a rugs life

Even with the good weather now upon us, my daughter and I are still playing chess. We play the Lower Southeastern Somerville convention which allows players to use best guess strategies when pieces are accidentally knocked off the board. LSS rules also allow long breaks for baths, dinner, snacks, and phone calls.

Anyway, I noticed that my daughter didn’t really like playing with the brown set of chess pieces. She always preferred the white set. But I forced her to alternate with me, so that each of us got equal chances at the two sets. She complained about it, and tried at every opportunity to wheedle herself more games with the white set.

About two weeks ago, I decided to mess with her head a little. I made it so that every time we played a game, no matter who was playing what color, the brown pieces always won. (I can do this because I still play a better chess game than her, though the advantage is fast diminishing). After a few weeks of this, my daughter started wanting only to play with the brown pieces. Nothing was said. She just ‘decided’ it was what she wanted, and once again tried to wheedle her way into more games with them.

Now I’m going to play with her head even more. I’m going to make it so that color advantage is totally random and winning has nothing to do with the color of the piece.

My questions for you are:

Will these mind games mean she’ll need more therapy later in life to cope with the emotional scar?

….or am I raising a child of the future, attuned to a more perfect union if you will…. a world where the rainbow rules and all colors can win?

Last Sunday, after a swim lesson, a walk to the park and a visit to Dunky’s for her favorite donut, my daughter and I came home. Telling her that I’d like a little time to myself, I asked her to play on her own for a while, and set her up in the kitchen with plastic bowls and sponges. The assumption was that she’d ‘feed’ her animals with the bowls or make houses out of them.

I went to my study. Some whooshing noises came from the kitchen, and then a little while later the water went on and off. It was quiet in the house and it was easy for me to settle into some work at the computer. All was peaceful except for a few more soft swishing sounds. After a while, I got up to check on things.

My daughter was on her hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor.

Delighted but alarmed, I wondered if she had taken ill. (This was the child for whom picking ones clothes off the floor appeared diametrically opposed to her essential her nature and for whom the simple task of removing her plates from the table and placing them on the counter had required 1,247 reminders.)

I checked her forehead. It was cool and dry. I pinched myself. I was not asleep. My dream child was cleaning the kitchen floor.

It’s a meeting. Diplomatic negotiations are underway.

Walking to school…

Rada (noticing that people leave their cars running to warm them up): Thats wasteful

Me: Yes, it is.

Rada: Its bad for the earth.

Me: Yes.

Rada: God must see this and be angry.

Me: Perhaps.

Rada: How can God see everything?

Me: Well, I think God is everywhere.

Rada: No, it can’t be! You’re wrong.

Me: Its just my opinion. You’re welcome to another one.

Rada: God has one hundred eyes.

Me: Oh really?

Rada: Wait a minute. No, God’s got one hundred children. And each child is using their eyes to look out for God.