So You’re Bored. Welcome To The Club, Population: All Of Us.
OK quick context before we dive in. My kids are 15 and 18 now. Technically, the bored years are behind me. And yet. Here I am, on a Tuesday afternoon, writing a list called “what to do when bored,” because the muscle memory of those years runs DEEP. You do not forget the stretch of motherhood that involved a four-year-old saying “Mom I’m BORED” 87 times before noon. You just don’t.
Back then it would be approximately 2:47 PM on a Tuesday and my children would inform me, individually and then collectively, that they were BORED. Not “kind of bored.” Not “a little bored.” We’re talking soul-crushing, world-ending, “Mom, my LIFE is over” bored. They had, at last count, 4,000 toys, a backyard, an iPad, and at one point I’m pretty sure I bought them an actual trampoline. None of it mattered. They were bored. The only person who could save them was me. Apparently. Because dad was on a “work call” which I am 78% sure was a podcast.
So there I’d be. Me. A mom. Googling “what to do when bored” at 2:48 PM on a Tuesday like a contestant on a reality show whose only prize was silence.
I made this list because I have BEEN there. I lived through 47 consecutive snow days. I survived a stomach bug week that genuinely felt biblical. I entertained a four-year-old in a doctor’s office with nothing but a hair tie and pure determination. I am qualified to write this list. I am, in fact, over-qualified. My kids are 15 and 18 now and the boredom complaints have officially stopped. (They’ve been replaced by a very quiet house, which I would have, frankly, paid cash money for in 2015.)
Below are 55 actual, real, doable things to do when you’re bored. Some are for the kids. Some are for you (because your boredom was real too, I see you). Some are for the dog (yes, the dog was bored too, I could SEE it in his eyes). All of them are tested. All of them got us through. All of them will get you out of the doom-scroll spiral that we both know is the actual reason you’re on this article.
Grab a coffee. Or a wine. Or a coffee with a splash of wine, I’m not your boss. Let’s go.
55 Things To Do When You’re Bored At Home
1. Take a walk around the block.
Sometimes the answer was humiliatingly simple. Put on shoes. Step outside. Walk in a circle. The fresh air, the suburban gossip you collect from peeking at neighbors’ yards, the serenity of being momentarily unreachable. Genuinely healing. Bring the kids if you must. Bring no one if you can swing it.
2. Bake cookies from scratch.
Not the slice-and-bake. I love the slice-and-bake. But on bored days we did the real thing. Flour everywhere. Children “helping.” A vague suspicion someone added the salt twice. The cookies were ugly and weirdly amazing and I felt like a Pinterest mom for approximately 11 minutes.
3. Build a blanket fort that takes up your entire living room.
Every blanket, every pillow, every dining chair pressed into duty. By the time we were done, it was no longer a living room. It was a structure. A monument. The kids loved it. I loved it. I refused to take it down for 48 hours and my husband said nothing because he KNEW.
4. Have a kitchen dance party.
Pick a Spotify playlist named something like “2007 BANGERS” and turn it up so loud your neighbor texts you. Dance like nobody’s watching, specifically because nobody IS watching. Your kids are too embarrassed to look. This is therapy. This is exercise. This is a vibe.
5. Do an actual sheet mask.
Not a quick five-minute one. The full 20-minute, weird-faced, “mommy why” experience. Hide in your bathroom. Lock the door. Drink something cold. When you emerge looking like a cool, dewy main character, you’ll be a NEW WOMAN.
6. Try a recipe you’ve been pinning for two years.
You know the one. The fancy soup. The “easy” sourdough. The lemon ricotta pasta from that one influencer you can’t stand but secretly trust. Today is the day. Pull it up. Make it. Photograph it badly. Tell yourself it counts as self-care.
7. Watch a movie you loved as a kid.
13 Going On 30. The Princess Diaries. Now and Then if you’re feeling EMOTIONAL. There is nothing more healing than rewatching something you watched on VHS on a snow day in 1998. It will fix something deep in you. I cannot explain it scientifically.
8. Reorganize your spice cabinet.
I know how this sounds. But there’s a very specific, deeply unhinged satisfaction in throwing out a cumin from 2019 and putting all your spices in matching jars. You’ll feel like a Real Adult. You’ll feel like Khloé Kardashian. You’ll text a picture to your sister.
