Missives from the battlefront

I don’t know if you know this, but apparently, I am the world’s worst mother. This is per my daughter Addie, who would also like to make it known that I’m not her mother anymore, and that I should just leave her behind to die in the cold because that’s the kind of mother I am.

This scene is playing out in the parking lot of the West Geauga Library, where we are screaming things at each other at a great distance. This is the worst day of Addie’s life, evidently. I am screaming that I hope she enjoys living the rest of her life at the library, and that I hope the librarians are as big of fans of Mutt and Stuff as I am.

In case you’re wondering what could possibly have happened to spark such an epic battle of mother-daughter warfare, it turns out that I am worse than Hitler for not playing a game of Ponopoly with her at the communal game table in the library. I refused to participate for a number of reasons:

  1. The community Monopoly set is missing like 3/4ths of its cards and all of the hotels, so I don’t know how I could be expected to build my empire with just the Water Works and Baltic Ave.
  2. Why is there a board game table at the library, anyway? This strikes me as so cruel. It’s like how the grocery store insists on selling cheap, shitty toys at random intervals down every aisle, so that I either have to buy them or take off my fleshy mask to reveal the absolute horror monster of a mother that I actually am.
  3. Addie doesn’t even know how to play Monopoly. She thinks it’s called Ponopoly, which doesn’t even make sense. Get it together, Addie. Know your place.

So I tried to say I would play a more age-appropriate game with her at home– a game that I didn’t have to go ask the vaguely threatening children’s librarian for the pieces to. And this was my fatal mistake.

Things escalated quickly after that. Life with Addie is like having a really dramatic girlfriend– there was a lot of stomping around after her and pleading with her to please get in the car, then some light arm-grabbing-and-dragging, culminating in the uber-tense parking lot scene that even Tarantino would have had a hard time replicating the intensity of on-screen.

I would have been willing to go with the nuclear option of “driving away forever” (really just a quick circle around the parking lot– extremely effective and psyche-damaging), but at the last second, she caved and apologized, so she escaped without any psychic wounds, and I escaped without any child abandonment charges. And now neither of us is in the mood to play board games, as we just lived out a life-sized version of Risk.

No one can ever say that an Oja doesn’t take her games seriously.

 

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