It's an internal struggle for many parents. How much television is too much? Photo: Stocksy
TV was evil when I was a kid. Akin to supping with the devil, as far as my parents were concerned. Even as a teenager, my viewing was more or less limited to the seven o'clock news. And the odd foreign film on SBS.
When my own twin sons came along, I didn't have a strong view either way. A bit here and there wouldn't hurt them, I figured. So when they were two, we started working our way through the PIXAR back catalogue. When we watched Up, I cried. When we watched Cars, I laughed. I was delighted that we could discover this new territory together.
Things went awry when I started a full-time job. My boys' television consumption went from half-an-hour of movie-watching to an all-consuming addiction. They watched a couple of hours while I got ready for work and another four or five hours while I did the chores on Saturdays.
They became more irritable and obsessive, the more their TV consumption increased. They snatched bites of breakfast and ate it on the lounge. They refused to sit at the table or talk to their grandparents on Skype. Once they started watching, it was impossible to distract them. It became a battle of wills just to get them dressed and out the door.
With all the fighting over the TV, we became belligerent with each other. They were demanding and uncontrollable, and so eventually I gave in, but not without being whingey and horrible myself, which only reinforced the wretched cycle. They also became fixated on material possessions. All they could talk about was Batman and Ironman and they harassed me constantly to buy them stuff. I found myself in perpetual arguments with two barely three-year-olds.
Every parent I know relies on TV. But as an unpaid babysitter, television sucks. And to my horror, my boys were watching far more than the average – which is one hour and 54 minutes for pre-schoolers each day, according to a 2015 Australian Communications and Media Authority (ACMA) report. A figure which, quite frankly, is startling.
The high water mark came one Friday afternoon. As they came home from a friend's house, I went out to greet them. Usually, they would hug me and show me their leaves and twigs; but that day, they wouldn't even come close to me. "Can we watch the TV, Mum? We want to watch TV, Mum. Please Mum, can we watch TV?"
The next morning, I announced the TV was broken. I sharpened pencils and threw out all the felt pens that didn't work. I dug out the scissors and glue sticks and the box of paints. I bought stencils at the newsagent and a friend brought round some old magazines. We drew and coloured and cut and pasted. To my surprise, they put up absolutely no fight. They were thrilled to have me sprawled on the floor beside them.
The next day we went to the museum, went puddle hunting in our wellies and made spaceships out of blocks. I got down the castle and knights that I'd packed away. I hauled out the ladder and we stuck glow-in-the-dark stars all over their bedroom ceiling.
It was on my working days that No TV really took a toll. I cut motorbikes out of magazines as I stepped into the shower. I built Lego with one hand as I typed with the other. I searched everywhere, endlessly, for lost scissors and glue sticks. The house was a bomb site and I could hardly see the floor. And at night, I didn't have the energy to put the caps back on felt pens. The ink pads could dry out, dammit. I was going to bed.
But if a few months of TV swallowed my boys' beautiful natures whole, then a week without it calmed them down completely. By the second week, as I got ready for work, they lay on my bed and read stories to each other. As I stepped out of the shower, they called out, "Do you want to join us, Mummy?" They made jokes about the books we read and made plans for the beach, not the shops.
They slept better and so did I, and we had somersault lessons and dancing competitions. When they went for walks, they came running back with sticks and twigs. "This is for you, Mummy. It's a leaf."
The best prize of all was finding a creek near our house. There is national park behind us, though we'd hardly explored it. On Sunday morning we went off track and 10 minutes in we found it – pristine, flowing, and with loads of rocks and sticks. The boys 'fished' for a half an hour and I sat in the sun. When it was time to go, I had to drag them away.
The TV is still off and there's been no complaint. They've tried to fix it with their drills but to no avail. My hope is that we can start a Friday night film club soon, once the addiction fades and temptation loses its grip and once I can work out how to explain the benefits of moderation. It's something I'm still trying to wrap my head around for myself. If I can help teach it to my sons, it's a lesson that will serve us all for life.
