Of Moms and Family Board Games

After listening to the message from the school, I hung up the phone and sighed with relief. I hadn’t wanted my kids to be in school during a spreading pandemic, no matter how buffered we felt in rural Nebraska.

“Kids!” I said, to no one in particular. “Extended spring break is now on!”

The middle boys let a whoop that made me wince, and their little sister cheered heartily along with them, noting in dramatic Kindergarten fashion that she “wouldn’t have to do any more MATH!”

The lanky teen looked up from his iPhone at his siblings’ jubilation. He pulled an ear bud out of one ear and looked at me inquiringly.

“No school for a while,” I answered.

“Oh. Cool.” His apparent indifference was only an act. I knew there was a little boy jumping up and down inside of him.

I pulled away from the commotion and began to pick up stray socks and toys, absentmindedly. My brow furrowed as I shoved a mild sense of dread out of my brain. I realized I had become quite accustomed to my daily dose of silence in the house while the children were all at school. But no matter, they were home and safe, and my introverted self was more than a little happy to have a break from managing the multiple schedules while we all hunkered down at home.

I poured myself another cup of coffee and noted the decreasing level of grounds in the canister, while I texted my husband about our new quarantine-style arrangement.

Hours later, I was wiping down the countertops and sweeping the dinner crumbs from under the table as the dishwasher hummed contentedly. The house is strangely silent, I thought, as I wrung the dishcloth out and pulled a bottle of Cabernet from the cabinet. Glass of wine in hand, I followed the sound of silence to the living room, where I saw every single family member ignoring one another, faces staring, unblinking, at blue screens.

Oh no, I thought. We can’t do this for three weeks.

“Okay, everybody, listen up!” I raised my wine glass like a beacon and blank stares turned to meet me. “We are NOT going to spend three weeks in front of screens!”

I added cheerfully, “Let’s have a family game night!”

One would have thought I had asked them to fold their own laundry or put their shoes away. My overly cheery recommendation was met with groans and slumped shoulders, except for my husband, who brightened considerably at the idea.

“Yes!” he enthused, “just like the old days!”

He winked at me and disappeared, only to return minutes later with his arms full of board games.

As teens and preteens can only do, my three boys slid to the table like blobs of grumpy Jell-o. Two of them went for the same chair, which caused a small skirmish, ending with the younger one on the floor with a bruised rib, while the older sat down triumphantly.

My glass of wine went automatically to my lips as I held back a sharp reproof.

“Boys,” their dad glared, “none of that.”

I felt a tug on my hand and looked down to see the little sister looking up at me with a smile. “Mama! I will be on your team!”

“At least one of my children is excited to play a game!” I smiled wanly.

With board games spread on the table, we began the arduous process of choosing one. Of course no one agreed on anything, and already short tempers flared as I poured myself “just another half” glass of wine.

While the middle boys lobbied their verbal daggers at one another, their dad’s voice rose and his face started to flush. The teenager quietly slipped out of his chair and returned with a giant bowl of ice cream and bag of chips.

The squabble over the games forgotten, the younger kids now all crowded around me like baby birds with upturned beaks and insisted, “Why does he get ice cream? Can’t we all have ice cream?”

I had no choice. While I clunked bowls out on the table, I glared at my man-child while he resolutely ignored me. The argument over the best family game continued through mouths full of mint chocolate chip and cookie dough chunk, while drips of sticky, cold cream flung about the room from spoons brandished emphatically.

Absentmindedly, I topped off my glass of wine and grabbed a beer for my husband. I sank into the seat next to him and allowed myself to stop listening to the “conversation.”

By some strange miracle—and to the Kindergartener’s delight—Candy Land was finally chosen, unanimously. I wondered, dully, if it had occurred to the oldest kids that a child’s board game would be done much faster than something like Settlers of Catan.

I stared forlornly at the pile of newly dirtied dishes in the once-clean sink as I wrung out the dishcloth from wiping down the sticky table. Glass of wine in hand, I sat down in front of the colorful box and looked around at my family.

“Ready?” I asked, willing myself to sound cheerful and bright.

“Mama! Remember? We are on the same team!” and with that, all six years of her awkward knees and elbows climbed up on my lap. Wincing as her limbs dug into my flesh, I managed to pull my wine glass to safety just in time.

Apparently being on the same team means sitting on the same seat, I decided tiredly.

As we began to set up the game, it was discovered that two of the pieces were missing. A hot debate began to spin around me as to who was to blame for losing the pieces. The middle boys started rising from their seats to duke it out like two little meatheads, and the teen slouched lazily back in his seat, declaring he was sure it was the little sister’s fault. To that, she started shrilly defending herself, emphasizing her point with sobbing and dramatic hand gestures.

The chaos swirled around us as my husband and I sat back in our chairs and just stared at each other. Then we laughed and started gathering up the board games. We herded the children to their beds, still intent on their various arguments, and clicked off all the lights.

In the now-quiet living room, we sank into the sofa with our beverages in hand.

My husband leaned over and clinked my glass of wine.

“Cheers,” he said, “to a memorable family game night.”

We stretched our feet out on the sofa and picked up our phones.