Twenty Questions
One of you thinks of something. The other has twenty yes-or-no questions.
Cette situation a ses propres règles avec un enfant de 11 ans : énergie différente, espace différent, patience différente. À onze ans, tout ce qui semble conçu pour des plus petits est rejeté aussitôt. Présentez-le comme un projet.
Ces activités ont été choisies précisément pour cette situation, avec des durées réalistes et une indication claire de votre rôle.
37 activités trouvées
One of you thinks of something. The other has twenty yes-or-no questions.
Do one good thing for someone in the house without being caught.
You give three random words. They build a story around them.
How long can you stand on one leg? Now with your eyes shut.
Ten objects on a tray, thirty seconds to look, then one disappears.
Ten minutes on the timer and everything off the floor.
Everyone silent for five minutes, then say what you heard.
Face each other and copy every movement exactly, in silence.
Be a cat, a cobra, a tree. Ten minutes of stretching that does not feel like stretching.
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.
One deck of cards and enormous patience.
They design the board, write the rules, and then make you play it.
Two identical piles of bricks, a barrier, and one person giving instructions.
Fold a page into six boxes and tell a whole story inside them.
A letter, an envelope, a stamp, and a reply that arrives days later.
Twenty straws, some tape, and one rule: it has to stand on its own.
Fold it in five minutes, then race it across the table for half an hour.
A cardboard frame, a white sheet, a lamp, and a proper show.
Start with one scarf. Most people never get past two, and that is fine.
Seven lolly sticks, two elastic bands, and a pom-pom that goes further than expected.
Three designs, one tape measure, and an argument about which flies furthest.
Throw a soft ball around the room. Anyone who makes a sound is out.
One window, one pencil, twenty minutes of genuine quiet.
Kitchen roll tubes taped to a wall, and a marble that keeps falling out.
A tally chart, a window, and fifteen quiet minutes.
One small note a day about something good, folded into a jar.
Teach them a game adults actually play.
A straw, a string across the room, and a balloon that fires along it.
You describe. They draw. Nobody looks.
Invent a sandwich, write the recipe, then make someone else follow it exactly.
A trail of clues around the house, ending in something small.
Cushions, a torch and a stack of books in a corner they made themselves.
Ten plastic bottles, a soft ball, and a hallway.
Every blanket in the house, one afternoon, one secret headquarters.
A big box, some tape, and no instructions whatsoever.
Build the fort, then read inside it by torchlight.