Rainy-day activities indoors that tire out wriggly kids

There's a particular kind of grey that settles over our house in Melbourne when a cold front pushes through, and the kids can smell it from the other end of the house. They start bouncing off the walls about ten minutes after the first drops hit the window, and by lunch I've usually refereed at least one adult-sized meltdown over a missing sock or a tipped-over juice cup. I've learnt the hard way that wet weekends aren't just about surviving the weather — they're about channelling all that pent-up energy before someone headbutts the coffee table. After a decade of parenting through drizzle, I have a mental rolodex of indoor games that actually wear them out instead of just distracting them.

Whether you're stuck inside during a Brisbane summer storm or hiding from a sideways downpour in Hobart, the goal is the same: movement, laughter, and tired legs by dinner. These are the games my family reaches for when the back deck is too slippery and the backyard has turned into a paddling pool. Some of them are old classics with a twist, others I borrowed from friends in Perth and tweaked until they worked for our crew.

Build an obstacle course from whatever is lying around

The living room becomes a ninja course on wet days. I drag out the couch cushions, flip a couple of chairs upside down, and string a washing line of crepe paper between the kitchen island and the bookshelf. The kids have to army crawl under the dining table, leap over the "lava" of scattered pillows, and balance along the edge of the rug without touching the carpet. Setting it up takes me about ten minutes, and the structure of rules keeps them busy for at least an hour because they keep inventing new levels and challenges.

I learnt early that obstacle games work best when there's a reward at the finish — usually a packet of Arnott's biscuits split between them, or the promise of choosing tonight's Netflix pick. We've been refining this approach for years, and the lessons I've picked up along the way about staying loose and laughing at the chaos have stuck with me. If you want a gentler reminder of why letting go of perfection matters on days like these, what my kids taught me about letting go of perfection is worth a read when the rain clears.

Put on a living room dance party

Nothing burns off energy like a proper dance-off with the curtains drawn. I queue up a Spotify playlist of 90s bangers — usually something noisy and a bit daggy — and the rule is that nobody gets to sit down until the playlist ends. We move the coffee table, kick off our thongs, and go for it. The toddler usually spends half the time just spinning in circles, which honestly counts as cardio.

To make it last longer, we add silly rules. Freeze when the song changes. Hop on one foot during the chorus. Dance with a stuffed toy balanced on your head. By the time we've gone through twenty tracks, everyone is red-cheeked and breathless. It's also a sneaky way to get them moving without them realising they're exercising, which means no arguments and no negotiations. Sometimes we film it and send it to the grandparents down in Geelong, which gives the kids another reason to show off.

Run an indoor scavenger hunt

Scavenger hunts are my secret weapon on days when the rain is horizontal and no one wants to leave the house. I write a list of weird and specific items — something soft, something blue, something that smells like Vegemite, something smaller than a 50-cent piece — and hide clues around each room. The catch is that everything they need has to already be inside, so I'm not ransacking the laundry for hours.

For my older kids, I add riddles that lead to the next clue. The youngest gets a picture list and a torch. They've raced up and down the hallway so many times they've memorised which floorboards creak, and that's exactly the kind of incidental knowledge that comes in handy when you're trying to bore them into sleep later. A hunt usually buys me about forty-five minutes of peace and ends with everyone collapsed on the rug, panting and asking for snacks.

Balloon volley and soft-throw challenges

Balloons are unfairly good for indoor play. They don't break anything, they float slowly enough for little hands to follow, and they keep themselves aloft for ages. We play a version of keepie-uppie where the balloon can't touch the floor and every body part counts — head, elbow, knee, even the dog's back when he's game. The kids turn it into a competition that somehow lasts until at least one balloon pops, which is usually when someone gets distracted anyway.

For slightly older kids, I rig up a soft-throw challenge. We roll socks into balls, line up a row of empty soft drink cans on the kitchen bench, and take turns knocking them down. Points get awarded for accuracy, style, and how loudly you cheer when you score. It's the kind of low-stakes chaos that fills the house with noise but doesn't break anything important, and the kids end up dripping with sweat before long. I usually hand out icy poles from the freezer as the trophy.

Turn the kitchen into a band

When all else fails, the saucepans come out. Wooden spoons, plastic containers, a tin of dried pasta — anything that makes a noise becomes an instrument. We jam out while I pretend to cook dinner, which usually means stirring a pot of soup with one hand and conducting with the other. The kids take it very seriously, complete with band names and matching outfits made from tea towels.

This one works especially well on the kind of wet Sunday where the washing is piling up, the Woolies delivery has just arrived, and everyone needs to be anywhere but underfoot. Giving them permission to make a racket is genuinely the fastest way to release tension, and by the time the soup is ready, the whole family is calm enough to actually sit down together. It's the kind of chaos that turns a tricky day into one of the ones we'll talk about at birthdays.

When the kids are finally tucked in and I'm elbow-deep in dishes, I reward myself with a long scroll through saved travel articles on my phone, and the Kenroku-en garden guide I saved last week is a recent favourite — the kind of slow, beautiful read that balances out a day of refereeing pillow fights. There's something about wandering through a Japanese garden in my mind while wiping down the bench that makes the washing up feel less of a chore. If you're looking for more ways to fill the long stretches between storms, swing by Country Girl City Life for ideas, giveaways, and the occasional meme to get you through.