Pulling the plug.

I have to confess: Somehow TV and computer have taken over our household. It was fine when Alex was playing the occasional Playhouse Disney game online; they’re educational, I rationalized, and they keep him occupied for extended periods while I cook or clean or catch up with my backlogged DVR. And when he discovered SpongeBob I was just glad that we were moving out of the realm of The Wonder Pets and branching off from superheroes, whose prolific appeal, frankly, baffles me. But now technological entertainment is king. Last night he requested a rain check on playing Chutes and Ladders with his oh-so-fun mommy in favor of trying to beat the “hammer brothers” on one of the countless old-school Nintendo games Steven has downloaded to our desktop (thank God for the laptop). In the mornings I’m lucky if he tears his eyes away from Bob’s adventures in Bikini Bottom long enough to make eye contact when he mumbles a perfunctory goodbye. (I used to get a big hug and a kiss to keep in my heart so that I would have it all day long in case I missed him. By used to, I mean a couple of weeks ago, before SpongeBob in conjunction with Mario and Megaman stole my baby.)

This morning I got tired of reminding him to eat his breakfast as he sat with his tray in front of him, staring slack-jawed at the TV. Five or six times I told him. “Eat, Alex. Don’t just watch.” He would pick up the spoon, put it in the bowl, scoop up some cereal, and freeze there like he’d forgotten how to complete the maneuver. Now, I’m proof positive that it doesn’t take a whole lot of effort to shovel food into one’s mouth while watching TV. Unless you happen to be watching Lost, which requires every single functioning brain cell you’ve got, plus a few borrowed ones from your viewing partner.

So, this morning, I threw down the breakfast-time gauntlet. I turned off the television. I know! It resulted in a display of horror and disbelief that in turn resulted in an overturned juice box and the need for a change of pants. But he finished his breakfast at the table, which is probably where I went wrong in the first place, letting the occasional meal drift away from there for the sake of convenience and/or bouts of lazy parenting. But we had an actual conversation—him between bites of Cheerios—about our plans for the day. And when I left he gave me one of those keepsake kisses.

When we get home today I plan to thwart the relentless pull of Road Rash and Donkey Kong (yes, Steven’s all about the classics) by whisking Alex off to the library. There’s a Franklin book about the dangers of playing too many computer games that is calling our name.