More notes from the ‘Coronapocalypse’…
The Coronovirus Quarantine Chronicles continue in the Wilson household and around the world.
We have settled into a routine that includes cereal for breakfast and lunch and multiple snacks each day; an episode or two of a Netflix show at night as a family; the daddy going to work longer hours than before; and the momma doing all the household maintenance and projects while the teenagers skedaddle into various hidey holes with assorted electronics, knowing they will be tagged to help if they are within yelling distance of the momma.
Of course, we have a rule regarding devices.
Of course, that rule is only as good as the enforcement of it.
I have been walking a loop around my house and grounds for eight full weeks, on repeat: “It’s not screen time. Turn it off.”
We have struggled with the screen time issue for years — our boys with Minecraft and YouTube and our girls with a variety of cell-phone related apps, including but definitely not limited to the highly annoying (and a little worrisome) TikTok.
We didn’t let our kids have cell phones until they started driving, and even then, we hesitated because of the outrageous number of notifications, distractions, and potentially harmful activity accessed privately.
Last year, iPhone released screentime parental controls for kids’ phones and tablets; which we have liberally used. However, when my daughter’s car was totaled in a hit-and-run, I had just enforced a new “contact restriction” through the screen-time controls, and unbeknownst to me, her phone restricted all phone calls — even to me.
The girls have also found a few loopholes in the controls that allow them to spend all hours on their phones.
Additionally, the kids all use Chromebooks for education. But without supervision, the education quickly devolves into mindnumbing YouTube or Netflix.
One time, I tried locking all the devices in a rubbermaid box, secured by a threedigit coded lock.
The boys spent an hour and a half trying every single combination until they solved it. It took me two weeks to realize something was amiss. I was just chugging along with my momlife, pleased as punch that my boys were finding something besides screentime to amuse themselves and stay out of my hair.
But I was wrong. It was screen time. If they’re out of my hair, it’s always screentime.
It’s not that I’m negligent.
It’s just that they’re really crafty sinners epitomizing human nature.
They always ask, “Where are you going today, Mom? How long are you going to be gone?” I used to think it was sweet, but now I realize they want to know when they can safely sneak screen time.
I’ve also used router controls to limit the Internet, but they don’t always care if they have Internet! I’ve seen them repeatedly play the dinosaur jump on the Google page that says, “You don’t have Internet,” just to be computering.
Well, after quarantine months of literally doing nothing else except prying my children off their devices all. day. long., I bit the bullet and ordered a steel locking charging box designed for classroom use. After a tedious two hours of assembling 60+ screws and bolts of various sizes, beaming, I plugged in six chromebooks, three Dells, and the Wii, for good measure. I closed the doors, and turned the key.
I swear I heard the Hallelujah Chorus.
As I considered where to keep the key, I knew my kids would easily access the box if I simply added it to my keychain, kept unsupervised in my purse, hanging from the coat rack like the forbidden fruit.
My eyes landed on a teletie, and instantly, I knew. I would be wearing the Magic Key bracelet.
It’s been a dream.
I never take it off. I sometimes hear snippets of conversation between the boys conniving to steal it away from me, and yesterday, I received a text from my mother asking why my kids would need plaster of paris to copy a key.
Before I could respond, my phone buzzed again, and I read: “Poppy was offering to go to O’Reilly’s for them to get a duplicate.”
I nearly exploded out of my chair!
Fortunately, my parents smelled a rat when my son showed them an irregular key. Where, do you won-
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“The Marion Mom” By Dorothy Wilson The Marion Mom (cont.)
der, did they access that key, which I wear on my wrist at all times?
I was prepared to blame it on my husband, to whom I presented a second copy and asked him to keep at his office, but instead, he put it on his keychain, which lay carelessly on the kitchen counter all weekend.
However, as my eldest son walked past my screen just now, he smirked. “Get your facts straight, Mom,” he said. “I finessed it from your bag at the pool.”
I nearly caught him, he explained, when the clock reached 4 p.m. I gathered myself from the pool to unlock the box for their scheduled screentime, but he had not yet replaced the key. However, they worked together, one brother scrambling to replace it, and the other distracting me, so that I was none the wiser when I reached into my bag.
I told you they were crafty.
We are two days into this experiment of limited screentime. I’ve heard, “Mom, I’m bored!” about four hundred thousand times.
We’ve played two family board games, and I’ve seen them play together many more.
Two kids are currently cooking desserts in the kitchen.
The boys’ laundry was folded — by them — because I allowed them to watch an extra episode only if they folded at the same time.
Most importantly, I no longer feel guilty for taking time away from my role as Camp Director if I need to fix a toilet, a faucet, the bikes, or the vehicles; pay the bills, take a child to the doctor; pick up groceries; cook a meal; or write an article. (All true stories.) Stay tuned for updates, as I’m sure there will be some doozies. My son just told me he’s picked up a new hobby…
Lock-picking.
Dorothy Wilson lives in Marion with her husband Chris as they enjoy all the adventures life with their seven children brings. Her columns appear monthly in the Marion Ledger, with reprints in the online edition of The Evening Times.
