My kids and I have been playing Monster, It’s a game that I played with my brothers and sister when we were young, and it’s a game our father played with us before the divorce forced him from our home.
In the game, I am the monster. I chase my kids. That’s essentially it, though recently, Clara and Charlie have begun to add twists to the game.
They each have a ball that they can throw at me, which according to them, should make me stop if they hit me.
They have declared the area an the living room “the Monster’s lair” even though I didn’t ask for a lair.
They use flashlights to blind me.
They bury me in pillows and declare me captured.
Last week, they added booby traps to the game. I have no idea where they learned this word.
Essentially, they plan traps for me. They put pillows on the floor, hoping that I will trip on them and fall. They reposition furniture in hopes that I won’t notice the chair or couch and will run into it and fall down. They use paper and scissors and tape to make nets and snares.
They don’t keep the preparation of these booby traps a secret. I hear them plotting in the other room, mostly because they are incapable of whispering. Sometimes they will tell me to stay away until their booby trap is ready. I am never surprised by what they have planned.
Until yesterday.
I heard them plotting a booby trap in the living room, so I waited in the kitchen, giving them time to finish whatever devious plan they had in mind. When they got quiet, I knew it was time. I ran around the corner, roaring and screaming, arms flailing, and found them both standing in the middle of the room, completely naked.
“Naked booby trap!” they screamed and ran towards me. Like any good father who wants to positively reinforce his children’s creativity (and because I was honestly so surprised that I was a little frightened), I ran away, chased by two, small, naked children.
Naked booby traps. Who knew?
If only I could get my wife to set a naked booby trap for me.
