Can I tell you about a moment that stopped me in my tracks?
One evening a while back, I looked up from my phone and really saw my living room. All of us were there — me, the kids, everybody home, everybody in the same room. And nobody was actually there. Three heads bent over three glowing screens, the only sound in the room the occasional tap-tap-tap of somebody's thumbs. We were together. And we were completely alone.
And yes, you caught that — I was scrolling too. I was probably the worst one.
Here's the thing nobody tells you: nobody remembers a scroll session. Not one. You will never look back and think, "Remember that amazing Tuesday I spent on Instagram?" But you will remember the things you did together with your phones face-down.
I know this because we've been doing them in this house since my kids were little. We started with Candy Land, back when the biggest drama in our lives was drawing the Plumpy card two spaces from the finish. Then came the Mario Kart on the Wii years — and friend, I mean daily. Once, snowed in with nowhere to go, we raced Rainbow Road for hours. Then the big-kid board game era: Monopoly (which should come with a family therapist), Clue, Scrabble. And the game of Life — oh, they loved Life. Something about spinning that wheel and loading little plastic children into a little plastic car never got old.
Then they became teenagers, and the tables turned. They decided it was time to teach me their games and activities. Learning to ride a scooter was interesting and I ultimately became quote good at that. As for games, it was Minecraft, mostly. I gave it a real, honest try. I would love to tell you I got the hang of it.
I did not get the hang of it.
But here's what I figured out somewhere between falling into virtual lava for the tenth time: it was never about the game. It was about the choosing. Every one of those nights — whether I was winning at Scrabble or being gently mocked for my Minecraft skills — was a night we picked each other over the scroll.
And here's the part that makes my heart do a little squeeze: it stuck. My kids are in college now, and when they come home, they're the ones asking. "Mom, want to play pickleball?" "Mom, want to watch our show?" Every now and then, somebody even pulls out a board game. The activity keeps changing. The choosing hasn't.
So that's my challenge for both of us this week: pick one night. Just one. Phones in a basket, in a drawer, in another zip code, wherever. Then do whatever activity your people will actually tolerate — a board game, a walk, a show you watch together (commentary encouraged), shooting hoops in the driveway. It doesn't matter what it is, as long as it's off your phones. It will feel awkward for about eleven minutes. Someone will sigh dramatically. Push through.
Because at the end of it all, you won't remember what you scrolled past. But your kid will remember the night Mom flipped the Monopoly board. And honestly? So will you.
Putting the phone down and getting one step closer to balance,
Betty
