Day 23

I stare at the TV, but not in the way I always have. I focus myself, vow not to turn it on. I feel as if I am losing a war. The flame of enthusiasm that lit us from beneath has dissipated and we are tired.

Fatigue drives us to seek out the TV. It's like at holiday gatherings when nobody wants to talk anymore and all anyone wants to do is gather and watch together. Except I'm determined to dig beneath and ask what drives this fatigue? Why watch an episode of "The Office" we've all seen before more than once?

Do we really need this alternate form of sleep?

My son has discovered video games. My daughter begs for Alpha Baby on the computer. We are definitely in withdrawal. I am moving forward with the belief that there is another side of the valley. But is it possible to reach it in this media saturated time? And, if we do, will we be able to talk to anyone?

Day 19

In every movement, you hit a wall.

Ours came this morning.

"I want to watch SPIDERMAN," the three-year-old whined.

My nerves were feeling a little frayed after a busy weekend that called for a day of housework. It was sprinkling outside, a hot spray that mixed with those early tremors of summer heat.

I sucked in my breath. Of course it would be easier just to let him watch the video. Then I might get something accomplished. But it's felt so good to be free of TV interference for a large portion of our day. And it was only 9 AM.

Instead, I put in music and said, "Hey, let's do the dishes!"

I pulled two chairs to the sink and began instructing my little ones in how to pack the dishwasher and rinse the dishes.

When that was done, I said, "Let's wash the dog!"

Together, we lathered up the only-slightly-upset chihuahua who shares our home.

Then the three-year-old put on his Spiderman costume and pretended to be seriously wounded. He was so convincing that I got worried for a minute. Had he had a stroke? I said his name out loud, "This is mommy. No more pretend. Are you okay?"

"Mommy, I am Spiderman," he said.

"What does Spiderman need to get better?" I said. "Flies, perhaps?" Then I pretended to catch flies and mush them up. "Lick the flies off of my hand, Spiderman," I said. To which he giggled uncontrollably. Then we got an insect book out and pretended it was a menu at a restaurant that the fully-restored Spiderman frequents. I played waitress.

Instead of steamed Peripatus, I brought a jellybean. It was far more interesting than any film I've ever seen.

I admit I caved at lunchtime. While we ate peanut butter sandwiches, we watched Rocky and Bollwinkle. Not perfection, but progress.

Day 18

Now, I've always been skeptical of cause-effect musings. How do we know that two things are related?

On the other hand, nothing happens in a vacuum.

And I believe that giving up TV, or at least cutting it back by 85%, has caused me to live closer to the planet and my community.

Last week, upon returning from my trip to Orlando, I realized that I didn't want to put my one-year-old daughter in disposable diapers any more.

I have always balked at the idea of cloth diapers. Too much laundry, too much fuss. But stepping back from the world of the commercial and plastic on TV has made me want to step away from it in my daily life, too.

We are moving at a slower and more connected pace around here. And, someplace in the gaps around the time we used to spend watching television, there is now space to wash a few bits of cloth.

Another shift: After I stopped watching TV, I started reading more. I ran across a sidebar for this article in which National Geographic gave foods a score from 1-100. Looking at the list, I realized we were dining on very low grade foods far too often. Also, my husband told me he was tired of hamburger helper.

Someplace in the gaps around the time we used to spend watching television, there is now space to chop a few vegetables and put a piece of grass-fed beef on the grill. The extra money from not having cable makes it more possible to shop at stores that sell responsible food that is also highly rated on the National Geographic scale.

More things are connected than you think. And we have more time than we think, if we could stop filling it completely to the brim with passive entertainment.

Day 16

I just got back from Orlando, which is reason for the recent silence.

It was mind boggling being in a place whose major source of revenue stems from TV and the movies, the impressions we hold of them, the emotions they stir in us.

On this trip, I skipped Disney, but got a chance to see Universal Studios Theme Park.

The Seuss part of Universal's Islands of Adventure, I was quite happy to discover, is a 3-D appreciation of Theodore Seuss Geisel's literary work. Yeah, books!

And the Marvel Comics portion of the park is very inspired by the comic books, and not any of the movies.

All in all, it was a nice trip. I only turned on the TV in the hotel once. I am serious.

