Zack and I sat in my subaru, passing an hour last night, waiting for Lexi's troop. They were clearly running late, but we expected them to arrive at any moment, so there we were - Zack was toasted, wanting to go home and I was wishing he could be home, in bed and I could write today's post because I had something brilliant to say. Words lost in the dark. I should have scribbled under streetlight, but instead I played inane car games with a grumpy first grader.
That reminds me: I hate playing games. I hate board games, card games, darts, et cetera, but I fake my way in polite society because Greg has made it clear to me that everyone else in the world loves them, it's how normal people live. (I feel like Dexter.) I think there are others, others that secretly think winning plastic property is dumb, apathetic to pool and sports. We've just been properly shamed into silence.
But I pass, as a Mom - I make it work. My kids flash their big brown eyes, pleas for just one more game of Sorry. Who am I deprive them the joy of sending my red dooleybob back home?
On Friday, Zack started drawing nooses, getting ready to play hangman. He must have anticipated me begging off, me saying just this once before dinner. Above the scaffold, in big letters it said: DO IT! And then he did his best Ben Stiller impression, raising his eyebrows, trying out an accent.
And if they want to entertain me, bribe me, that's just fine. A sporty person might even call that a win-win situation, but I wouldn't know anything about that.