started. “What?”

“You owe me three dollars!”

What? The ungrateful child. I was making him pancakes. I glanced down, surprised to find my phone in my hands again. “But,” I sputtered to explain.

He threw back his head and cackled, throwing up his lanky, pre-adolescent arms in triumph. I just stood there, my face flushing, searching for a come-back.

But none came. Here was a person whose diaper I had once changed, smugly aware of, and laughing at, my screen-use addiction. Humbling didn’t even describe it.

Well, you can guess how the rest of the day went. We don’t need to get into specifics. Suffice it to say I actually snuck into the garage at one point to shoot off some urgent texts.

And yes, he did catch me.

Again.

At dinner time, still smarting at the costly adventure (we negotiated down to 12 dollars for the kids), I leaned back and watched my kids.

“So,” Matias casually started, “Should we do another digital break tomorrow? I want to earn some more money for that bow and arrow I am saving up for.”

Hmm, I wonder what the research has to say about raising a more humble, less sarcastic child.

Let’s just check in with Google.