The Family that Plays Together...

So, we've been trying to institute family game night around our house and so far it has debuted to mixed reviews.  You might be wondering what kind of parents have intentionally denied their children family board game time, but as with most weird stuff around here, there's a story there.

You see, Matt and I have several unwritten rules in our marriage; things that weren't officially part of our marriage vows but should have been.  The top two are as follows: 1) I promise to limit my own personal access to any and all microphones and 2) we will not play board games together.  Why no board games?  Well because one of us is grossly overcompetetive and the other is (in my opinion) flippantly accusatory.  True story: the last time Matt and I played a board game together was with my future in-laws in 2003.  Or as I like to call it, The Great Trivial Pursuit Witch Hunt of 2003, in which my integrity was called into question over a single card.  It started off so innocently: What is the state snack of Utah?  To which I instantly replied: Jell-o (followed by what might have been considered a celebratory in your face dance).  All hell then broke loose because apparently there is no possible way I could have known the state snack of Utah despite iron clad anecdotal evidence that included Bill Cosby, the 2002 Winter Olympics and a Today show segment (hosted by Katie Couric for crying out loud). Needless to say my multi-faceted, higher level explanation did not go over well.  I can't say I directly blame Mitt Romney, but if it comes down to him or Dr. Heathcliff Huxtuble, well...you know.
Anyway, I was accused of cheating, as if I spend all my free time reading Trivial Pursuit cards for fun.  I really and truly think the people in my life completely underestimate the sheer volume of absolutely useless knowledge I carry around in my brain. Sometimes I'm surprised I don't stagger under it's weight.

Flash forward to 2012, the board game moratorium has continued, an unholy and fragile alliance formed between my husband and I in order to protect our children from emotional trauma.  Don't get me wrong, our kids can play games with each other or they can play games with Matt or they can play games with me, we aren't cruel after all.  But as children are apt to do, Connor started questioning why we all just can't play together.  Enter a little game called Headbandz.  Connor loves this freaking game.  It's like 20 questions, but with the addition of individual headbands each player wears holding a picture card.  Then you have to ask someone questions, trying to determine what picture you are wearing based on their answers.  Fine.  There is no game board to overturn in anger, no currency exchanging hands and no random trivia.  We thought we were safe.  Enter Hudson.

Now, Connor has owned this game a while and Hudson has expressed zero interest in playing, but now that he is 4 entire years old, he has to participate in Headbandz.  Since he has observed us playing in the past, we thought he had a pretty firm grasp on the question/answer format and we all quickly chose a card, loaded it into our headbands and gathered around to play.  It was like an episode of Leave it to Beaver....for about 7 seconds.  We started with Hudson.  I gave him some sample questions just as a reminder (Am I an animal?  Am I something you can eat?  Do I make noise?) and he nodded with a serious look on his face and whispered, "I ready."  After staring at our headbands for what seemed like hours he asked, "Am I aaaaaaaaaaa..........light bulb? "  No, you are not a lightbulb.  To which he replied, "Cause you are!"   Okay, time to revisit the concept.  No announcing what anyone else has on their headband. One new picture card for Mom and we're back to it.  Hudson's turn came around again and he seemingly went into a trance.  After forever he asked, "Am I aaaaaaaaaa....how you say it???? You know... it so beautiful?  I am aaaaaaaaa....flower?"  Nope, you are not a flower.  Cue immediate, uncontrollable laughter. I turn to look at Matt, wearing that ridiculous headband and he said in a defeated voice, "I'm a flower right?"  Yep.
As Hudson is up doing his victory dance in celebration of being able to identify what the rest of us have on our cards (because who gives a crap what he is actually supposed to be guessing) he announces, "I so awesome at this game!  I winned it!" Cut to Connor losing it.  Mr. Perfectionist had reached his limit and proceeded to flip out on his brother's blatant disregard of both rules and good sportsmanship.

Now it was really starting to feel like a Hill family game night.  Because we are grown ups, Matt and I each took a boy and tried to impart some quality parental wisdom.  You know, the good stuff like patience, winning with class, cheating with class, restraining oneself when one gets the urge to slap the headband off of one's little brother.   I felt like Matt and I were totally channeling Claire and Cliff minus the shoulder pads and funky sweaters.  After the group therapy session it was decided that our family is taking a little sabbatical from family game night at least until we find "our" game.  That elusive game that challenges our intellect, inspires healthy competition, yet doesn't lead to tears or blood shed.

