That’s what’s happening in my house right now.
The name is a little misleading because we’re not *technically* unplugged. We didn’t give up the internet or texting or Netflix – we’re not savages, after all.
It’s more like Summer, Logged Off.
Or Summer, Uninstalled.
See, we have uninstalled every* app, logged off of every website, and given up social media for the duration of summer break.
We have unplugged ourselves from our phones.
I know, right? Weird.
I gotta admit, I expected it to be awful. I was not looking forward to taking my last scroll through Facebook, so I put it off as late on the first day as possible. The Family Uninstalling Meeting didn’t happen until 8:30 p.m.
Then, like the old woman I am, I went to bed.
Scared. Anxious. Worried about what kind of attitudes I would face in the coming days.
The outright whines about boredom.
The incessant begging to just reinstall *one* app with a promise to check it only once a day.
And that was just from me. I couldn’t bear to think about how the kids were gonna respond.
But then I woke up the next day and started on my new morning routine. Instead of scrolling through Facebook while I drank my morning coffee, I sat in my writing chair where I had laid out my Bible, notebook, and newly-started bullet journal the night before.
I read, wrote, and, while my early-risers ran in and out of my room, I even put on some worship music and prayed.
Over the summer.
Over my kids.
Over this crazy thing we’re doing that is definitely not the easy thing and you know what, God? I LIKE easy. Easy is my favorite. It sits right alongside “comfortable” on my list of “How I Want My Summer to Be.”
Those are the only two things on that list, by the way. Easy and Comfortable.
But there was no voice from Heaven that thundered, “You’re right, daughter, easy is better.”
There was no ghostly hand writing on the wall, “Reinstall, it’s fine.”
No still small voice that whispered, “You can plug back in. You don’t need to see your children’s faces over summer break anyway.”
I stared at the wall for a while longer than necessary, just in case, though. Even opened and unlocked my phone several times just to check if maybe God had sent me text or a Godbook notification.
So the day must begin.
I joined the boys in the living room to find that my youngest and oldest kids were playing together (without being told to do so?! Not likely, but there they were), building block towers to run down with an RC tank.
Tyler wasn’t on the computer where he spends 97% of his time simultaneously playing video games, watching YouTube, and trolling Amazon for computer equipment none of us can afford.
Ben wasn’t glued to the TV because it’s the only human interaction he can get that early in the morning.
Bren was still in bed, of course, because it was barely 8 a.m. (and she’s the least savage of all of us).
I decided to start a puzzle (“Mom! I don’t want to do puzzles all summer. Puzzles are stupid. I am NOT going to do puzzles!” – Bren, the night before) which I later rage-quit because those stupid pieces didn’t even fit together and who’s idea was this anyway?!?
But before I became aware that the puzzle was fundamentally flawed, both older kids were helping me and we were actually having a great time.
Then it was time to run errands and go to lunch with my mom, and I made them all go (an expensive diversion that included a trip to Hobby Lobby to stock up on creativity supplies) and we had a great time doing that too.
Yesterday I worked on my computer in the morning while Bren drew and Ty worked on a model airplane.
Today we spent the morning cuddled under blankets watching episodes of The X Files and Lie to Me.
And you know what? Both of those things were great too.
*Tyler still posts on his Instagram account because he has a legitimate nerd-page with over 1000 nerd-followers he cannot disappoint. He just does it from my phone (since I don’t have an Instagram account to be tempted by) and it’s all posting and no scrolling. Scrolling is against the rules.
Also, I kinda kept my Pinterest app. WHAT? It’s INFORMATIVE. No judgement, man.