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Broke Wife, Big City
The
family that slays together, stays together
By Aprill Brandon
There are a lot of theories out there about the best way to raise
children. These mostly come from people without kids, but a shocking
amount of parents manage to form strong opinions about this subject
too. Which they must do in-between chugging Merlot and crying in the
shower, I imagine.
I’ll admit I used to be one of those parents. With lofty ideals about
proper nutrition and preschool STEM activities and basic human hygiene.
Pffft.
But that was before. Before the machine. Before...THE GAME.
Now none of it matters. Nothing matters. Nothing except...THE GAME.
Well, I mean, nothing except my children and husband and our collective
health and world peace and our extended families and our beloved dog
and protecting the environment and Jeff Goldblum because he’s a
national treasure and all our friends.
But NOTHING ELSE.
It started innocently enough, like most of these scenarios that end up
spiraling into a post-apocalyptic wasteland. I bought my husband one of
those Nintendo Classic consoles for Christmas. You know, the ones with
all the games from our childhood? PacMan. Donkey Kong. Super Mario
Bros., ONE, TWO AND THREE.
And it quickly became clear once we turned it on that my family is
unlikely to do anything for the next 15 years other than play Nintendo.
Like moths to a super pixelated light, my husband and I pressed our
noses to the screen, that oh-so-unforgettable music filling our ears.
The music of the angels, if angels sported mullets and Jordache jeans
and oversized, unflattering eyeglasses.
It was all so familiar, and yet somehow new, considering it had been
close to three decades since either one of us had felt those comforting
buttons beneath our fingers. Almost immediately we fell into that old
trance, eyes glazed and fingers moving like lightning, murdering
everything in our path with glee.
Our children, curious as to why we were refusing to feed them or take
them for walks or generally acknowledging their existence in any form,
eventually wandered over and were also immediately drag under the spell
of the Nintendo. All too soon, requests of “can I play next?” started
pouring forth from their lips, eventually escalating into shouts of
“IT’S MY TURN NOW!” Which, as their parents, we very maturely responded
back “NO, IT’S STILL MY TURN!”
We haven’t cleaned in weeks. Empty pizza boxes are stacked like
fortresses around our living room, with discarded juice boxes and wine
bottles acting as moats around them. All of our hair has started to
resemble the characters on those TV shows about Vikings.
Sometimes, in those brief moments where I blink and remember there is a
life outside of rescuing the princess, I wonder if I should be worried
about what kind of damage this is doing to us, especially the kids.
Everyone is always yelling about the importance of limiting screen time
and how video games are bad for developing brains and that Cheetos
don’t contain all the nutrients a body needs.
But then, happily, it’s my turn again and those silly thoughts shoot
out of my head with the speed of a jumped upon turtle shell in Super
Mario Bros.
Besides, I choose to think of this whole thing as more like how
families of yore used to sit around the fireplace, reading classic
literature out loud to each other and bonding or whatever. Only instead
of a fire we have a magic box that makes little Italian men run and
jump and squish evil mushrooms sporting heavy eyebrows. And is there
truly any more of a bonding experience than witnessing your 2-year-old
finally learning how to run AND jump at the same time as opposed to
just walking into a wall for eight minutes straight? I mean...
Now, if someone could just leave Doritos and Jolt Cola on my front
porch, I’d really appreciate it.
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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