9. Read an actual book.
Not your phone. Not a blog. A book. With pages. I know. Who has time? But we all have time to scroll for 47 minutes about a celebrity divorce. Apply that energy to chapter one of something good and your brain will weep with gratitude.
10. Do a puzzle on the kitchen table.
Get a 500-piece puzzle and just leave it out. Do three pieces every time you walk by. By Saturday, the puzzle is done. You feel like a genius. The kids feel like geniuses. You’ll glue it and hang it in the garage forever like a trophy. Win.
11. Plant something. Anything.
A pot of basil. A weird succulent. A sad little tomato plant from Lowe’s. The act of putting a living thing in soil and committing to it does something to a woman’s nervous system. Plus if it lives, you have basil. Free basil, ladies.
12. Call a friend you haven’t talked to in months.
Yes, on the phone. Like an animal from the 1990s. Catch up on everything. Gossip about everyone. Laugh until you snort. Then immediately schedule a wine night. You will feel SEEN and that’s the most underrated mom feeling on planet earth.
13. Do gentle yoga in your living room.
Pull up a 20-minute YouTube video that says “for stress” or “for moms” or “for women who slept three hours.” Do it on the floor while your toddler sits on your back. Whatever. You stretched. That counts. You’re basically Gisele.
14. Declutter ONE single drawer.
Not the whole house. Don’t do the whole house, you’ll spiral. Pick one drawer. The junk drawer. The makeup drawer. The Tupperware drawer of doom. Empty it. Sort it. Throw the chaos out. Close it. Bask. Tomorrow, another drawer.
15. Make a vision board.
Get a stack of magazines, scissors, a glue stick, and a poster board. Cut out pictures of things you want. Vacations, kitchens, abs, peace. Glue them down like you’re 14 again. Hang it up. I’m not saying it works. I’m not saying it doesn’t. I’m just saying my friend made one and now she’s in Tulum.
16. Make a real photo album.
Not a digital one. Order prints from your camera roll for like, eleven dollars, and put them in an actual physical book. Your kids will FREAK. They’ll sit on the floor and look at it for hours. You’ll look like Mother of the Year. It’s shockingly easy.
17. Journal.
I KNOW. Just try it. Three sentences. What you ate. What you’re annoyed about. What you’re grateful for. That’s the whole entry. Do it for a week and you’ll feel like Carrie Bradshaw, if Carrie had three kids and a Costco membership.
18. Take a bath. With a candle. With a book. With a snack.
Non-negotiable. Lock the door. Tell the household you are unavailable. They survived before you and they will survive for 35 minutes now. The hot water, the candlelight, the snack. You will emerge transformed.
19. Learn a TikTok dance with your kids.
Yes, you’ll look ridiculous. Yes, your back will hurt. Yes, your tween will say “Mom, no” and then secretly love it. Pick a slow one. Practice for 20 minutes. Film it. Don’t post it. Or do post it, I’m not the boss of you.
20. Try a new hairstyle.
A messy bun is not a hairstyle, it’s a coping mechanism. Try something else. A french braid. A claw clip with the bangs out. A scarf headband like you’re a 1960s housewife. Your husband will NOTICE for once. Your friends will text. Reinvention is free.
21. Picnic in the backyard.
Even if your “backyard” is a 12-square-foot patio. Lay out a blanket. Pack a sandwich. Eat outside. The kids will think they’re in a fairytale. You’ll think you’re in a Hallmark movie. The dog will be utterly thrilled. Everyone wins.
22. Make homemade pizza for dinner.
Buy the dough at Trader Joe’s, lay out a buffet of toppings, let everyone build their own. It’s chaos. It’s delicious. It’s three nights of dishes. But the joy a child experiences crafting their own personal pizza is genuinely something else.
23. Color in an adult coloring book.
They sell them at Target for like four dollars. Get colored pencils. Sit at the kitchen table with a coffee. Color a mandala. Your blood pressure will plummet. You’ll finally understand why your grandma was always so calm. It’s been the coloring this whole time.
24. Karaoke night.
Pull up YouTube karaoke and let the family go. Belt “Total Eclipse of the Heart.” Watch your seven-year-old butcher “Let It Go.” It will be the best night you’ve had all month. There will be photos. There will be tears. There will be ice cream afterward.