The kids spent one night of my absence at the home of my in-laws. They asked my husband, "Did you stop letting the kids watch TV?" "Yes," he answered. "Well, they couldn't take their eyes off of it," his mother answered.

I am happy that, now, when the kids see TV they actually watch it instead of having it as background noise. All in all, I am finding this experiment to be very positive for all of us.

Day 12

23 channels is a whole lot. How often are you faced with 23 options at once? In most situations, 23 options would be a mind boggling, overwhelming cornucopia of wealth. But not on TV. When my husband brought our cable box back to the cable company, the girl behind the counter looked him straight in the eye and said, "You mean the basic cable with 72 channels, right?" "No," he answered. "Just the 23 channels." "O--Kay," she said.

Walking back to his office, the husband had a spring in his step, an undeniable sense of liberty and accomplishment. "You know," a co-worker said, "I had a friend once who went down to 23 channels. But guess what. Check around. I'll bet you've got the Disney channel."

Sure enough, when we got home and surfed, we found that if you enter channel 24 on the remote control, a faded version of Disney Channel appears, even though the TIVO says it's QVC.

"Hah! We got 'em!" we thought. "A little sumpin-sumpin."

But will we tell the kids we still get the Disney Channel, Disney Channel on the black market? Nah.

Day 11

What do you do when you don't turn on the TV?

We actually found a recording of Peter Pan on Napster. The kids listened to it and acted it out.

Day Ten

Dear Oprah,

I think what I will miss most is the pensive silences that follow your piercing questions. I know I'll miss the way you interject something so incisive into what appears, on the TIVO description, to be an utterly banal and non-spiritual topic. I love how you have made this medium your own, Oprah. I love how you raise the common denominator. I love that you make people read. I think it's great that you decided, on some wing or prayer awhile ago, that you would try your hardest to make the world a better place. You inspire me.

I don't always love your pushing for plastic surgery, diets, and other superficial enhancements. But how can you help it? You are, after all, the survivor of childhood sexual abuse. And you have come so far. Just a tip, though: Stop letting people like Dr. Phil and Susie Orman sponge off of you, spinning off of guest appearances on your show into daytime and primetime slots of their own.

I love how you keep kids safe and keep people from doing stupid things. Even if the most silly thing in the world one might do is spend the afternoon watching a talk show. I love Maya Angelou. I love Ernest Gaines. Not so much Inanna, but she has her place. A divorced Mom makes good in the world. I get it.

I laugh when you announce famous people's names. Can't get your affection for Tom Cruise. Wondered what the heck when you featured Gwyneth and her strange home gym. What will I miss most? Two words: Justin Timberlake. Except the episodes where he doesn't sing. I can't forgive you for that.

Oprah, I have adored you skinny and thick. Even back when you were sensational, I liked you more than that lady with scary big glasses. I cried when you told me I was a child of God, worthy of success.

I am really looking forward to your magazine cover with Ellen DeGeneres on it. But I won't be sad to miss how you'll plug it, shamelessly, on your show.

In short, my lady, you are a goddess. But, soon, I won't be tuning in. Well maybe after the show about Columbine. I mean I would have gone there for high school if my parents hadn't moved me to a small town in the mountains about 120 miles away, so of course I have to watch!

Day Nine

Happy Birthday, Spongebob! It's the sponge's 10th anniversary of being broadcast. There's going to be a big show, and JOHNNY DEPP is going to star!!

When I got in the car this morning, that was the story on National Public Radio's "Morning Edition." As I drove along reflecting on the fact that we can no longer watch Spongebob, I got to thinking how often news stories on NPR are about TV. Radio talking about TV. How interesting! Just two nights ago, I was listening to my beloved "Fresh Air" on NPR and the interviewee was an actor from an HBO show I also can't watch due to my family's current project.

A few more stories this morning on NPR were about TV shows. This from the station that spells intelligence, so much so that a friend of mine who used to buy and resell cars had the habit of checking the radio stations before popping the hood on cars at auction to see what the driver of said car listened to. If NPR was programmed, he claimed, the car would be in better shape. A considerate, educated driver had probably taken the time to maintain the vehicle. I don't know how true this litmus test was, but it made sense to me.

Now I wonder: Why is TV so beloved by my beloved, brilliant NPR? Does TV need radio coverage? Or are journalists just another set of couch potatoes who would rather sit and review Spongebob cartoons than go out and find a story about a real person someplace?