It's out there.

I Gots a Hole in my Face Mom.

Last Thursday I got the news that Hudson had been injured at school.  Apparently while walking out to the playground, he wasn't paying attention (big shock) and a gate swung back and hit him.  If my little puddin' pop was an average sized child it would have undoubtedly bounced off his chest, but since he is nugget sized the gate latch hit him square in the forehead.  Ouch.  He was of course, quite upset but got over it remarkably fast.  He was back to eating gold fish in a matter of minutes.  The school nurse (or lady doctor as Hudson refers to her) recommended an urgent care visit and some stitches.
So off we went.  On the way out I asked Hudson how he was feeling. He sweetly replied, "I gots a hole in my face, Mom."  And that is exactly what it looked like, a hole right below his double cowlick, the area of his head I like to refer to as the dead man's zone because no hair dares to grow there.  I know in my heart there will be no hair coverage for this scar.

We arrived at the urgent care and went right back to see the doctor.  Hudson was having an absolute ball.  He had never seen such a wondrous, magical place.  Everything was amazing from the paper on the exam table to the books in the waiting room.  I really started to wonder if that gate had damaged his brain, because in all of his four years Hudson has never willingly or openly adored a piece of printed literature.  Scary stuff.  Hud was a champ while the doctor irrigated his newly acquired hole, keeping up a steady monologue of odd statements that kept the doctor laughing.  When the doctor backed up to examine the wound, Hudson looked down at the table where the saline had dripped off his head and down to the paper and said, "Oh my gosh......someones tee teed on this table."  The doctor laughed and said, "Oh that's just water."  To which Hudson replied in the most solemn voice, "No, it's not.  I can't know who did it, but someone peed here.  That disgusting."  Things kind of went down hill from there.

The doctor decided that it need one or two stitches to pull it all back together and went to get ready.  Hudson decided to check out the room and became obsessed with this poster on the wall.  He begged me to take his picture reenacting the scene. Yes, he wanted to take his shirt off, but no, I didn't allow it.  I have some standards. They're low, but they're there. But just wait, it gets weirder.

Hudson Hill, Electrode Placement Model

When the doctor and nurse came back in to do the actual procedure, he gave me the rundown on my role.  He said they would need all the help they could get to hold him completely still, especially while they were injecting the anesthetic.  His exact words?  "Get wherever you need to be to hold him, straddle the table if you have to."  Pause here for my hysterical laughter.  Yes, I have the sense of humor of a 15 year old boy, and second, I don't care if they were performing open heart surgery on my child, there was no way I was straddling that table.  After we cleared up that little issue and I finally stopped laughing, I perched myself on the edge of the exam table and held both of Hudson's hands.  I have to say, he didn't move a muscle when they did his first shot, but he was plenty ticked.  He yelled out, "HEEEEEEYYYY!" in his angriest voice.  But he didn't move.  After they were done numbing him up, he got ready to start stitching.  All of a sudden, Hudson yelled out, "Mom!  Kiss me!"  I quickly replied that I could give him a kiss when the doctor was finished, but that just wasn't good enough, "MOM!!!  Kiss my wips!"  Um, I love you Hudson, but I can't right now. "GIVE ME YOUR WIPS!" By now both the doctor and nurse are laughing out loud and when combined with the fact that I laughed like a mad woman at the word straddle, I am sure they had us pegged as a family full of stone cold perverts.

After what seemed like the longest 90 seconds of Hudson's life and one, count it, one stitch later we were done.  I am pretty sure that he might have needed two based on an earlier assessment, but I think that doctor wanted us out of there.  Hudson sat up, looked at the doctor and said, "I is so mad at you right now."  Then hopped down and walked out.  

So what does it look like now?  Well take into consideration we are still growing out Hudson's last self hair mutilation, it doesn't look good.

I like to think that it looks like he's been in a bar fight and after someone knocked him unconscious, they cut his hair with a dull butter knife. In other words, just another day in the life of the puddin' pop!