Squish Games: Play Smarter. Learn Better

We did not notice how far apart we had drifted until the quiet moments started to feel heavy. Conversations became about schedules, work, and what needed to be done next. The laughter that used to fill our home had faded into background noise of routine. We loved each other deeply, but we were living side by side instead of together.

It was one night after Squish went to bed that it hit us. We sat across from each other, both on our phones, both exhausted, and realized that we had not really talked in days. We were functioning as a team but not connecting as partners. That was our light bulb moment. It was not that something big had broken us apart; it was the small things we had stopped doing together. We had stopped playing.

There was a night not too long ago when we sat on the couch, each of us in our own little world. My wife was scrolling on her phone, I was checking emails, and our son, our sweet Squish, was sitting quietly with his tablet, completely absorbed in his game. The house was quiet… too quiet.

I remember glancing up and realizing that we hadn’t laughed together in days. We’d talked, sure, about chores, school, and dinner plans. But those deep belly laughs, the kind that come from real connection and play? They’d disappeared somewhere between work stress, laundry piles, and the endless “to-do” lists that keep modern families spinning.

That moment broke me a little. I missed him. I missed us.

And then it hit me, the problem wasn’t just about “time.” We were spending hours near each other, but not with each other. We weren’t disconnected by space… we were disconnected by focus.

That realization was our lightbulb moment.

It hit me one night after another long day. Dinner was rushed, the dishes piled up, and our son—our sweet, curious boy—asked if we could play a game before bed.
I sighed. The kind of sigh that carries the weight of deadlines, bills, and too little sleep. “Not tonight, buddy. Maybe tomorrow.”

He nodded quietly and went to grab his book instead. That’s when it hit me—the lightbulb moment I didn’t see coming.
I wasn’t saying no to a game. I was saying no to connection.

We had fallen into survival mode. Every day felt like a loop of work, chores, and exhaustion. We were together, but we weren’t really together. And if we didn’t make a change soon, I worried that this was what “family time” would look like—tired people sharing a house instead of a bond.