For the past couple of weeks after the boys go to bed, the Princess, Mr. Waffle and I have played a game together. She has mastered snap but aeons can go by before she notices that the cards are identical and she can “snap”. Funnily enough, she’s much better at dealing the cards than you might expect in a three year old. And I am delighted that I have managed to induct her into the world of card playing. I now say (when she finally snaps), “ok you’ve won the trick, now lead”. And she does. I am entertained which is just as well, really, because I don’t think I’ll ever be allowed to snap more than once per game without a collapse into furious sulks.
On evenings when snap palls (why? I hear you ask. Why would snap pall?) we sometimes play a board game with elephants which is quite mind-boggling tedious but boasts the significant advantage of being entirely uncontentious. Lately we have started playing a game which she received from tactful friends on the boys’ birthday. It is called “Tottering Towers” and in all the language versions of the instructions, except English, is described as being suitable for children aged four years and up. Anglophone children have to wait until they are 5 to tackle it. How we wish we had heeded the sage advice of the instruction writers. She loves it but we spend our time locked in mortal combat. It is, essentially, a memory game. You have to remember which towers other players have (acquired on a roll of a coloured dice). The Princess has no hesitation in asking us for our towers but when we even hint that we might like one of hers, she buries her bag of towers under the cushions on the couch and sits on top of them. I once tried to wrestle a tower from her but gave up in despair when she began to collapse in tears. Given that the Princess will inevitably win, the battle for second place has become increasingly intense (“Oh, but, I think you do have the yellow tower”. Audible sniff). Ah, did you perhaps think the mortal combat might be with the three year old?
We’re getting snakes and ladders at the weekend.
I once read a blog where the writer said words to the effect “if you don’t know who Dooce is, you must be my mother, Mom, please call me”. I think this sums it up quite neatly. That and the fact that if you google “motherfucking mormon”, she is the first site that comes up. Apparently. She said so, it must be true.
The delightful Alice: quirky and beloved New Yorker recently turned New Jerseyer. She may be the best writer on the internet. Aside from you and me, clearly.
