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That was my wake-up call. Ay, Dios mio, what were we doing?

I grew up in a small town outside Guadalajara. My abuela — my grandmother — spent her evenings on the porch watching the sky change colors, talking to neighbors, shelling beans. No phone, no TV most of the time, definitely no iPad. She was the most content person I've ever known. And here I was, raising my kids in one of the most beautiful countries on earth, traveling to incredible places, and we were all staring at screens.

So we started what I call our "desconexion" — our disconnection practice. And I want to be honest with you: it was hard at first. Really hard. For all of us, not just the kids.

The Rules We Set

We didn't go extreme. I know some families do a full technology ban while camping and that's great for them, but my husband Andres works remotely two days a week and I need my phone for navigation and campground reservations. So we made rules that were realistic for our actual life:

No screens before noon on non-work days. Mornings are for being outside, cooking breakfast together, exploring wherever we are. The kids can read books (actual paper books, we stock up at every Little Free Library and used bookstore we pass) or draw or help with camp chores. Lucia complained for about three days and then started bringing her sketchbook outside every morning without being asked.

No phones at meals. This one's for the adults too — Andres and I were just as guilty. We put our phones in a basket inside the trailer during breakfast and dinner. Lunch is more flexible because we're often out exploring and might need the phone for maps.

One family movie night per week. We have a little projector and we'll hang a sheet on the side of the trailer and watch something together. The kids love picking the movie. Last week it was Coco for probably the fifteenth time, and I still cried. That movie gets me every time.

What We Do Instead

This was the scary part at first — what do you actually DO without screens? Turns out, a lot.

We cook together. My son Mateo, he's eight, has become obsessed with helping me make food. He can crack eggs perfectly now and he makes his own quesadillas. We've been working through my abuela's recipes — her salsa verde, her arroz con pollo — and he writes down the steps in a little notebook. My heart could burst watching him carefully measure the cumin.

We play cards. So many card games. Uno is the universal favorite. Andres taught them to play poker with M&Ms as chips, which I had mixed feelings about but honestly it's hilarious watching an eight-year-old try to bluff.

We explore. Without screens pulling our attention, we actually look at where we are. At Big Bend, Lucia spent an hour watching a roadrunner. An hour! She drew it afterward from memory and it was beautiful. At Carlsbad Caverns, Mateo asked so many questions the tour guide gave him a junior ranger badge. These are the memories, you know? Not the Netflix episodes.

I journal in the evenings while the kids are winding down. Sometimes in English, sometimes in Spanish, sometimes a mix of both — Spanglish del corazon, I call it. Writing by hand, on paper, with the sounds of the campground around me, feels different than typing. Slower. More honest.

The Unexpected Benefits

The kids sleep better. We all sleep better, actually. Something about not having blue light in our eyes until midnight. Lucia's teacher (she does online school) commented that her focus improved. Mateo stopped having the meltdowns he used to have when we'd take screens away — because now there's a rhythm to it, it's expected, it's just how our family works.

And Andres and I talk more. Like, really talk. About our dreams, about the kids, about where we want to go next, about our families back in Mexico. Conversations that get crowded out when there's always a screen to look at instead.

My abuela passed away three years ago. I think about her on those screen-free mornings, sitting outside with my coffee, watching the light change over whatever landscape we're parked in. She would have loved this life. And she would have never needed anyone to tell her to put down a phone.

Desconectarse para reconectarse. Disconnect to reconnect. It's become our family motto on the road.