Quit playing games

Our family is fond of games. And you can keep your Parcheesi and Monopoly to yourself, thank you very much. We like to walk the edge. Sometimes we teeter toward the brink of absurdity, like when we play Freeze Face. I've told you about this game before and if you aren't playing it, then you're  missing out. You need a DVR and a complete lack of ego to play and then you're all set. Just pick a show, any show, and randomly press the pause button. The person of your choosing has to duplicate the expression on the screen. You win by. . . um, actually, anyone not doing the actual face-making wins by virtue of getting to mock the face-maker. Good fun. (I'd show pictures but the oldest isn't cooperating. I'm not a fan of the spring break lazies so I sent him to his room to think about why laying around on the sofa and refusing to do anything until the third and fourth request is a bad idea, even if it's a request to pose for pictures of your mom's stupid game. But the banishment had more to do with 18 other things he refused to do this morning until I nagged him for the umpteenth time.)


Sometimes our games teeter on the brink of danger, like in the new Jacobson family classic: Refrigerator Tetris. This game takes nerves of steel and the steady hand of . . . well, Kenny, mostly. He's the champ around here. When you have three different kinds of milks, two varieties of juice, Egg Beaters and regular eggs, four different cheeses, and assorted containers of leftovers, it takes the dead eye and calm demeanor of a bomb squad technician to add anything else to the mix. Fail, and you'll 1) end up with marinara sauce down your shirt front and far worse, you'll 2) incur my wrath. "What do you mean you jumped to avoid a bath in fish stew? You should have just taken it like a man! Now you can scrub the stinky floor on your hands and knees. What? What does being THREE have to do with ANYTHING?"


Yep, I'm a joy to  live with.