Micah just beat me in Scrabble. We've been playing a few times a week, and when he was sick we'd play twice a day there for a while. So he's learned a lot of layering tricks and whatnot from his crafty mother. And he's been reading a few years now, and loves Calvin and Hobbes, so his vocabulary is pretty good. But still, he's eight. And I pride myself on my Scrabble playing. Our penultimate game (that's just me showing off to make myself feel better) I used all my letters spelling "licorice" and trounced him. But today the day I knew was approaching way too rapidly has come. He has beaten me. He got most of the good letters (I swear, for the last few weeks he's gotten the Q and Z within the first few moves of every game) and his brother got the rest (Jesse was the spoiler, he quit right before the end, but not before he used both the J and X). But again, he's eight, and I'm pretty sure there's not really a context in which he should have been able to beat his English teacher mother.
You may think that I'm writing this blog to brag about my kid, but really, it's much pettier and sadder than that. I'm writing this to mourn that I'm being passed already. I tried everything I could and tried my very hardest to make sure he didn't beat me, and I'm slightly devastated that he still did.
When we started playing we'd multiply his score by two (later by 1.5, and eventually by 1.25) to make it more fair, and so he'd beaten me before--but today he beat me straight, no points added. You know, I don't think I want my kid to be smarter than me, certainly not yet! And it's embarrassing to think that he may be already, at eight years-old.