25. Indoor scavenger hunt.
Write a list of 15 things hidden around the house. Send the children. They will be busy for 40 entire minutes. You can finally drink your coffee while it’s still hot. This is genuine genius. I should be paid for this idea.
26. Make playdough from scratch.
Flour, salt, water, food coloring, cream of tartar. Look it up. Takes ten minutes. The kids think you’re a wizard. The playdough lasts a week. The mess is contained. The dopamine hit is real. Five stars.
27. Throw a tea party.
Real cups. Real cookies. Possibly a hat. Even your son will play along if the snacks are good enough. Use the fancy mugs nobody ever uses because they’re “special.” Today is special. Today is a Tuesday and we are SURVIVING.
28. Write actual thank-you notes.
Pull out the stationery you bought three Christmases ago. Write to people who deserve thanks. A friend. A teacher. Your mom. Mail them, like an old-timey lady. Watch how it boomerangs joy back to you within 48 hours. It’s a real phenomenon.
29. Give yourself a real manicure.
Push back the cuticles. Shape the nails. Two coats and a top coat. Sit there for 20 minutes with your hands in front of you, doing absolutely nothing while they dry, like a queen. Pick a color you’d never pick. Live a little. It washes off in four days anyway.
30. Make a no-bake dessert.
Rice krispie treats. No-bake cookies. The chocolate-peanut-butter ones from the back of the oatmeal box. Quick. Easy. Borderline unhealthy. Perfect. The kids can help and they’ll be SO PROUD. You’ll be a hero by 4 PM.
31. Pajama day. Officially.
Declare it. Announce it. Nobody changes out of pajamas all day, that includes you. Movies, snacks, blankets, no real meals, just snacks all day long. It’s the most rejuvenating thing a household can do and it is FREE. We love free.
32. Make a digital photo book on Shutterfly.
Pull a year’s worth of photos and turn them into a book. They go on sale constantly, like 50% off basically every other Tuesday. You will cry. Your kids will cry. Your mom will cry when you give her one for her birthday. Tears all around.
33. Visit the library.
Free. FREE. Hours of free entertainment. Books to bring home. Most have storytime, craft hours, even free passes to museums. The library is the most underused mom resource on earth. Go. Today. Get a card if you don’t have one.
34. Board game tournament.
Pull every game out of the closet. Bracket-style. Single-elimination. Winner picks dinner. The competitive spirit will keep them busy for HOURS and you’ll laugh harder than you have all week. Monopoly is banned. We’re not trying to ruin our marriage.
35. Toilet paper roll crafts.
Dump the empty rolls in a basket. Add markers, glue, googly eyes, scraps of paper. Walk away. Children are FERAL for this. They’ll create entire civilizations of bug-eyed creatures. Pinterest moms know. Now you know too.
36. Sundae bar.
Ice cream, three toppings, whipped cream, cherries. Set it up like a buffet. The kids will believe they have entered an amusement park. It costs eight dollars. Their joy is priceless. Take a video. They’ll remember it for fifteen years.
37. Try a new workout video on YouTube.
Caroline Girvan. Heather Robertson. Whoever. Pick a 20-minute one and SUFFER. You will hate every second. You will love yourself afterward. You’ll text your sister “I worked out” and feel insufferable in the best way.
38. Make slime.
I know, I know, it’s a war crime against your carpet. Do it on the kitchen counter. Glue, baking soda, contact lens solution, food coloring. The kids will lose their minds. You will too, but quietly, in the corner, with a glass of something cold.
39. Lego challenge.
Set a timer for 30 minutes. Whoever builds the most creative thing wins. The prize? Picking the next show on family movie night. The motivation will be UNHINGED. The kids will be silent and focused. You will be alone with your thoughts. Bliss.
40. Make a time capsule.
Get a shoebox. Write letters to your future selves. Add a drawing, a small toy, a school photo, a little note about today. Tape it shut. Open it in five years and DIE LAUGHING. This is the kind of thing kids remember forever. Mom of the year.
41. Speed-clean one room.
Set a 15-minute timer and just GO. Music up loud. Bag in hand. Do not stop. Do not think. Just clean. By the time the timer goes off, the room will be 80% better and you’ll feel like Beyoncé in a mom uniform.
42. Watch a documentary.
Not a true crime one if you have anxiety. Pick something fascinating. Chefs, queens, octopuses (octopi?). You’ll learn something. You’ll feel smart. You’ll spend the rest of the night telling your husband random facts and he’ll pretend to be interested. As he should.
