Last night, in the brief moments between when our heads hit our pillows and when the snoring began, Art and I discussed our plans for today. His plans involved waking up early and spending vast amounts of time working on a certain paper he has due next week. My plans involved doing as little as possible, in an effort to a) get the rest I need to get rid of the bug that I’ve had all week, and b) live up to my true potential. We did, however, decide that at some point we needed to do something as a family, so we both fell asleep with the tentative plan to rent a movie this evening.
This afternoon, however, when we again fell to discussing our plans for the night, we were reminded of how our last “family movie night” ended– with Ryan in tears because Wall-E couldn’t remember Eve, and with Sam in tears because I told Ryan to wait and see, the movie probably had a happy ending. All Sam heard was the word ending.
Anyway, after that fiasco we weren’t quite ready for another epic movie night fail, so instead we decided to get a pizza and hunker down around the table for a fun game of Sorry. We would even get ice cream to cap off the big event.
It is a testament to how exciting our lives are that our sons were actually extremely excited by these thrilling plans. They were excited about the pizza, purchased from our dear friend Papa Murphy and baked in our very own oven. They were excited about the root beer– so excited that Sam simply couldn’t wait for us to pray for our dinner and had to dip his finger in his cup about 75 times.
And boy, oh boy, oh boy were they excited about playing Sorry.
We pulled out the game and put it on the table. I dumped out the pieces so everyone could take their color and put it in their start zone. I “shuffled” the cards and placed them on the board. (Honestly, I am the worst shuffler I have ever met. Ever.)
“I’ll go first,” said Ryan.
“No, actually, I’ll go first,” I said, reminding him of his manners and the rule “ladies first,” which is my sons’ very favorite rule ever.
I drew an eight.
Ryan drew a seven.
Art drew a ten.
Sam drew a five.
Sigh. So far, no one was even out of start.
After six more turns around the table, during which only Art had managed to move at all, I declared a new rule which stated: “When Mommy is starting to twitch, everyone gets to move one guy out of start.”
At Sam’s next turn, he drew an eight.
“What number is that, Sam?” I asked, trying to make every moment a teachable moment.
“Eight!” announced Ryan, who is decidedly not Sam.
“Let Sam answer the question!” I hissed.
“Eight!” answered Sam, quite proud. Sigh.
“Can you count to eight?” I prompted as he prepared to move his little yellow pawn.
“One– two– three– four–” At this point I realized that the counting was happening in stereo.
“Ryan! Let your brother do it!” I commanded.
Another turn around the table.
“Okay, Sam, take a card and tell Mommy what the number is,” I instructed in my best we-are-going-to-have-fun-family-bonding-if-it-kills-me voice.
“Take a card and tell Mommy what the number is!” repeated Ryan, in his best no-one-will-ever-be-as-good-at-bossing-Sam-around-as-I-am voice.
“Ryan!” I shrieked patiently. “I do not need an echo!”
Sam took the card, read me the number twelve, and helped me count twelve spaces on the board.
Several more turns around the board. We had all gotten a couple guys in the safety zone. Art had been stuck with a guy in home, two in the safety zone, and one in start for about six turns and was starting to rock in place in his chair. Ryan was making great progress and hadn’t bossed Sam around in like three turns.
Sam took a card. “What number is it, Sammy?” I asked.
“Um, oh, this is tricky–”
At which point my husband cracked up. “It’s turkey?” he repeated.
“Tricky. He said tricky.” At this point Ryan and Art were both laughing semi-hysterically, and Sam was laughing too, having no greater joy than to make the rest of the family laugh.
“It’s ten Sam,” I informed him in my most longsuffering voice. “Now, can we count to ten?”
“One– two– three– four– five– six– seven– eight– nine– TURKEY!”
Ah, yes, the joys of family game night.
I can’t wait till they’re old enough to teach them to play Monopoly.