Anything for half an hour’s peace. It’s the motto of just about every parent ever.
Just give me a minute and okay, okay, you can have that thing you’ve been going on about since you got up.
In our house, that thing they want can be anything from a KitKat to a Ronaldo top.
Or a home-made explosion experiment made from eggs (just us?).
But mostly for my boys, it’s playing on an iPad.
You know how it is. You start the day with good intentions, wishing each other a good morning like you’re in the Waltons.
An hour in, it’s a different story.
You’ve cleaned the kitchen three times, opened a box of Weetabix the wrong way (on this note, cereal manufacturers need to sort out their packaging – there is no correct way to open it without a trail of crumbs), found out the vacuum cleaner isn’t working, broken up five arguments about who said what… and all you want is JUST A MINUTE’S PEACE.
And as if sensing this desperation, the small, familiar whine is heard.
“Please can I go on the iPad?”
“Yes,” you answer in gratitude to these small people offering you a lifeline which permits you to have a coffee and shower in peace, overlooking the ban that’s in place on devices and forgetting it’s there for a reason.
Because yesterday when they’d spent too long staring at some kids’ gaming guy on YouTube they went full zombie on you and had to be asked seven times before they’d do anything.
Boys will be boys – and iPads have their moments
Playing on iPads, or whatever a child might be lucky enough to have access to these days, has its merits if you’re a parent.
After a dose of exercise, running around a football or rugby pitch or a play at Camperdown, you can let them chill out guilt-free and crack on with whatever blows your hair back, in glorious peace.
🏴☠️❤️❤️❤️ Anyone here remember the ships at Camperdown Country Park, if so, did you call it "the pirate ships"?
📍 Camperdown Ships
📸 via Geograph-org / Creative Commons pic.twitter.com/f3ybH30QT5— Dundee Culture (@DundeeCulture) November 4, 2021
But that half hour can quickly slip into something more as you get a load of washing done, catch up on WhatsApp and eat half their stash of play pieces with no interruptions.
And in our house at least, there can easily be too much of a good thing.
A friend, whose husband is a doctor told me: “You know it uses the same part of the brain that’s stimulated when an adult uses cocaine?”
She wasn’t being preachy.
Like me, she has witnessed the all-consuming, addictive quality of the games and YouTube videos our kids are watching.
The more they have, the more they want.
And even the most placid child can show their other side when you tell them their screen time is up.
A smashing time was had by all
“That’s it,” I said last weekend. “Enough.”
Somehow, they knew I meant business.
The Voice was on TV. We sat and watched it as a family, laughing together at Will.i.am’s reactions and it was lovely.
Afterwards we made paper aeroplanes and watched them soar.
My heart swelled at the innocence of it all – that they were doing what generations had done before them, when the only kind of tablet on sale was delicious and sugary.
I know what you’re thinking. All very Little House on the Prairie.
Then came Sunday night. And the only vaguely family viewing on offer was the Antiques Road Show.
It’s fair to say it split the crowd. The oldest and youngest were entranced by the thought of finding things around the house that could be worth a fortune – while Chester declared it “the worst, most boring thing” he’d ever seen.
The natives became restless and a game of balloon tennis ensued.
At least they were off their screens, I thought, their wee brains unfrazzled before bed as they jumped to hit the balloon back and forward.
And then one over-zealous forehand resulted in a crash, followed by the sight of my favourite vase shattering on the floor.
It would never have happened if they’d been looking at a screen, the eldest said.
I told him that wasn’t the point. But not entirely convincingly.
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