Triumph!

So I find watching my children grow up that they have an interesting personality trait each: Peter Parker is the dawdler from hell--the last one ready and the longest in the bathroom; Bruce Wayne is anxious to be wherever we're going at least two hours ahead of time and gets so antsy about it that he will actually get himself places on his own to avoid waiting for the family, if there's any possible way for him to do so; Clark Kent tends to get places precisely on time.

So what?  Well, two things . . . one is that these traits align precisely with their births.  Clark was on time. I went into labor with her on her due date and she was born the next morning.  Bruce was early.  Peter was late and had to be induced (albeit by a midwife so using all herbal approaches).  But then, nurture not to be ignored, Clark and I treat punctuality in the same manner--wanting to be right on time for everything we do and hating to keep people waiting, but always equipped with a book and/or iPod to occupy our brains in the meantime.  Peter and her father, Sandman, are professionally sluggish about getting out the door and arriving on time.  I don't know where Bruce gets it.

Years ago I asked my mother in a fit of pique over Sandman's habits, what caused this lateness thing.  Sandman and I were newly wed and heading to his parents' for a holiday, if I remember correctly.  We had packed up the borrowed car (we didn't have one of our own at the time) and I was ready to leave.  We didn't have, as I recall, any children with us--one being with her biological father and the other two being imaginary at this point.  We were an hour or more late already for departing as we had planned.  I came back into our apartment to scream hysterically at my sweet laggard and found that he was carefully rearranging the cookbooks in the kitchen on the shelf.  Why?  I don't know.  So I asked Mom, the therapist, what was up with that and she said, "it's a control issue."  "That makes no sense," I responded.  But I think it is true.  It is an attention-getting device and a control thing that they both use--Peter and Sandman.

So Bruce's coping mechanism is brilliant--often he takes the bus to DC when we drive and meets us there.  I, on the other hand, have taken on the habits of 1) not scheduling anything at our destination tightly to an idealized arrival time; 2) meeting Sandman and/or Peter rather than traveling with them; 3) lying to them about when we are due somewhere (although this has to be played very carefully); and most practically, 4) playing Snood on my computer until they are actually completely out the door and yelling at me that I'm holding them up.

Snood is a dangerous thing, for those of you not familiar with it.  It is an extremely habit-forming game, involving a lovely combination of skill and luck and cuteness and shooting things without a time element which I find a problem playing at home where interruptions are fairly constant and only predictable in their unpredictability.  I hate losing a game because I'm distracted for three seconds.  (Okay, you snood-heads, yes, there is a time element to the highest level, but not any of the others, I know.)

So Snood suits me very nicely.  It tracks the top ten high scores on a number of different skill levels and allows one to type in one's name or a well-chosen pseudonym or a snarky message to one's competitors as one bumps them off the top ten list.  When I sit down to play, an hour or two can easily fly by without my noticing.  When I first got the game some years back, I played essentially continuously for an entire summer without realizing it.  Eight weeks of Snood.  I'm pretty good at it and I find it very therapeutic.

Although we have little else at which we compete, Sandman and I are brutal about Snood.  But these days, I really only play it rarely, and usually while waiting for him or Peter to get ready to go somewhere with me.  That precise situation arose the other day, where Peter had asked me for a ride and I was waiting for her to get ready to go to there.  I sat down at the computer, booted up my Snood, and tackled the laid back "Medium" level to which I rarely bother sinking.  Medium is the only level remaining where Sandman holds the high score of the top ten.  I've got him on "Child," "Easy," "Hard," "Evil," "Puzzle," "Journey."  But I've nearly given up on Medium.  It's too easy to hold my interest.  And yet, this day, I thought, "She'll be ready soon so I really only have time for the one round of something fairly . . . medium."

And this day, the universe smiled upon me.  The heavens ope'd wide and choirs of cherubim fluttered about.  Ta-da!  I own that Sandman!  Mammacita is #1!