Let's forget the rules and have some fun

When I'm playing a game, I get very competitive. Or maybe I should say achievement-oriented. My motivation is seldom to beat another player; many times there is no other player. I want to excel at the game itself--win points, advance to a higher level, set a new personal best, grab whatever rewards the game designers have built in to keep me playing.

My grandchildren are teaching me that sometimes the point of a game is just to enjoy playing. It's a simple concept that I keep having to relearn.

I noticed it the first time we played "Busytown," a board game based on Richard Scarry illustrations. The children had chosen it as a Christmas gift for Pa because we had no preschooler board games and this looked like one we all could enjoy.

The first time we played, I spent a lot of time getting them focused, explaining rules, helping them use the spinner, etc. Later I mentioned to their mom that they hadn't seemed interested in doing the "search for clues" part of the game. "Not surprising," she said cheerfully. "They can get overwhelmed. If they're not interested in something we just skip that part for a while." In other words, let them explore the game at their own pace. Keep it fun and they'll be back for more. That was good advice. An especially nice thing about this game is that all the players are a team and everybody wins together. So if one kid prefers not to look too hard for clues and another would rather not spin for regular turns, we can each contribute what we like or what we're good at and still make a game of it.

(When I was 14 or so, my sister and I had a sleepover with some family friends. Their parents played Canasta with us. When I made a mistake in melding, the dad said no, I couldn't pick my cards back up. I had to leave them on the table and other players could use them. It was a harsh lesson in "rules are rules," but probably a timely one. Augie and Vi know that rules are absolute when it comes to crossing the street, but they can wait a while to learn that about board games.)

A while back we let the kids start playing a few games on our iPads. There's a little game called Snood that involves aiming at targets that get increasingly tricky. Eventually, if you've taken too many shots without reaching your goal, all the brightly colored little faces turn to skulls. For a long time Augie thought that meant he'd won. Now they're both getting quite good at it and they've even learned to bank shots off the sides--good use of geometry, no?

Something similar happened with Angry Birds. Both kids quickly learned to maneuver the virtual slingshot to vary the angle of attack--geometry and strategy in action. And both learned the special powers of the different birds that volunteer as slingshot fodder. Touch one while it's in flight and it speeds up, touch another and it splits into three identical birds. Two birds explode on contact with their targets, but to ViMae's delight you can blow them up with a touch of your finger. I used to say, "But you didn't knock anything down." Finally I've learned to laugh and enjoy her way of having fun.

It occurs to me that this lesson might have come in handy while I was working. Loosen the rules and make new discoveries. Find a way to get the job done but still enjoy the process. Construct projects in such a way that the whole team wins through cooperation. With any luck, Augie and Vi can use these ideas in their own lifetimes, and well before they become grandparents!  

Sweet new-fashioned girl

Once upon a time, when I'd see a little girl wearing a dress like this and there seemed to be no special occasion, I would assume her to be a very quiet and ladylike child. Timid and bookish, perhaps. 

Then ViMae came along and set me straight. Ladylike when she chooses, this girl also runs and tumbles and climbs and digs in the dirt with the best of them. She is usually just a step behind her big brother Augie. And while he's in t-shirt and sweat pants, she's in a dress with a swirly skirt. Usually pink, often ankle-length. And sparkly shoes. She is a girly princess and an active child.

I was aiming for an over-the-top princess dress when I picked up this smocked corduroy dress at Once Upon a Child and glammed it up with jewels and lace. I made a shimmery, sheer overskirt, but instead of attaching it I put a ribbon on it and left it separate so she can wear it any time. It twirls very nicely, as you can see. 

The dress also works perfectly well at the park, when paired with tastefully matching pink pants. Good thing it's washable!

Recently, I bought Vi a handful of mix-and-match clothes on sale at Gymboree. On this day, she wore coordinating pieces together. But she has her own sense of style. Picking out her clothes each day, she loves to find combinations other than the original ones. She nearly always has a rationale for her choices: the greens match, or the flowers go together. Which, of course, is exactly what we say about the pieces that came together in the outfit.

One lovely morning she was in a dress that was part of the new duds, and I wanted another photo. Pa suggested she pose for me in the garden, near the bleeding hearts. So this is what she did.

This past weekend, Vi went to her daddy's grad school commencement in the afternoon and Rock the Barn, the preschool's big fund-raising party, in the evening. Two days before, I asked what she was going to wear and she answered, appropriately, "I want to wear something beautiful." Grandma Anita provided the perfect answer, making Vi this new princess dress as an early birthday gift.

It seems to me that we who worked so hard to expand the range of choices and opportunities for women can take pride in the fact that new generations are exercising those choices with ease. And style. 

I wish we'd had Legos when I was growing up!

Augie earned his new Lego fire chief's car this week, by completing more columns of shapes. He never loses his enthusiasm for adding new vehicles to the fire-fight. 

Imaginative fire-fighting units respond to the alarm!

