My daughter loves to play games with me. We have quite a collection of board and card games at home, and we've been teaching her to play more and more games as she gets older. One game that we like to play from time to time is a classic. Cribbage. It's a favorite between Micah and myself, and Willow and David both learned to play when they turned about eight years old.
Cribbage is great for kids. It makes them practice their math when they are tallying their points. During the summer, any little bit of review is probably a good thing, since Willow's arithmetic ability tends to get a bit sketchy when she isn't working on it every day, day in and day out.
So last night Willow challenged me to a game of Cribbage. Like any good sport who has had the gauntlet thrown, I accepted the challenge. For much of the game, I was in the lead, with Willow trailing me by less than ten points.
Finally, we got to the home stretch. I had pegged to within four points of winning. She had thirteen points to peg. I was the dealer, which meant I got the crib (and the potential for more points) but she got to count her points first at the end of the hand. Woudn't you know it, but the girl ended up with this ungodly hand worth 16 points. Grr. She won.
By this time, it's late and time for her to go to bed. So I tell her that tomorrow we'll have to play a re-match game.
She said to me, "I'm going to win." The confidence in her voice was irritating.
"Yeah, right. I'm going to win," I said.
"Nope." Willow responded.
"What makes you think I won't?" I asked her.
"Because. That was just a warm up," she gestured to the cribbage board like a queen surveying her lands.
Slam! Ouch! I was punk'd by my own 9 year old! I don't know who has been teaching my daughter how to trash talk, but she's goood. I was so flabbergasted that I couldn't say anything. Then I grabbed her and tickled her. She giggled.