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6 min read

It is 8:30pm on a Saturday, and I’m at the kids’ table.

Well, not at, exactly. Underneath. A precious bracelet, fashioned out of a crumbling paper straw wrapper, has fallen off a tiny wrist. I’m crouched unsteadily with a pregnant belly, feeling around for it on the carpet as I try to manage the crisis. Small, butter-soaked fingers grab at my hair from the highchair above.

We’ve found ourselves at an upscale restaurant in downtown Washington, DC, halfway through a multi-course, seated dinner. We’re in a beautiful, intimate space, surrounded by over 50 smiling family members. The event is perfect. The food is delicious.

My children are losing their minds.

I emerge with the prized jewel, sweating. My 3-year-old flings himself under the table. My 20-month old snatches a bread knife from his seat on my lap. Spaghetti hits the wall behind us. Ice water spills down my dress. Demands for MO CHICKIN1 ring out. I’m frantically slicing chicken fingers when I hear high-pitched shouting to my left.

With joyful conversation echoing around us, my 3-year-old is now resting his elbows on the white tablecloth, squeezing his eyes shut, and clamping his hands over his ears.

TOO! MUCH! TALKING! He yells.

I glance down at our bag, discarded toys and books spilling out over the floor, and that’s when I see them: children’s headphones.

Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, I realize, is a mere click away on my phone.

Now, I have a decision to make. Is it time to bring out the big guns? A hundred research studies flash through my mind. I know the science. I know an occasional screen at a restaurant is totally fine. I know it’s an hour after bedtime, chaos reigns, and ...