Getting out there

School holidays have always been an interesting phenomenon. The anticipation of no school gave me more staying power through the frantic pace of the last few weeks of each term. Ah, the bliss of no lunches or uniforms for two weeks! I would long for school holiday simplicity - the promise of no agenda, pyjama days and lots of baking.

Then the holidays arrive and I suddenly have three children, tired and slightly irritated at each other (ok, that's an understatement), who each have their own struggle in acclimatising to the lack of structure for which school holidays are famous. The inward battle begins - my longing for space and no agenda, fights the necessity of planned play-days and the imperative of outings where burning energy that would otherwise be used for bickering is of the upmost importance. I end up oscillating between a selfish desire to stop the world and a motherly desire to help guide my children (or rather, young people) through the adjustment to finding their own fun. Part of me wants to scream out 'where's my holiday????' and yet I resign myself to the fact that happy (young) ones equals happy mum.

Finding activities to do is the easy part - convincing Master Seven, Master Thirteen and Miss Nearly Fifteen that my ideas will be truly as exciting as I anticipate is a whole other story. Add the complexity of a six year age gap between my two boys and you have the makings of a perfect storm.

And that's in a normal school holiday. These holidays, we have embarked on moving our entire family to the country in a quest for a more affordable, slower-paced lifestyle. We have uprooted our children from their friends, some of whom they have known their entire lives, so they now have a huge number of other emotions to add to the usual holiday hangups. Yet to establish ourselves in the community, we are at home in a flurry of packing boxes and belongings that don't yet have a home. A perfect storm. On steroids. So where do all young people go to be distracted and entertained? Electronic devices, of course!

I find it incredibly difficult to motivate two lethargic teenagers to get outside and do something that doesn't involve a screen, when what I really want to do is spend time on social media and write a blog or watch a movie in the daytime. My conflict-avoidance preferences seem to take a back seat as I persuade, convince, demand (in that order) my children to get up, put devices down and get jacket and shoes on. At times I have even forgone the latter in the interest of getting them out the door.

It seems ludicrous that to go out and have 'fun', I have to spend a great deal of time in angst, creating a situation where teens are moody and argumentative and children are whiny. For the first ten minutes I wonder if I am making a huge mistake and should just go back and let them have their devices. I would get some peace and quiet then.

But as the feet continue to move, the air filters into the lungs and the eyes absorb the spectacular scenery that is literally around the corner from where we now live, the moodiness lessens and the whining quietens. Healthy banter and competition take over the previous snide remarks and bickering and then I realise that I actually enjoy spending time with my young people. And they enjoy getting out and using their body as God intended. Most of all, they enjoy each other and being part of a family. Conversation flows, questions are asked, opinions are given (exercise never removes those) and connections are forged.

At this point, I am reminded of a dear friend, Joyce Harkness, who said recently "When families disconnect (their devices), they connect." Yes, it's hard work but the rewards are great. As tempted as I am to have some quiet time just for me, I can't ignore the potential detriment of too much screen time for our family, both as a unit and individually. Like the song 'Cat's in the Cradle', sung by Cat Stevens, I don't want to get to old age to realise I missed opportunities in spending time connecting with our offspring and enjoying their company. It would be all too easy to do this every holidays in the quest to fulfill my holiday bucket list.

So I will continue to rip off the bandaid of slothful yearnings and endeavour to motivate my children (and myself) to get out there and enjoy God's creation (in God's country, one might add). They may not like me for it initially, but like feeding them broccoli, I know it's good for them. And the dog won't be complaining, either.