Piranha Panic

I woke Ezra* up today with the promise of his getting to play a new board game, Piranha Panic. He immediately got out of bed, wrapped his arms around me, and squeezed tightly. I had turned off all the lights but two low ones, which I had to dim even further. 

My mother, Ezra's Amah, bought this game for him yesterday. I'd planned on letting him open it and play it next Sunday or later, as a new treat during our week-long trip to Virginia and my husband's new post in Yorktown. Ezra was heavily disappointed about this. Every sixty seconds for the better part of two or three hours, he kept asking me to change my mind. First he just wanted to open it in the car. No, it's for Virginia, the marbles will go everywhere and I don't have scissors. Then he wanted to play it at home. No, it's for Virginia, we're going to a birthday party. Then he wanted to play it as his father's house after the party. No, it's FOR VIRGINIA!

When Julio sends me a box, which I know is full of pictures, chocolates, tea, or other treats, the first thing I do is rip it open as soon as possible. And I'm twenty-five. How can I expect a child, especially one with a highly developed one-track mind, to act any differently? Ah, but now if I give in then he'll learn that all he has to do is hound me for three hours. I was wrong, but how can I reverse my ruling and save my parental authority?

Screw it, I thought. He's just a kid. 

So we opened it this morning. And we played it, the two of us, before Isis woke up.

And he had a great day. Five beans. A library visit after school. More Piranha Panic at Amah's house. Perrrrrrrrrrrrrfect, he told me.

Isis has a computer, she says. Is it an Apple? asked Amah. No, Isis replied. It's a Strawberry.