When I had my twins, naptime for them meant naptime for me, and when exhaustion ebbed, that golden time grew into my time to read, think, contemplate … be. My daily mantra became, “Do not do when they sleep that which you can do when they wake.”
But now, none of my kids nap.
I have yet to find my way in this new morass of motherhood, and it has been an entire year since the youngest one, now fresh out of kindergarten, konked out for some afternoon ZZZs.
That I even have the luxury to consider this existential dilemma indicates that summertime has arrived, and with it, days upon days of personal free-time since I am a teacher.
The only problem is that my children are students, and they’re home too.
All day. Every day. For days on end.
Two summers ago, our kids maxed out on "Ruby and Max," "Little Bear" and "Dora the Explorer." The television, with all of its accompanying magic, glowed from the time they got up in the morning ‘til at least … ahem, noon, when not even I – a proclaimed night owl who lives for summer mornings when I can sleep in for three hours beyond the time I must wake during the school year – could justify its educational program delivery.
But alas, now they have outgrown not just "Sesame Street" but also all of the programs on Sprout and Nick Jr. which were commercial-free balm for my guilt complex.
The only child for whom this programming is age-appropriate is our 51/2-year-old, and even she supplies the answers to questions Dora and the Bubble Guppies ask before they tumble out of the cartoon characters' proverbial mouths. Meanwhile, our 8-year-old son – one of the twins – asks his father and me, I don’t know – about a gazillion questions per hour – about how the world works, ranging from yesterday’s chemistry quiz, “Where do vitamins come from and why do you take them?” to a range of riddles that would require me to hold a degree, not in fiction – although I sometimes feel that is what my answers are, so foggy is my memory on these curiosities – but in particle physics.
Sure, there are plenty of science channels, but their programs – if you haven’t noticed – are intended for adults, not even the most precocious of children. Our son is smart, but he’s not prodigal-smart. He needs an adult to help him make sense of Discovery Channel programming, which means the television now requires me to sit with him and watch, not turn it on and walk away.
Right now, the best moms among you (and who am I kidding? Those stopped reading paragraphs ago to answer the ding of the oven to bring out freshly-baked, organic brownies that you’re bringing with you on your fun-packed day to one of the numerous kids’ museums in our area, an idea I obviously yearn for, but mostly in theory) are probably thinking: “I can’t believe she uses the television as a babysitter!” But the more practical of moms – the more realistic, every-day-is-a-new-adventure, yes, but-also-a-new-challenge moms – are probably wondering, “Why the heck doesn’t she hand them the iPad?”
I guess the answer comes down to this: I already feel guilty about what I consider to be our over-reliance on screen-time through the anachronisms of cable television and the van’s DVD player; therefore, I have been slow to purchase more costly devices that would act as pacifiers for school-age children.
That, and my iPad broke about a week after I let the kids play on it.
Last year, my very child-savvy friend, Cindy, suggested that I make the kids earn their screen-time, and we set up a summer reading/skills-book regimen to do just that. Each morning, the house s silent as groggy children move from the kitchen counter after their breakfast to the couch, where they decamp to read for at least 30 minutes to an hour or to complete pages in their summer skills workbooks. This diligence earns them the equivalent time with the “glowing screen god.”
Man, that first hour of reading required self-discipline because it’s one thing to walk away from a roomful of children whose gaze is glued on the glowing box, but it’s another thing to walk away from a roomful of readers, not to mention those pesky kids who actually have questions about something in their summer skills book.
And did that second earned hour ever go by quickly. I barely made it through my cup of coffee, much less read or wrote anything beyond a grocery list or junk mail.
To get some "me" time, I have tried outsmarting my children by sacrificing sleep in the early morning hours, but it seems that my finger-tapping on the keys is a beacon for their awakening, because no matter how early I rise to barricade myself in my writing room, they sense I am up. If I could trick them into thinking I’m sleeping in my room when I’m really writing this column, maybe then … maybe then.
Until then, there is always the T.V.: it’s cheap, and it’s hard to break.
And in spite of the fact my son can quote, verbatim, entire commercials for endless junk advertised on Nickelodeon, the Hub, and the Disney Channel, it hasn’t proven too much of a health hazard yet. The glowing screen god just might spare Mommy’s sanity this summer, guilt or no guilt.
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