wittering noun
wit·ter·ing ˈwitərə̇n, -riŋ
plural-s
chiefly Scottish
: a piece of information (as a sign, token, or hint)
Etymology
Middle English (Scots) wittering, witering, from the gerund of witteren, witeren to clarify, inform, teach, of Scandinavian origin; akin to Old Norse vitra to manifest, reveal, vitr wise, vita to know “Wittering.”
— “Wittering.” Merriam-Webster.com Dictionary, Merriam-Webster, https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/wittering.
After recovering from another old injury flare-up, I realized my three-year-old was acting more lethargic and fussy than normal. Let me preface by sharing I spent five years working in a learning center with all ages, but most often with babies and young toddlers. So my inner childcare worker and mom-o-meter were zinging off the charts. I went through the usual mental lists of “maybe x, y, z.” Then I noticed how glued to her tablet my daughter and my school-age son had become since the new year. I’m not one of those anti-tech moms by any means. But the reliance on the tablets to the point they gravitated to them before creative or imaginative play really bothered me, especially after receiving so many new toys over the holidays.
I have so many memories of spending hours drawing or painting at the kitchen table (my mom would lay out old newspapers so I could make easy-to-clean messes). I spent countless more hours running outside alone or with my best friends, digging literal holes, pretending with leaves and berries to craft pretend potions, or just climbing any tree I could reasonably scale. It struck me that my kids have been raised in an entirely different age and environment.
Now, outside is “not safe” for so many. We’re more aware of the dangers posed mostly by people than anything else. There’s so little trust to be found in the world, or so it feels. So we stay inside more often. We use our devices and spend most of our days with our faces in front of screens. It’s ubiquitous with all age groups, with anyone who has the privilege and access.
And we’re angrier and more anxious than ever, aren’t we? Almost as if humans weren’t meant to be this way. Almost as if we crave in-person social interaction for a reason. We throw around phrases like “find your tribe” and “it takes a village” for a reason. And without going into the science of it all, our bodies need human touch as much as we need spend at least part of every day outside. Children need these things most of all, I believe.
So much of parenthood is based on upbringing, or the defiance of said upbringing, blended with what we’ve learned and continue to learn. It’s trial and error, and perfection is impossible. One of the things that keeps me humble is seeing my mistakes and taking action to fix them. It helps when your kids are the motivation, because like most parents, I’d literally do anything for mine. So I took away my kids’ tablets. I haven’t decided when exactly they can have them back. Weekends? Long car trips? (remember that trial-and-error thing I mentioned?)
My son is older and also spent his first six years as an only child, so it wasn’t as big a stretch for him to put the device away. My three-year-old was a whole other story. She throws fits, complains she needs it, and asks about it every day, albeit less and less. If anything, that only reinforces my belief that this was the right choice for her, for both of them. My son has already been playing more with his army figures and other toys, when he’s not reading books faster than I do. My daughter needed more structure and encouragement.
This falls on me. I’m a work-from-home mom, and it’s hard enough for me to multitask on good days. But I borrowed some tricks from my old childcare job and have been sticking to a schedule for meals and snacks, limited T.V. time, and, with the warmer weather, set aside outside play time. The first day, I brought my phone outside of habit. I haven’t brought it since. Instead, I bring one of my pens and a paper journal, some tea, and pillows for the porch swing.
The first few days, my daughter was bored and didn’t want to ride her scooter or do most of the things I encouraged her to do. Until I asked her to start looking around for fairies, and something magical started to happen. She saw fairies everywhere, in the trees and riding on the birds that swooped by. I showed her she could break up leaves and create things with them, that she could look for certain plants and use sticks to dig and mix her ingredients. We talked about how to watch for biting insects, and spent part of an afternoon following the path of a caterpillar. The caterpillar is a she, my daughter decided, and now lives in a tree we helped her reach via stick.
I’ve come to enjoy our times outside away from screens, often just sitting with the quiet of birds. Sometimes, my daughter and I sway together, and she pretends to read my journal. There’s something special in liminal moments like this, the sunlight turning my daughter’s hair to spun gold, and the breeze of a perfect day stirring leaves over the ground. Somewhere closer to the lake, someone has turned up their stereo so the iconic chords of Don’t You Forget About Me dance with the distant honking of geese.
I talk a lot on this blog about cherishing little moments. I tend to journal most about little instead of the big moments I highlighted in my youth. I know I’ll remember the big moments, but it’s the magic of ordinary days I want to remember. When I’m gone, I want my kids to be able to relive those moments through my journals. I want to preserve a piece of perfect imperfection.
I don’t have all the answers when it comes to motherhood, but I’m grateful for having the eyes to see something my kids truly needed. Turns out, I needed these moments just as much as they did. Wherever you’re at today, I’d encourage you to look for liminal moments you might otherwise miss with your loved ones. Take a walk outside if you can, or open a window, listen to what the wind has to tell you. Pick up your phone not to scroll through social media, but to call that friend you haven’t spoken to in ages.
My daughter is learning how to play with nothing, and I’m remembering how to embrace the quiet of nothing but my thoughts and being present in the world. I’m fully aware of the irony that I’m talking about going “off screen” while staring at a screen, but it’s an undeniable part of my daily life. Like any hobby, tool, or vice, the difference lies in how we use it. My hope is to inspire you today, as I’ve been inspired, to use your devices to create or encourage others if you can. Don’t let yourself become numb and coast by. I know it’s tempting, but overloading our brains isn’t making us happier or better humans. Burying our heads in the sand may feel like self-preservation, but I’m starting to believe it’s proof of the problem.
Whatever you believe, and whether you agree or disagree, I hope you know how special you truly are, friend. There is no one exactly like you in all the world. You are an intrinsic part of the world around you, not just through your screens or what you post online. You matter to the people around you, and you’re missed more than you know.
BE INSPIRED TODAY
I wanted to start sharing little bits and pieces of things that inspire me each week. I started writing this blog while listening to a music piece covered by Gaelynn Lea. If you haven’t heard of Gaelynn Lea, watch this video and may you be as inspired as I was, friends.
Jennifer Silverwood 
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