TheMommyBlog

Okay. I confess. I bought each of my children a Nintendo DS. I HAD TO, I tell you, I HAD TO. Once one of them had it, that child's life was in danger while he did not share. When two had it (after a few black eyes and splintered coffee tables), the third was hoarse with begging to play and cries of, "NO FAIR!"

I figure I spent about what the next year's supply of Advil would have cost me, so there.

Anyway, I did ease into it. I only got one for the eldest. And then, there came a phenomenon called Game Boy Day at after school care. On Wednesdays, a short school day, they allow games to keep the staff from offing themselves during that extra ninety minutes of dozens of hyper kids. Each Wednesday, the middle child came home begging his brother for playing time, still sniffling from his friends' rebukes for begging them at after school care. When he was close to losing friends/teeth/kneecaps, we got him his own DS right around his birthday. And then, because I do not like to be driven insane, the youngest got one for her birthday.

See, it goes like this: everyone's birthday is three months apart. Logan in May, Dylan in August, Daddy in November, and Daphne in February. I'm in August too, but that's neither here nor there. I have surmised that three months is the absolute limit on the amount of time I can listen to the anguished pleas of the under-spoiled (Please? I'll give you my Easter and Halloween candy for the rest of my life!"), and the rage of the overindulged ("I JUST DIED, THANKS A LOT! MO-OM, SHE MADE ME DIE!").

Of course, I was cagey about the one I gave the eldest. I said it was mine, that I had bought it for myself to play Brain Age, but that he could share. After everyone else was equipped, I told him that he could have it if he took care of it, because I would not be replacing any lost units. Wide-eyed, he promised.

So for the last three weeks, no one knew where my DS was (it became mine again upon being lost; nothing like a little guilt and fear to fuel the search). They each blamed it on the other two. They were absolutely, without a doubt, certain beyond measure that it was at Daddy's house, which was out of my jurisdiction. Therefore, whenever the subject came up, I waved my hand and said, "You'll just have to look harder next time you're at Dad's. No complaining in the meantime."

Secretly, I was pleased. It made the other two so much better at tracking their own treasures.

Tonight, Dylan said he'd lost a game I gave him for Christmas. He knew I would not replace it, and he was mortified. He was equally sure he was on my bed when he lost it. Which, you know, made me want to scream, "And how hard have you looked??" I cleared off my bed and had him crawl around underneath. No joy. Then, I heard the boys whispering, "Maybe you put it under your pillow." What? They keep them under their pillows? Those little sneaky bastards.

I walked right past them; they fell silent at my approach. They watched as I pulled Dylan's bed away from the wall and peered around the headboard. Something shiny was resting on the box spring that was jutting just a few inches past the head of the mattress.

"Look what I found!" I held up the missing DS. Awe ensued. And then everyone scrambled to pull beds from walls and look in crevices to see what other treasures awaited.

I checked between Logan's bed and the wall and said, "Here's my hair clip! What were you doing with my hair clip in bed?"

There were cries of, "There's my poisonous snake book!" and "I was looking for that!" and "So THAT's where my alarm clock was!" Finally Logan stood on tiptoe, peered deep into the space behind his headboard and said, "Oh, hey—here's the Holy Grail!"