Disclaimer: I am a reporter whose main beat at a local business magazine used to be media. Oh, how I loved that beat. So many opinions to toss around, so many hours spent pondering the screen and its colorful, lickable lollipop of scenarios, scenes, characters and products. So much to talk about at parties where people care more about their glass world than the real one.

Now, 9 days, and hardly completely off of TV (wasn't it great that Matt Giroud got saved on "American Idol" the other night?!), I am sounding like a big, judgmental, humorless ninny. I don't mean to. And I certainly am not trying to go so granola that I can't carry on a conversation with your average American. But come on, people! Let's push for something more genuine.

Day Eight

Of course, I get the irony that I used a film to describe how it feels to step away from the tube. Which just goes to show you how woven together I and moving pictures have become.

Now let me say that I have in no way completely succeeded in turning off the TV. Not yet. We haven't put it on the road or found a life away from it. I highly doubt that is possible. The minute we enter into talks about not having a television any more we immediately start to discuss the fact that the computer can serve up any TV show we might miss. And just think of the Blue Ray DVD player we could buy with our cable savings!

But, to use a worn out Alcoholics Anonymous 12 step analogy, admitting you have a problem is the first step. A friend of mine recently said, "Now, isn't the second step admitting you are powerless?"

In AA, this second step reads, "We came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity." Which, for my family at least, brings God into the equation.

For the record, let me say that we are Catholics, but we also live in Southwest Louisiana, where lent spells lots and lots of good seafood and temperance is waiting until 12:30 to buy your wine on Sunday. We are, by no means, a family that uses restriction as a way to grow closer to the Lord.

And yet I wonder: What would capital H-He have to say about our family's attempt to wean ourselves off of TV? Certainly, like anything else, God doesn't hate television. Just last night, in fact, while flipping aimlessly through my 23 channels (the trip to the decision to just pick up a book is a lot faster than it used to be), I came across the mass being shown on Catholic channel 15 and I actually watched it.

But isn't the television also the at-least-occasional vehicle of so many things that cause people to make choices that might be interpreted as sin? Here are a few, in my humble opinion:
Ego
Greed
Envy
Lust
Laziness
Want
Hurry

Now, if you'll excuse me, I will go turn off the "Care Bears Movie," light me a candle, say a little prayer and look at the blessings around me.

Day Seven

The first time I saw "The Matrix," in 1999, starring Keanu Reeves, I was sure of two things. First, this movie was a social commentary that would be talked about decades from now. Second, if I were Reeves' character, Neo, I would, without a doubt, ask to be put BACK IN the matrix. Who would leave a level, safe, albeit constructed, restrained and utterly false, world for the dark, weird hell that is his reality?

After a week of slowly weaning ourselves off of TV, I have to admit I feel a little bit like our friend Neo. Bald, covered in slime, confused, enlightened, and, in a little while, likely to be begging for the program that can funnel Kung Fu directly into my mind and limbs.

Suddenly I am being struck by small and large realities that were masked to me before. I find myself challenging them.

The questioning starts with the little things. Why is our living room set up like this? How come we've never sat on this couch like this before? It has a lovely view that just happens to not point in the direction of the not-so-little black box in our living room. Then there are the bigger things. Wow, I usually never get through the entire paper before noon. And here I am doing it. I blamed the kids. It wasn't the kids that were keeping me from truly reading about the world, and not just scanning the headlines.

There are changes in movement. Let's walk to the store instead of driving just for fun! Then there are changes in thought. How come we always follow the Disney script when we play Peter Pan? Why can't Wendy befriend Captain Hook and take turns diving off of the plank?

I am not sure, but I am starting to chip away at the notion that maybe easing off of television can be the beginning of other practices that benefit our bodies and our lives. By entering completely into the world before us--what other choice do we have without "Survivor" or (and I admit I haven't give this one up, not yet, "American Idol?")--perhaps we automatically start to question our own assumptions and behavior. We seek the things that take a little bit longer. We change the script. We see.

Day Six

I scan the TIVO season pass list. No more "Passport to Europe with Samantha Brown." No more "Spongebob Squarepants." No more "Wiggles." No more "Art and Artists." No more "Tom and Jerry." No more Dora. No more Diego. No more Mickey Mouse. Alas, no more European bike racing. No more ESPN! No more "The Real World!"

