Life Lessons from Milton Bradley

Nap time.

I believe those are the two most beautiful words in the English language. (Well, that and "chocolate cake", but let's not dissect my incessant need to eat my emotions just yet.) It's the time of day when my sweet Mimi must cease creating any new artistic renderings on my walls and head off to beddy-by for some much needed sleep. While Ava, sensing the rapid decent of her Mommy's sanity, retires to her room, not to be heard from until her self imposed "quiet time" is over.

I think most Moms will agree that this is a very necessary part of our day. Whether the time is used to complete a chore from start to finish (a very rare occurrence with a child under foot) or to sit for a moment and relish in the absence of screaming, whining and/or crying, nap time can be the answer to every worn out Mother's prayers.

However, one afternoon, after I had tucked little Mia into bed and began surveying the damage from what had to have been a pack of wild, rabid dogs and not two sweet little girls, I noticed Ava obediently gathering her belongings and starting for the stairs. Suddenly, a wave of sadness came over me. I was startled by how grown-up she looked. The temporary nature of our time together hit me like a ton of bricks.

I resisted the urged to rip into the box of powdered doughnuts that sat on my counter. ("Talk about your feelings, Christy, don't eat them!")

I couldn't let Ava go upstairs while the clock continued to tick away the minutes of our time together. Not today, anyway.

"Ava, do you want to play a game with me?"

She stood frozen on the stairs.

"B-but, it's quiet time." she stuttered. "Don't you want me to go to my room?"

I mentally recalled the countless times I had pointed to the stairs with a crazed look in my eye, threatening to sell my children on EBay if they did not take leave to their respective bedrooms for "quiet time". This could have had something to do with Ava's hesitation.

"That's OK, Avs. Let's just you and I play a game while Mia takes her nap".

Ava let out her trademark "squeal of approval" as she ran off to fetch Candyland. Her excitement translated into non-stop chatter as she carefully pulled out each piece of the game and assembled it. I silently scolded myself for not taking advantage of this one-on-one time sooner.

At the beginning of our game, Ava was flying high. She couldn't pick a bad card if she wanted to. I was trailing way back in the Peppermint Forest while her series of lucky draws had brought her clear to Lollipop Woods. I couldn't help but get caught up in her excitement as we clapped and cheered for every move she made toward the finish line.

With only a few more spaces to go, she turned over the next card.

"Yay! The Gingerbr- oh, wait a minute. The gingerbread space is way back at the beginning. Do I have to go to the beginning again Mom?!?"

Those giant blue saucers, we refer to as eyes, began to well up with tears. The sheer thought of starting the game all over again was devastating to her. It broke my heart. (This time the doughnuts won. Their white powder of shame stayed on my face for half the day.)

I wanted to fix the game for her. To invoke the "That card didn't count because you are so pretty" rule. But I knew that wouldn't help her the next time she sat down with her friends to play. I could picture them calling the game "on account of vain."

"I know it stinks, Honey, but sometimes we draw good cards, and sometimes we draw bad cards. I may win this game, but you could win the next time. The important thing is to have a good attitude when you play."

The thought of a win somewhere in her future gave her the strength to finish out the game. She even mustered up a very genuine "Yay Mommy!" when I won. We continued on to play 2 more games and subsequently, she won both of them. I was thrilled.

As she happily picked up the stray cards and put the game away, I was struck once again with a wave of sadness. Soon enough, she will be spending more time away from me than with me, and I won't have any control over the "cards" she is dealt. Of course I will clap and rejoice for every good card she chooses, but I know that when I look into her tear-filled eyes, I will desperately want to "fix" things when the game isn't going her way. Is there anyway life will accept the "because she's so pretty" rule?

One thing I know for sure, I will always be there to cheer her on, win or lose, no matter how many times she needs to start the game over.

Well, me and my box of doughnuts, that is.....