Success or Failure? You Decide.

Our 48 hours free of TV, video games and, in general, all things that beep and hum, began Friday night at midnight. We started the "OTG" (Off the Grid) experiment in the hopes of reminding The Boy that life isn't all about what's next on Disney XD or which video game to beg for next. To be fair, The Man and I were in on the punishment -- er, the plan -- as well. No net-surfing or soccer games for him, no blogging and texting for me.

Friday
11:03 p.m. I hear the drone of the TV in the living room, accompanied by The Man's snoring. Do I go in and turn off the TV so that it's already in its rest mode for the midnight start? Nah. I'm reading. And sleepy.

Midnight. I wake up, pull the paperback off my chin, and realize that The Man has come to bed and the house is quiet. OTG is a "go."

Saturday
6:45 a.m. I awake to the sound of a toilet being scrubbed. I check my hands to be sure it's not me. Am I in Heaven? Back to sleep.

7:15 a.m. Awake again, this time to the sounds of The Boy and The Man playing chess. No noisy cartoons in the background, no soccer game. Yep. It's Heaven.

7:30 a.m. I'm up, I'm up. Time for coffee. The Pup, sensing the change in the air, gets antsy and promptly pees in the bedroom. Great. It was time to start cleaning the house anyway.

8:30 a.m. Jacob: "I'm bored." Sigh.

9:03 a.m. The Boy is heard playing his electric keyboard in his bedroom. Well, battery-operated. But it's a slippery slope.

2:00 - 6:30 p.m. A flurry of activity commences. Run to Target, buy birthday gift for classmate, go to Cub Scouts meeting, then off to the birthday party. The Boy is accepting of our weekend rules. He doesn't whine and beg for anything at the store, even declines eating a cookie at Cub Scouts because he knows he's off to a party. I am triumphant.

6:30 p.m. Joel: "I'm bored." Double sigh.

8:30 p.m. I'm pooped, so it's back to bed with a book. The Boy is in a deep slumber, likely dreaming of the fence staining that Sunday holds for us. I suddenly hear the creak of the TV cabinet, the soft click of the TV turning on, followed by the murmuring of soccer scores. The Man has caved.

Sunday
5:00 a.m. Repeat: Creak. Click. Murmur. But at least the TV gets turned off again before The Boy gets up.

9:30 a.m. When we are leaving mass, The Boy turns to me and says, "Know why I like church?" [I tense, wondering if your eyes can actually pop out of your head when you explode at hearing the word "donut."] "Why, Jacob?" I ask. "Because you get to learn more about God. Plus there's a lot of religion in there," he says. It's working!

10:30 a.m. The first can of fence stain is popped open. Ah, the sweet smell of elbow grease. And since we have six elbows in action, this should be good.

1:00 p.m. Two elbows left working. Both mine. The other four bailed out on me in search of turkey for sandwiches about an hour ago. But we accomplished a lot and killed two cans of stain. Need more to finish the project anyway, so it's a good time to stop. I walk into the kitchen to see stain footprints on the wood floor. Grrrrrr.

2:00 p.m. The Boy has decided to move out. To the patio. He cites his ability to hunt coyotes with trashcans and that he's willing to sleep on two chairs pushed together. I tell him that it sounds like he has a good, solid plan worked out, and I go take a shower. When I emerge, a decidedly happier person, he has moved back home and needs a bath and calamine lotion. Better not to ask at this point.

4:00 p.m. The Man tells me that he's bored and wants to check e-mail. I give him The Look. He says, "well?!?" "I'm not the boss of you," I say, continuing The Look. He sighs, returns to the living room, and I hear him taking turns reading a book about pirates with The Boy.

6:45 p.m. I've escaped to my scrapbook room for some hard-earned crafting and glue-sniffing. I'm just hitting my stride when I hear the sounds of something being shredded. In the bedroom, The Pup is clearly done with the OTG experiment. One of my purse bags (yes, boys, there are bags to hold purses) is being ripped to pieces.

7:00 p.m. While scrapping, I hear the telltale ticktock of the 60 Minutes introduction and a deal being brokered to let The Boy watch TV starting at 8:00 p.m.

Sigh. I give.

For you doubters out there, I lasted the whole 48 hours. And when I woke up this morning, it was to the blaring of the Zack and Cody and a wrinkled brow when I asked The Boy what he thought of our experiment. Then I turned my phone on and saw 15 new messages.

But what you could hear around our house for the two days before was on a whole different level. Conversations about inventors, God and animals. Prayers. The satisfying swish and swoosh of paint brushes and rollers, and occasionally a screech when someone got splattered. Birds, soooo many birds. And a ceiling fan that I really need to have looked at.

If you ask me, it was a success. I can't speak for the other four elbows.