Team huddle broken by solo tech goals

HAVING made it through the working week, facing up to Auskick on a Friday night is, frankly, a big ask.

But each week, we find ourselves braving the cold, dark and fog to watch our energetic seven-year-old daughter, Georgia, run around an oval for an hour in her footy boots, mouthguard and Cats guernsey. She loves it.

Between 5pm and 6pm, Georgia and her teammates run endless drills before a mini game takes place. This usually consists of the ball moving inch-by-inch up the ground with the children acting like a pack of seagulls trying to grab a chip at the beach.

And no matter how many layers of clothing you wear, the cold is guaranteed to find its way to your bones and stay there.

Our other children, aged 10 and 12, usually tag along, not to cheer on their sister or even watch her train, but because friends of their own are also usually there. Once 60 minutes have passed, the final whistle blows and we herd the children into the car, pick up takeaway, and crash into our warm house for the night. Then we can relax. That is, after we’ve forced everyone into the shower, fed them and emptied the week’s worth of lunch remnants, jumpers, and drink bottles from their school bags.

And just when you think you’re going to fall down if you don’t sit down, you fluff the couch cushions, nestle into position, reach for the remote and turn Netflix on.

Ahhh, the serenity. That was, until a message appeared on the TV screen telling me last Friday that we’d reached our maximum number of users at any given time, therefore, I couldn’t watch my program. Serenity, no more. I soon discovered that our two youngest children had taken themselves upstairs to watch a children’s movie on Netflix. Our eldest daughter was then found in her favourite bean bag watching a teen movie on the computer with her headphones on.

It was at that moment I realised, thanks to technology, our children have taken a step away from us. They no longer need me to turn on the TV for them and they don’t want me to decide what they watch. Their generation will experience television as a streaming reality when, how and where they want to watch it.

I’m not sure how I feel about this development. I must admit, I love the fact that technology enables my children to amuse themselves on the drive to Melbourne to visit family and friends. It has prevented the regular screaming match about who has moved over the imaginary line into another sibling’s space, and who is breathing on whom.

But the downside is that now they are old enough to operate their own technology, it marks the end of the traditional Friday night movie night, where I get to choose an 80s film to put on that we can all watch together. There’ll be no more popcorn, no squishing to fit everyone on the couch, and no more laughter at the same moments on screen. That collective experience, I fear, has gone.

The pros and cons of the children’s experiences of technology aside, my recent Friday night experience also serves as a quintessential parenting moment of truth. That is, even though you pay for the technology and have spent time — confused and frustrated — installing it, you’re the least likely person in the house to have access to it when you finally get time to watch something.

Ahhh, the reality … Rachel Schutze is a Principal of Maurice Blackburn Geelong, wife and mother of three.