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Meanwhile, the kitchen table gains a new population. Block games and complex plots involving Lego pirates and a Pez Chewbacca evolve. The three-year-old completes half of a preschool workbook. The one-year-old learns how to use Legos.

We hit a wall at mid-morning. I feel like my teeth are being extracted and wonder how I can channel the energy of kids who are full of wild, curious minds unsteered--or at least far less steered--by the forces of broadcasting. I play children's music until I am about to scream, then put in an old John Denver CD. The three-year-old starts to sing along.

The three-year-old takes a circle of nylon and invents a new superhero who doesn't have a name. The one-year-old and the three-year-old start to play dolls together on the floor, and even though I know it's the one-year-old's nap time, I let them keep playing.

Day Five

Goodbye sweet cable box...Here we are in our parting ritual. Husband is upset he won't be watching the Tour de France in July, which only airs on a digital cable channel. I am upset about not being able to get my daily dose of Steve Ross's "Inhale." But we will survive. No, we will thrive.

We are keeping basic cable so we won't have to drag out rabbit ears for news, "The Office" and "Saturday Night Live." We are saving $87 a month by doing this.

The kids have only watched about 5 hours of TV since we started this experiment. No complaints so far.

I've been asked if I feel it was right to tell the youngsters that the television broke. "Is lying better than TV?" One of my friends asks.

I think it was too difficult to tell them the metaphysical ways in which the television really is broken. But for the record I had a talk with the three-year-old and asked him how he felt about it and about what happened and he said the TV "makes my brain all jittery."

Day Five

The conversation about getting rid of cable altogether has me hyperventilating. Then I see this picture and wonder just why I thought my son watching "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" at the age of 2 months was photo-worthy.

Day four

We have decided that movies do not count as television.

As long as you don't watch the movie repeatedly for an entire day.

Day three

And now, for a brief history of television in my life.

My parents have a photograph of my brother and me watching television in our pajamas. I suppose we were watching "Land of the Lost" or some other Saturday morning fare. No doubt, we'd already dumped the Frankenberry cereal out and plucked the rubber toy like a gem from its tumble.

My brother's mouth makes a red "O" and I, clutching a patchwork teddy bear, look at him looking at the television. It seems like much of my joy involving the tube has to do with me watching someone watch something. Watching something with someone is a particular kind of bonding experience, and I wonder if it is unique to cultures where television is a cornerstone. And then I find myself asking if this is acceptable or if we ought to push for something deeper.

Growing up, we always watched "Mary Tyler Moore," and "The Carol Burnett Show." We often ate dinner in front of the television and talked about its residents as if they were our neighbors.

I have a very complicated relationship with this form of media. It is a part of my history just as it's a part of the world's history. And then, at the same time, I am suspicious of its glass and flash, the cheap and quick way it can make your heart bleed and then leave you.

Shortly after 9/11, I wrote an article about post-traumatic stress disorder. An expert psychologist explained to me that vast swaths of the American population were suffering from this debilitating psychological confusion and anxiety not because of what they experienced, but because of what they watched on television. So, you see, terrorism happened not just on American buildings and bodies, but in our hearts. I can imagine the television broadcasting pain, confusion, uncertainty, fear, and hatred like a heated fuselage straight into the center of our chests.

I reflect on the temporary joy I have experienced through the world of television. And then I wonder: At what cost? They say little children believe what's on TV is real. For them, there is no glass separating them from the people, creatures, weapons, words, and actions on TV. As we grow, how much do we really move away from that? How convinced is my brain that what I have watched has really happened to me? How much have those seemingly harmless hours of reality television viewing cast my own reality, shaped my own physical experiences?

Day two

We usually start our day automatically, by flipping on the TIVO and putting on whatever kid's show is the current obsession. It gives the adults time to get coffee into the vein and the kids a chance to wake up. It's such a reflex that, yesterday, our first full day without TV, I had to stop myself. When I padded out to the kitchen--amazingly awake before the little ones--I found my husband drinking coffee and reading the paper in silence.

Sunlight fell across our dining room. Birds sang. It was absolutely peaceful. Serene. A true oddity, for mornings around here are usually jagged and in serious need of ADD medication. When the kids awoke, they slipped into the stream of quiet that enveloped our house. The one-year-old played with the three-year-old. And when it was time for Daddy to go out the door to work, they all followed him to the threshold and moistened him with sweet kisses and big hugs.

