Telling your kids "no" is the greatest gift you can give yourself

My three year old daughter found our stash of board games on Saturday, which she could not have been more excited about.

Over the course of a few hours she "taught" me how to play such games as Sorry, Trouble, Connect Four, and some weird game named "Labyrinth" that my wife played when she was little.  This is a bit embarrassing to admit, but I've apparently been playing these games wrong my entire life.  Did you know that in Trouble, the goal is to line up your colored pieces in each corner of the board, pop the bubble three of four times, and then put the game away?  I didn't.  To play Sorry you line up your colored pieces in each corner of the board, lay out one card in front of each group of pieces, and then put the game away.  I didn't know that either.

In fact, most of the games we played involved getting all the game pieces out, color coordinating them, throwing whatever other random game pieces there were onto the board and then packing it all up and moving on to the next game.  The rules of these games were strict, too.  There was no deviating from this pattern.  Anytime I'd question her authority, she'd pick up the "Constructions", point to a section and tell me that that's what it says.

"See Dad?"

So when my daughter came across my Notre Dame-themed Monopoly game (or, "The Shamrock Game" as it's now called), I wouldn't let her play.  She asked.  I hesitated; thoughts of money and hotels and Get Out of Jail Free cards strewn about the room ran through my head.  I said no.

She wanted to know why.  I told her that it was a game for Mommies and Daddies only.  She politely asked, "Can I play later when I'm bigger?"  Of course you can, honey.

She moved onto the next game, asking if we could play The Shamrock Game a few more times over the course of the afternoon.  "When you're bigger."  She accepted that answer with minimal push-back each time.

The worst part of Monopoly (other than the 75 hours it takes to play the game, the boredom of being the first person out, and the fights.  So many fights.) is the cleanup.  Putting all the money back in order.  Organizing the cards.  I could have easily let her play but I wanted no part of the cleanup.  It was laziness, but it was justified.

And I didn't feel bad about denying her this simple pleasure.  I had no issues sleeping that night, knowing I robbed my daughter of her first taste of Monopoly.

Fast-forward to Sunday.  She couldn't wait to get another crack at those board games in the morning.  We played a few rounds of Connect Four.  If you're not familiar, that's the game where you separate the black and red pieces, and then put them into the slots until there's no room left, then dump them out and do it again.

And then, out of the blue she asked, "Dad? Am I a big girl?"

Of course you are, honey.

"Big enough to play The Shamrock Game?"

BOOM! Headshot.  My ice-cold heart didn't stand a chance.

There was no way I could say no now.  So we busted open The Shamrock Game.

She marveled at the little metal tokens, organized the houses and hotels into single-file rows across the board, and put a few of the cards on the board.  But never touched the properties.  Had zero interest in the money.  Made virtually no mess.

Like most things in life, all that worrying was pointless.  I could have just let her play the game on Saturday and we would have had some fun and moved on with our lives.  But then I wouldn't have this story to tell.

So in conclusion, deny your kids the simple pleasures in life.  Because some day, if you're lucky. you may get a cute anecdote from it.  And really, that's what matters.