Twenty Questions
One of you thinks of something. The other has twenty yes-or-no questions.
Vous avez 5 minutes et un enfant de 12 ans. C'est une vraie contrainte, et la plupart des listes d'activités l'ignorent complètement. Les enfants de douze ans s'investissent quand il y a une vraie compétence, un vrai choix ou un vrai résultat.
Tout ce qui suit tient réellement en 5 minutes ou moins, préparation comprise. Rien qui demande vingt minutes de préparation pour cinq minutes de jeu.
46 activités trouvées
One of you thinks of something. The other has twenty yes-or-no questions.
How long can you stand on one leg? Now with your eyes shut.
Ten minutes on the timer and everything off the floor.
Everyone silent for five minutes, then say what you heard.
You give three random words. They build a story around them.
Ten objects on a tray, thirty seconds to look, then one disappears.
Face each other and copy every movement exactly, in silence.
Do one good thing for someone in the house without being caught.
Lie on your back and argue about what the clouds look like.
One small note a day about something good, folded into a jar.
Two minutes each morning, and a month of real data by the end.
Throw a soft ball around the room. Anyone who makes a sound is out.
One story, told in turns, that lasts the whole journey.
A tally chart, a window, and fifteen quiet minutes.
Sit still outside, close your eyes, and draw every sound you hear.
Twenty straws, some tape, and one rule: it has to stand on its own.
One sheet of paper, eight folds, and endless silly predictions.
Everyone performs one thing. Badly is fine. Compulsory for adults.
One deck of cards and enormous patience.
Start with one scarf. Most people never get past two, and that is fine.
You describe. They draw. Nobody looks.
One window, one pencil, twenty minutes of genuine quiet.
Two identical piles of bricks, a barrier, and one person giving instructions.
A letter, an envelope, a stamp, and a reply that arrives days later.
Fold it in five minutes, then race it across the table for half an hour.
Lights off, one torch, and a story passed around the circle.
Three designs, one tape measure, and an argument about which flies furthest.
Ten questions, one phone call, and a story nobody in the family had written down.
Ten words, one code, and a conversation nobody else can follow.
Teach them a game adults actually play.
Seven lolly sticks, two elastic bands, and a pom-pom that goes further than expected.
Ten pictures on the walk. Only ten. Choose carefully.
A straw, a string across the room, and a balloon that fires along it.
Fold a page into six boxes and tell a whole story inside them.
Cushions, a torch and a stack of books in a corner they made themselves.
Walk your road and draw it properly, to scale, from memory.
Kitchen roll tubes taped to a wall, and a marble that keeps falling out.
Not a craft. An actual dish that the family eats.
Six stations, a stopwatch, and a time to beat.
A sealed box, opened in exactly one year.
Not a snowman. Anything but a snowman.
They design the board, write the rules, and then make you play it.
Make it, price it, sell it, count the money.
A cardboard frame, a white sheet, a lamp, and a proper show.
Branches, a sheet, and a structure that has to actually stand up.
Paper chains, lanterns and bunting made from what is in the recycling.