Okay, when it comes to games we're losers

For the record, glow sticks do not give off a lot of light.

Especially when it’s 10:10 p.m. and you’re passing one a few centimetres over pea gravel on the Meadowfields playground looking for a Nintendo DS game, measuring a square-inch in size, because you were too stupid to take a friend up on his offer of a flashlight.

Welcome to my life.

One day earlier I had been at the store where my son Justin, armed with his Senators piggybank, finally got to purchase the DS he had been saving up for.

He had enough money for the handheld video unit and one game. Because I’m a softy, I bought him a second game.

The next night we’re at my other son Jacob’s soccer game and Justin, who is mesmerized with his DS, wants to bring it out of the van to play with. I tell him he can’t because he’ll lose it. An argument ensues: “No I won’t.” “Yes you will.” “No I won’t.” “Yes you will.”

I’m frustrated. He’s crying. I give in but tell him he absolutely cannot open the case unless he is sitting next to me. If he goes on the playground, the DS stays with mom.

He agrees to the compromise. For half an hour he plays with his DS. For the next hour it sits on my lap while he’s on the playground.

When the time comes to leave I’m carrying two folding camp chairs, my camera bag, a water bottle, a sweater and my keys. Jacob is in a hurry to leave because he’s been invited to his friend Cameron’s house in Deerfield. As I’m packing everything into the van I notice I’m missing something. Where’s Justin? And where’s his Nintendo DS?

He’s on the playground showing it to a friend. I tell him it’s time to go and he comes running over with his case swinging around him like a helicopter propeller.

Just to be safe, I say, let’s check the case to make sure you’ve got all your stuff. Here’s a shock, another argument: “I do.” “Let’s just check.” “But I do.” “But let’s just check.”

Then a voice from the other side of the van: “Mom, let’s go.” “Just a minute.” “Let’s go.” “Just a minute.”

After a while it’s just not worth the battles anymore. We leave and sure enough, when we get to Deerfield, there’s only one game in the case.

On our way home that night we take a detour back to the school. I put my headlights on high beam and grab a glow stick from the party we were at and spend 10 minutes looking for the game. It’s too dark to see anything so we come back the next morning.

As we approach I’m panic stricken. There’s a guy in front with a push lawn mower.

“Oh my God,” I yell out. “They’re mowing the lawn!”

As we pull up in the parking lot in the back there’s a fellow on a lawn tractor and he is mowing over the EXACT spot we had been sitting in the night before. What are the odds?

I jump out of the van and start looking through the grass that hasn’t been mowed. I feel like I’m in some bad horror movie where I’m trying to outrun some guy on a lawn tractor.

Oh yeah…it’s really happening.

We move onto the pea gravel and after a few minutes Justin, waving the game in the air, yells out, “I found it.”

Even the guy on the lawn tractor congratulates us for our luck.

Next time, I tell my son, can we just do things my way?

This is one game I have no interest in playing again.