I took a deep breath and started my daily chores, sure this wouldn't be easy.

As I unloaded the dishwasher, dancing to a tune coming off of my stereo, I noticed something very unusual. The kids bent over individual tasks, one the job of dressing up like a superhero, the other the important work of assembling small dolls. They were in the zone. Our usual rattle of TV in the background, I believe, has made it difficult for these small minds and hands to become fully engaged. And here, all this time, I'd thought they weren't capable of engagement. Silly Mommy.

I wondered what in the world we'd do. So what did we do, you ask? We brought puzzles to the big dining room table and worked together to make pictures out of pieces. I taught the three-year-old how to use a plastic knife to cut a pear into pieces he could eat. Without the TV for distraction, I had to do something with the children while I cooked. I wondered if the plastic knife would be too much, if he'd use it for evil against his little sister. Instead, with the tip of his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth, he carefully sliced the pear into small portions and then distributed them.

After dinner, during our usual movie time, often the embarrassingly 4th movie time of the day, we went for a walk along the Mississippi River. We turned over rocks to reveal skittering crickets. We ran up and then down the levee.

Before bed, we read lots of stories. It put my husband to sleep, and then, as my promised reward, I watched "The Office." As I climbed into bed, I thought, "I could do without that old TV."

Day one

Let's begin at the beginning. The child was mortifying. And it wasn't his fault. This is a three-year-old who is usually so articulate and self-contained it leads people to ask, "How OLD is he?" But here he was, his feet sprawled on the floor, his body tangled around his father's arms, making a sound that went something like this, "Eeeeaaawwwwwwkkkkkk!" Then he flipped over raised his hind quarters and issued a loud spray of gas.

The aunt to his right gasped. The grandmother made a nervous giggle. The great grandmother didn't hear it, but if she had, on this 99th birthday celebration, she would have scolded her grandson, my husband, with a cajun "tsk, tsk, tsk."

Husband and I looked at each other with a cringe. Who was this child?

On the way home, we talked about it.

And then it dawned on us. That day, he'd watched Disney's "The Incredibles" twice. In the car, he'd watched Disney's "Treasure Planet." At home, he'd also watched "Lilo and Stitch."

We are on our way to creating the next Mike TV from Willy Wonka's "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory." Demanding. Loud. Rude. And completely, utterly addicted to the day's flavor broadcast on television.

Let's get back to "The Incredibles." It is a brilliant film. Well written and witty. With voices of recognizable actors making one-liners that are aimed at adults so they won't go nuts watching the film over and over and over. This is what Disney does best. The film aired on a new channel, "Disney XD." I calculated that the film is 115 minutes long. Yet on our TIVO it runs 150 minutes. That means the kids get exposed to 35 minutes of commercials for every viewing. Most of them in the amped up, thirty-something male voice that sounds like it belongs to a retired X Games athlete, selling things like guns and plastic aliens. Don't get me wrong, we have a lot of plastic aliens in our house. But I feel assaulted with each of these messages.

On that drive home from the great grandmother's 99th birthday, during which we squirmed in embarrassment at the appallingly rude behavior of our precocious three-year-old, we challenged ourselves. Could we go without television? And then, like the quick precipitation that falls on hot summer afternoons, we decided. Just like that. At the crossing of two intersections in our not-so-big city.

I turned around and looked at the children.

"The television is broken," I said.

"Then I guess we'll have to watch the one in your room," the three-year-old responded.

"No. That one is broken, too," I said.

"Oh," he said. "Then I guess we'll have to play in my room."

And, just like that, the experiment began.

For now, the adults will be allowed to watch television in the evening, after the kiddos are in bed. Sure, that feels like a bit of a cheat. What kind of diet begins with a slice of cake at the end of the day? Then again, come to think about it, most diets have room for sweetness here and there. Otherwise you go ballistic. Trust me. I once went on a low-carb diet and found myself shakingly consuming diabetic chocolate and peanut butter in the bathroom.

The husband and I will have our reward. Otherwise, I'm not sure if we'll make it. And there will be movie nights for the kids, too. But today we are telling them the television is broken.

And you know what? They just don't seem that upset about it at all.