43. Plan your dream vacation.
Even if you’re not going. ESPECIALLY if you’re not going. Pull up Pinterest, pick a place, plan the whole trip. Flights, hotels, restaurants. Save it as a Google Doc. Now you have a plan for when the universe finally pays you what you’re worth. Manifest, baby.
44. Smoothie bar morning.
Frozen fruit, yogurt, juice, a couple of add-ins. Let the kids make their own. They’ll dump in things that should not go together and drink it proudly. You’ll sneak spinach into yours and feel virtuous. We’re all winning here.
45. Tie-dye old white t-shirts.
Five-dollar packs of plain white tees from Target plus a tie-dye kit. Lay it out on the patio. Let chaos reign. The shirts will be ugly. They will be PROUD. You’ll have summer pajamas for everyone and a memory the kids reference forever.
46. Make friendship bracelets.
Embroidery floss. YouTube tutorial. Two hours of focused, silent peace as fingers braid string. The product is adorable. The process is meditative. You’ll gift them to relatives and feel like a folk artist. Live the dream.
47. Write a letter to your future self.
Sit down with paper. Write a letter to who you want to be in a year. What’s true now. What you hope is true then. Seal it. Mark the envelope “Open April 2027.” Find it next April and CRY. Worth it.
48. Try a 10-minute meditation.
Use Calm. Use the free version. Use a YouTube video called “for moms who can’t even.” Sit. Breathe. Try not to think about the laundry. Fail. Try again. The fact that you tried is enough. You’re already winning.
49. Reorganize your closet.
Pull everything out. Try things on. Donate anything that hasn’t fit since 2019. Hang what’s left by color, like a maniac. Step back. It’s a BOUTIQUE. It’s a CAPSULE WARDROBE. You’re basically a fashion influencer now.
50. Listen to a podcast while you fold laundry.
A juicy one. A true crime one. A “Smartless” episode. The folding still happens. The brain still gets entertainment. The two-birds-one-stone of it all is honestly motherhood at its most galaxy-brained.
51. Make a bucket list.
Big things. Small things. Silly things. Things you want to do this year, this decade, this lifetime. Write them down. Put them on the fridge. Half the magic is in writing them. The other half is when you cross one off.
52. Bake bread.
Yes, real bread. Yeast, flour, water, salt, time. Watch it rise. Watch it bake. Smell your house. There is no smell on earth that hits like fresh bread on a Tuesday afternoon. You’ll feel like a colonial woman and IT WILL BE GREAT.
53. Sit and watch the sunset.
From your porch. From your driveway. From a parking lot. Wherever. Just sit. Watch the sky do its dramatic little thing. No phone. No agenda. Five minutes of awe. Free therapy. Highly recommend.
54. Themed movie night.
Pick a movie. Match the snacks. Italian movie? Pasta and Italian sodas. Beach movie? Goldfish crackers and lemonade. The kids will GASP. You’ll feel like an event planner. The TikTok girls will be furious you thought of it first.
55. Take a nap.
Yes. The most important one. If you can swing it, do it. 20 minutes. 90 minutes. On the couch. On the bed. With a kid on top of you, even. Sleep is a productive activity. Sleep is a reset button. The world will not fall apart in 20 minutes. I PROMISE.
The Real Truth About Boredom
Here’s what I figured out somewhere along the way. Boredom was never actually the enemy. Boredom is just your brain saying, “hey lady, we have not done a single new thing in three weeks and we are SHRIVELING.” It’s a signal. A nudge. A little fairy on your shoulder whispering, bake the cookies, take the bath, take the nap.
So next time you, or your kids, or even your dog declare yourselves bored, don’t panic. Pick something. Anything. Pick number 14 because that drawer has been mocking you for months. Pick number 18 because you’ve EARNED it. Pick number 55 because YES, naps count, naps will always count, naps are a love language.
Bookmark this list. Send it to a friend. Tell another mom you saw it on Pinterest and pretend you wrote it yourself. I won’t tell.
And one more thing, because I have to say it. My kids are 15 and 18 now. The bored years went by fast. Faster than anyone told me they would. The toddler asking for a tea party is gone. The kid who needed 47 toilet paper rolls and a glue stick is gone. Use the list. Use it now. While they’re still asking.
Now go. Save your sanity. You got this.