I forgot that this week’s unplugged evening fell on the same day as a cross-country flight. After flying three thousand miles for almost six hours, waiting around in airports or at bus stops, the last thing I wanted to do was go get a pedicure or compliment people on the street or be a better version of myself. What I wanted most was a warm bed in a dark room so I could go to sleep.
This means that there has been yet another week of no progress on The List, but you know what? I made a few dents: I sent out some adorable postcards (these ones) to friends and family that evening, and I managed, somehow, to make dinner as well, from scratch.
While I was on vacation, my sister-in-law told me of a friend of hers who instituted Slow Night. In short, on slow night, no electricity is used (but it’s not a hard and fast rule). A simple meal is served by candlelight, and there might be someone who breaks out a banjo or a guitar while kids dance. I may have made up that last part, but it’s so darn cute yet prosaic of my vision of a slow night, I’m going to declare it fact. So shall it be written, so shall it be done!
It’s too bad that the only guitar player in our house is my six-year-old, who will not play for family members, and who only knows Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star and The Farmer and the Dell. But! I made a meal without electricity! OK, that’s a lie. I tried to make a meal without electricity. I decided we could cook some pizza on our charcoal grill in the backyard, but when I went to roll out the gluten-free dough (I’m newly allergic to wheat), it fell apart. I told my kids there would be no grilling, or our pizza would end up in the coals instead of on our plates. I had to make this thing in the oven. My sons’ faces crumpled.
Have you ever met a three-year-old? They’re not exactly rational human beings. Mine screamed, “Then I will NEVER EAT FOOD AGAIN!” and stomped his little boot on the ground and started sobbing. I don’t usually give in to tantrums, but man was I tired. I was having visions of my warm fluffy comforter and my soft bed. So I gave in. I told them we could grill some broccoli, and that’s how I made slow night into even more of a carbon waste than normal! I used the oven for the pizza, roasted the broccoli, and had the kids pick peas (child labor!).
We lit candles, which was a shock to my children. “Candles are only for birthdays!” my six-year-old told me, scandalized by my lack of knowledge of some unwritten rule.
“We can use candles whenever we want,” I told him.
“When…EVER we want? Really, Mommy?”
“Really!”
“And can I blow them out like on a birthday cake?”
I looked at his pleading little face and shrugged. “Sure, I guess.”
So he blew out a candle.
“Me too!” my irrational three-year-old screamed, and then promptly put out the candle near him with more spit than effort. I relit them and the boys stared at the flames, and blew them out again. Who knew children liked fire? My six-year-old screamed with joy, “It’s so dangerous!” He laughed and then asked to juggle some knives. (No, not really.)
The gluten-free pizza was so-so and the broccoli tasted more like charcoal than broccoli. I wasn’t allowed to eat many peas, as my three-year-old bogarted the bowl for most of dinner. It wasn’t a glittering success, but it was good enough.
As for next week, I already have a plan to get out of the house and tackle the list. I spotted a few murals I love, and with the help of my husband, I’m going to take some photos near the murals. It’s a silly thing on my list, but it’s my list, and I don’t care. I’m doing it. After all, if candles can make an interesting night, who knows what can happen outside my own house.
The Unplugged blog post series are written by Shalini Miskelly. Shalini is a librarian and writer in Seattle. You can find her at http://readingandchickens.blogspot.com and on twitter @booksnchickens
