I will tell you what you’re like at ten.
You love playing Nintendo. You scream at the game, and for a second it seems like you’re having a great time, then in another it sounds like your insides are being torn out of you. It’s incredible how many times I tell you “sit down” because as soon as the game begins you’re on your toes 3 feet from the tv Screaming.
You play to win, sure. But you are (amazingly) a bad winner, and a bad loser.
If you are doing well, you rub in into everyone’s face. If not, you are in tears begging me to stop playing.
“Trouble” in our house is not a joke. Every time we play there is laughter and tears. We say “I sold my soul to the devil” probably a little too often, but the way you roll six after six after six… one has to wonder.
You are becoming quite a ping pong player. We walked into an all Asian/Indian ping pong camp, honestly I’ve never seen quite a bunch of nerds in one room together since I was in ping pong camp, and after playing for two hours you said “I would like to go here.”
Yahtzee is a cruel game though miraculously you can roll yahtzee consistently.
Ever since Lindsay became pregnant she began asking to roll again, or simply rolling again, then saying “This is my score.” It’s odd, because she doesn’t do things like that. We do. But Yahtzee is a cold river, and sometimes the sun is out, and sometimes the levy breaks.
We played “Escape Room.” You were incredibly helpful. You were also the first one out the door. Apparently just opening the door wasn’t enough, you opened it and RAN OUT.
You are exceptionally smart. You look through me. You look through everyone. You’re not a happy, sweet, loving kid. You were in New York, but I think Texas took it from you. What they left is a brilliant mind. A wildly creative thinker. You often return to the recess of your own mind. You find the game between people quickly, and you play it like an expert.
I made you Chinese soup from scratch and you said it was too sweet.
I made you chicken and you said it was the best you’ve ever had.
You continue to fear the dark. You ask us to watch you go to the bathroom. If we won’t you will hold it to the point of hot mania.
You watched Big with Tom Hanks and loved it. Found your own Zoltar machine in the Hamptons and made a wish.
You don’t want Charlie in your bed when we read stories at night. You want him when I’m gone. He is your protector, your dark knight. Then sometimes he barks at things in the morning and I hear you saying “No, Charlie. No.”
You don’t lie anymore.
All Purpose is a great pizza place. You hit me in the ribs, or face, or ear that dinner. It was an accident, but it really hurt; then you moved two seats away from me cause you were so sorry, and didn’t wish to hurt me.
I count the days until you’re able to hit me again.