Thursday, May 14, 2020

Family Game Night Rides Again

Last night's Family Game Night started outside around the fire pit, because we had all the fixings for s'mores (and Reese's s'mores and s'moreos), and it was the first night this week nice enough (warm enough) for us to actually have a fire for s'mores. Rather than the usual board or card games, we opted to play "I'm Going to a Picnic," which the kids hadn't played before, really, instead of "Psychiatrist." The games are similar: "Picnic" involves the starting player determining what sort of thing everyone is bringing to the picnic that has to be in common, and the players all take turns saying what they'll bring, and the starting player tells them yes or no, based on what he (or she) has determined is the common factor. "Psychiatrist" involves sending one person away, out of hearing distance, to be the psychiatrist, while the rest of the group determines what their problem is, and then they bring the psychiatrist back in and have that person ask questions to determine the group's issue. (Funniest game of that I ever played was in college, when the a cappella choir I was involved in sent our director out to be the psychiatrist and we all determined our problem was that we thought we were him. He couldn't figure out our problem. But I digress.)

So, we all took turns going to a picnic and bringing things until everyone could guess what the common theme was, at which point I'd had enough smoke inhalation, Special Edition had a numb backside from the chair she was sitting in (the plastic ones we have kicking around outside are uncomfortable for long-term use), and I was also getting too chilly. We moved inside.

We didn't want to give up on the fun, so we began playing Code Names, a game my mom had given
the family for Christmas a couple of years ago. This is a word game (no wonder my extended family on Dad's side loves it), and we've played it several times now and we all enjoy it. My biggest problem is thinking smaller in my vocabulary. The kids, despite having consumed multiple s'mores, went for more snacks mid-game, returning to the table with grapes I'd bought earlier in the week.

Special Edition gaped first at Middle, then at Oldest. "There are grapes?"

I nodded. "There are grapes."

"I didn't know there were grapes. I'm going to go get some."

Gesturing to Middle's bowl of clearly washed grapes, I commented, "Be sure you wash them."

I think Special Edition actually snorted. "Who washes fruit?"

"Anyone who buys fruits and vegetables at a store and knows they come into contact with pesticides," I pointed out.

She gestured up and down at herself. "Well, I ate a lot of unwashed fruit, and look at me. I'm the picture of health."

I raised my brows. "Says the raging asthmatic."

SE jabbed a finger at me. "Hey. That was because of the meth my mother did."

Hubby chimed in now. "Then there's all the psychological issues..." (He's awful brave to say that, sitting next to Special Edition like he was.)

"Also the meth. I think we're underestimating the amount of meth involved here. There were bigger problems than pesticides."

Okay, so Special Edition has a genuine point there. Her birth family was, shall we say, not remotely the greatest, hence why she chooses to call us family now.

We cracked up, and she went to get grapes.

To be honest, I'm not sure she washed them.

But then, the pesticides are probably the least of her worries. A