Most of you will remember my post, “The Village Idiot.” If not, click here. Well, my suspicions were totally confirmed last night. They really do think I’m a moron. Here’s how it went down:
Last night, after letting Luke win several games of Memory, he and Kate went into their room to play some Crazy Eights. Meanwhile, Andy set up the full enchilada Memory game in my room for a little one on one. I won. Handily. He was shocked. “Let’s play again,” he insisted. I beat him again. This time by a wider margin. He stormed out of the room.
When I finally sat on his bed with him to talk about the life lessons of winning and losing, he confessed, “But Luke beats you everytime!! I must have a horrible Memory if I can’t even beat you!”
Wow. My little village idiot charade must’ve been quite convincing.
“Andy, you do know I let Luke win, right?” Apparently, this was news.
“You do? Why??”
“The same reason I let all of you win when you’re four. Because you are such sore losers! I’d rather let you win and have a good time than deal with a grumpy preschooler all day. But guess what? When you’re nine, the gloves come off. Once you’re nine, I play to my full potential. Now you know that when you do beat me, it’ll be fair and square. Did you really think I wasn’t that smart?”
(Now here’s comes my favorite part of this revealing conversation. Ready?)
“Luke goes around behind your back telling people he can’t believe you passed the first grade.” Oh, that sassy little Luke.
“Really? Did you guys really think that your genius dad would’ve married a total moron?”
“Well…we weren’t sure…” he trailed off.
Oh, that is it.
“Well listen, Andy. Your nine. You know about Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny. It’s high time you knew about your mother. I’m smart. I got straight A’s all through school, I have a degree from a renowned university, and I am certainly capable of licking a four year old in Memory. I’m just smart enough not to. Understand?”
A big smile brightened his sweet face. “You’re smart? That means it’s okay that I lost to you, right? And that’s hilarious that the other kids don’t know!” He grinned and giggled as if he’d been let in on a monster secret: Mom’s not a moron.
Now maybe, just maybe, he’ll take my advice on how to write a proper book report.