Last month, for the millionth morning in a row, my kids popped out of bed begging for cartoons. While I poured my coffee, they cashed in their 30 minute TV “tokens,” grabbed the remote and ran to the couch. By the time I had poured the creamer, their bodies were already limp and their eyes fully glazed over. Just as the bright lights lulled them into the intended hypnotic state… the main event began: the commercials. Bouncing blonde children appeared like angels on high, beaming in their low rise jeans, thrilled to deliver the good news…apparently my children only required the latest transformer and hot pink scooter in order to be happy and cool! Hallelujah! And without averting their eyes from the screen my angels began their chorus….“Mommy, I don’t have…” Mommy, I want…” “Mommy, Sarah has…” More coffee, please.

Later, Tish squealed when she caught a glimpse of the “All New Dora Shopping Cart” at the grocery store. On closer inspection, we discovered that the cart played a constant reel of cartoons and commercials. I allowed her to climb in because grocery trips are so painful when she’s alert, and the cart seemed a lovely solution. As I shopped, the silence from Tish started feeling stranger and stranger, like she wasn’t there with me at all, which I supposed was the point of the Dora cart. I only heard her voice once, when she said while pointing to the screen, “Mommy, can we buy these fruit snacks? PLEASE?” “No,” I said, “those are not healthy.” “Yes they are,” she insisted,” The TV SAID THEY ARE!” And I realized that while I’d been busy shopping, Kelloggs had been busy courting and retaining a business partner in my 3 year old daughter. Impressive, really.

After naptime we took Chase to his friend’s house and drove to Tish’s well check. Since there was nowhere else to look, we spent our time in the pediatrician’s waiting room allowing a Disney movie, Peter Pan, to creep its way good and deep into our psyche. In the first scene, Tinkerbell checked her bottom in a mirror and then shook with fairy frustration at its perceived hugeness. For the rest of our wait, we were treated to scene after scene in which Wendy, Tiger Lilly, and Tink tried to kill each other to become the last woman standing and win Peter’s affection. Sadly for the ladies, Peter was too busy having exciting adventures to notice their efforts. Tish was captivated, and only tore herself away once to say “Mommy, I really want to be a fairy when I grow up.” I sighed wearily in her direction but also felt mildly pleased that I had finally discovered where the “Rock of Love” producers got their inspiration. While I contemplated asking the Disney family to pay Tish’s future therapy bills, we were called back for our check up. Since I heroically resisted the urge to answer the doctor’s “how are we feeling today?” with “quite misogynistic, thanks!” we were declared relatively well, and we headed out to pick up Chase.

When we arrived at Chase’s buddy’s house, I expected to find them outside playing, since it was a beautiful day. But instead I was led down to the basement to find them in a semi-dark room, looking not at each other, but at a screen, talking not to each other, but to the screen…as they patiently waited their turn to hold the controller to the video game that they were playing. And I took a deep breath and wished hard and deep that they were really playing. And then I finally realized my problem: theywere really playing. This is what the new “playing” looks like. It looks like moving your thumbs while watching TV next to a buddy.

And as soon as we got home, Chase and Tish started begging for a cartoon, because they’d had a long day and they were tired. And I regretfully realized that our day had become a maddening version of “If you give a pig a pancake” renamed, “If you show a child a flat screen…” Suddenly my mommy volcano that had been bubbling all day exploded, and I started ranting about how the screens were rotting their brains and imaginations and souls. And Chase and Tish looked at me just like I would look at someone who brought a blender of margaritas in my house, set it on my counter, and then yelled at me for wanting to drink it.

After dinner that night I rushed through the kids’ bedtime routines because I was exhausted, depressed and just plain desperate to fast forward to my evening routine. Which consists of spending the only two quiet hours of my life inviting ladies with Stepford smiles to deliver to me the good news…that all I require to finally achieve happiness and coolness is the latest cold cream or handbag or diet pill or house or fabric softener. And I started considering my body, my home, and my closet and felt discontent with what I had, because I started to confuse what I have with who I am. Which of course, is the whole point. And so I marched to my minivan with all the other ants (we all do it the same way) and drove to the mall, to numb my restless lessness with some bulimic shopping. I binged on new jeans and throw pillows and Gymboree bows, and felt high for awhile, but then guilty. So I resolved to puke most of it back up by returning it the next morning. And ultimately I ended up back on the couch, not feeling much happier or cooler at all, really. Just tired. So I turned on the TV…

“If you give an exhausted mom a reality show…”

During dinner the next night, we said to the kids, “Our family time is very important, and we want to spend it wisely and carefully. We’re not sure the TV is the best use of our time, so, for now, it’s gone.” We braced ourselves for hysterics. Instead we got, “Oh, ok. That’s weird. What’s for desert?” It was no big deal to them then, and it isn’t now- it’s their new normal. A week after our dinner announcement Chase said, “Mommy, without the TV I’m bored.” I expressed what a fortuitous delight it was that he didn’t have enough to do because I had too much to do… and I handed him the broom and some Windex and told him to go clean his bathroom. Look mommy, no more bored! Now they look to each other to figure out what to do next. Their reward for a long day at school is to build forts, play outside, or lie around and stare at the walls and sigh together. They are learning much earlier than I did that boredom is the place creativity begins.

I’ve never been comfortable with silence. I spend much of my day wishing for peace and quiet, and then as soon as it presents itself, I kill it with noise. I turn on the TV, the radio, the computer…anything not to be left alone with myself. When we got rid of the TV, I decided to actually give peace and quiet a chance. And in these periods of stillness I have discovered another life – a creative, reflective, spiritual life which is now layered on top of my daily existence as a mother. It’s when I am able to transcend the immediate and urgent needs of my kids and home and allow God to take my thoughts wherever He wants them to go, uninterrupted. It’s when I listen for and hear His voice. For me, the danger of constant input is that in the absence of that still small voice, any voice will do. So these days when the kids are off playing, when I’m doing the dishes, in the early morning and late evening… I discipline myself to keep everything off and just be for awhile. And sometimes I actually get some of that peace I’m always chasing.

Craig agrees that life without the TV is more peaceful. He reads more, and worries less…he’s discovered that our 401ks will be the same whether or not we allow our hearts to rise and fall with the Dow Jones. He’s proud that we, along with the Amish, seem to be the only Americans who didn’t know a single detail about Michael Jackson’s funeral. He also tells me that he feels closer to me lately. Like the kids, we have to depend on each other now for entertainment. He does note a few flaws in our experiment thus far. Our credit card bills suggest that my shopping habit hasn’t changed yet… so I ask him for patience, hoping that it just takes time to detoxify the ego and soul and to redirect the minivan’s trajectory. He also mentions that we don’t seem to be having all that frequent hippy sex that was predicted. When he removed the TV from the wall, he couldn’t commit to putting it away for good, so he slid it underneath our bed. Craig and the TV hang out in our bedroom together a lot, dreaming of their glory days and wishing someone would come in and turn them on.