There’s only one game I remember. We called it “Mixer.” We’d run in circles on our parents’ bed while our mom turned on and off the vacuum cleaner, making the sound that we thought was similar to the Kitchenaid stand mixer that we were pretending to be inside as we ran in circles. Thinking back, this was incredibly forbidden. Not only were we in our parents’ room, but we were on the bed. Standing. Running! The impeccably-made bed with the blue-green bedspread. With our bare feet.
That was the only game.
My kids have had it different. Until I started working from home and my Macbook became permanently attached to my lap, we played. Every day. Different games. Many games. I prided myself on being a different parent than mine, who were strict and unemotional. A better parent.
But is it really better?
Read the rest of this entry