He is now better equipped than many small cities:
* a fire station with two garages and a tower (with tiny sleeping quarters, a lounge, and a command center)
* a ladder unit and a rescue vehicle that came with the fire station
* four specialized vehicles including an off-road one especially for forest fires
* 7 tiny firefighters, each equipped with a different combination of facial features and equipment
* great hopes for a helicopter, airplane, and gigantic fire-fighting boat

Ready to don their helmets

Augie has named each of his firefighters and assigned them roles based on their equipment. The first were Joey, Freddy, and Toby. Then came Extinguicell, Transessor, Transeco, Distinguicell, Transolo, and Chief Seressor.

Say what? The first time he said "Extinguicell," I thought, "He's looking at the guy's fire extinguisher, but in five minutes he won't remember the name he made up." I should know better. Augie doesn't forget. What's more, he treats all the names exactly the same. I like that. It makes me believe that when he meets kids named Abdi and Pang and Anousone he'll take their names in stride. (Actually, he and Vi already have classmates with what we used to consider unusual names, and they do take them in stride.)

In the command center

I've learned some things about Legos. If you like assembling things, you love them because they're so precise. But the play value doesn't end there. You can change them around, borrow from this piece and add to that one. You can supplement your "grownup" small-size Legos with the bigger Duplos you've been playing with since you were two. You can take apart your enormous Duplo zoo, perhaps leaving behind all the animals but reusing the building blocks and little people.

Best of all, you can create endless stories with everything you create. Theoretically, boys don't do this as much as girls do. But Augie spends hours setting up and narrating fire scenarios, directing the firefighters (and the occasional grandma) to this floor of the hotel to lead out all the cooks or another floor to lead out the guests ("And tell them not to spend time looking for pets or purses or stuff!"). We usher imaginary fire victims onto waiting buses and drive them to the hospital or a shelter. Augie likes to take the ones who are okay directly to the fire station so they can begin training to be firefighters.

Equipped and ready to roll

Legos can also help you learn negotiating skills, campaigning with your grandparents for fire-related sets, with your parents for Star Wars, and with whomever will listen for Alien Invaders. And you can learn life skills. Augie scans the package inserts to see what other sets are available. We've talked about how retailers promote toys and sometimes make them look better than they really are, and how we need to be aware of that.

One recent day, Peter remarked, "You sure do like Legos. But how come you keep wanting more?"

Replied Augie, "They advertised me up."

That may be, but we're the ones who keep buying. Not just because Augie asks, but because they are so amazingly fun for both him and us. Seriously. I have my eye on a ginormous R2-D2 that comes out this week. They didn't even have to advertise me up; I saw it on a friend's Facebook page.

(ViMae's experiences with Legos, including the new "Friends" series for girls, will get a separate post.)

Wishing on the stars

I’ve told a lot of stories about Augie, many of them bragging/reporting on how smart he is. Not yet in kindergarten, he’s reading like a third-grader. He got in trouble last week for reading a chapter book in bed for two hours past his bedtime.

So it was puzzling when he could not or would not write his name, or anything else. He played connect-the-dots with his finger on the iPad screen, but it seemed almost painful for him to grasp a pencil or a marker and control its movement. Turns out, it was.

Peter created a sheet of letters for him to trace, offering a Lego reward if he earned a series of stars for pages completed. Augie hated every minute of it. His preschool teacher told his parents that some kids really struggle with fine-motor skills and he may simply not be ready and able to use a writing instrument. We backed off the practice pages and said he could start again whenever he wanted to.

About a week later, he told Pa he never wanted to practice letters, but he wouldn’t mind writing numbers. Next day he had a new worksheet with five columns of inch-high numbers to trace. He could do one column a day, more if he liked, and he’d get a star for each page he completed. He and Peter bargained over how many stars it would take to earn a particular Lego firetruck: Peter started at 50 and Augie started at 1 and they ended up at 9. He did the work, and before long, he had a new unit for his fire brigade.

After that, we moved on to shapes. Stars, clovers, squares, circles with smiley faces, all good practice for grasping the pen and controlling those resistant writing muscles. Another fire vehicle, a new set of shapes, a new goal. Now he hurries to get his sheet and choose a marker, works quickly but with focused attention, and comes running for feedback on his work. He’s proud of how well he’s doing, and when he writes his name on the sheet (another requirement for a star) the letters show much more control. He’s only a few days away from the next goal, a Lego fire chief’s car.

Last night we were at a family-friendly restaurant celebrating Daddy’s new master’s degree. Augie took Peter and me to see the working fountain; he’s fascinated by plumbing, and a bit intrigued by the coins in the water. I pulled a couple of pennies from my purse and the kids each made a wish.

Augie returned to the table clearly triumphant. “I wished that instead of earning stars to get my new fire chief’s car, I’ll get it for making a wish!” I was laughing and thinking, “Augie, you get points for working all the angles.” Peter just said agreeably, “I bet you’ll get it in the next week or so.”

And he will. But not without earning the stars. This will be another teachable moment: Sometimes you get your wish not by receiving the thing you wished for, but by getting the opportunity to obtain it for yourself. Then it’s a double win.