All In: Cribbage Club and Phone Calls

At a movie yesterday, my friend teased her high-school aged niece that "I will cut you" if she checked her phone throughout the movie.

My movie-buff friend is perpetually amazed that the next generation of her family cannot be separated from their phones for even the duration of a movie.

"But what if one of my friends dies?" her niece joked.

I thought of those calls that, with luck, don't come until much later in life. "Then you definitely want to turn off your phone, and just be here. Bad news travels fast enough."

When I got home from the movie, Ranger met me at the top of the stairs with the phone.

"It's Aunt Gayle." His aunts are mostly family we have chosen. As Jim and I each have one brother, our family tree holds only one aunt for them.

The aunt on the phone has been my friend for nearly 30 years. In her voice, I heard a careful control, and before she speaks I know something has happened.

When I was pregnant with Ranger, Gayle's geography career found itself in a cul-de-sac. She returned to college. A Wednesday afternoon gap in her course schedule somehow transformed into Cribbage Club.

Wednesday afternoons, Gayle's apartment filled with the alluring scents of home-cooking as we all gathered round the kitchen table for cards.

Fred and Moe both learned cribbage in the military long before Gayle and I were born. Fred, a loud-talking former postmaster and Gayle's brother-in-law, learned to play in the Army. Gayle's Uncle Moe learned to play in the Air Force and sometimes brought his cribbage board made from part of a cockpit dome.

I was equally thrilled to be able to play cribbage regularly. My dad and Jim's family all love the game, and I quickly fell under its spell. Locally, playing cards usually means Euchre (dubbed Indiana's game), Clabber (a regional 4-handed variation on an old German duo game), or even Bridge. Cribbage opportunities rarely come along.

After lunch, working in noisy teams, we raced our pegs along the paths while telling stories and mercilessly teasing each other. When we took breaks, Moe and Fred would retire to the porch for cigars while Gayle and I served up ice cream in the kitchen.

Moe and Gayle visited us in the hospital when Ranger was born even though they could only wave to him through the NICU window. Cribbage Club continued, baby Ranger would usually nap or sit on someone's lap while we played. Months and seasons passed until Ranger was big enough to start grabbing the cards from the table, Aunt Gayle reached the homestretch of her degree and started an internship that quickly became her next career. Summer had arrived, so the boys (men who retired around the time Gayle and I first graduated from college) were eager to return to their gardens and golf courses.

We periodically played in the evenings or at Gayle's family gatherings. The cigars disappeared from the routine when Fred lost half a lung to cancer. He recovered well and was soon back on the golf course and working in the yard. We didn't see his heart attack coming, and it felled him instantly and completely.

At Fred's funeral, I sat with Uncle Moe and we made jokes about how Fred had gotten both Gayle and I to wear skirts while the red rims of Moe's watery blue eyes hinted at the physical pain of grief. Maybe it was because he was the oldest of our group or maybe it was a reminder of his son lost in infancy, Moe's sadness seemed larger and stronger than the broad Ohio River he crossed every time we gathered together. Baby Rogue sat on his lap as we both wiped tears from our eyes and talked about the best times.

Over the phone I heard Gayle say "Uncle Moe died at home yesterday." Thanksgiving Day. We went through the details, and I promised to call her back.

Though we all had cell phones, I do not ever remember one on the table while we played. Any calls during Cribbage Club were ignored, slightly mocked, or actual emergencies. When we played, told stories, and joked around, for Cribbage Club we were, in the parlance of poker, "all in." And as a result, we all won.

In honor of Uncle Moe this holiday season, please remember to ignore your phones and be wherever you are.

***Baby Toolkit started as a baby gear blog in 2006. Despite a notable lack of babies and a directly correlative waning interest in baby gear, Jim and I keep writing about our lives as geeks, parents, and citizens of the world. For what it's worth, we're Amazon affiliates, though any Amazon links in this post remembering a dear friend would be crass and sort of bonkers. Yet upon writing this, I do think Uncle Moe would find it funny (so here's to you, Moe!). Hold your dear ones close and your technology in cabinets.

Ranger & Extra-Life

I have been planning this post for weeks. I was going to ask you to donate for me to Extra-Life, a great annual event that raises money for Children's Miracle Network Hospitals.

On Monday, we took toddler Rogue to Riley Hospital for Children for a check-up. As we left, Ranger, our oldest asked to be a registered player for Extra-Life.

Last year, during our Extra-Life weekend event, Ranger played and taught games. This year he wants to "help sick kids" like our Children's Miracle Network Hospital helped his little sister.

Please help him defeat some monsters this weekend. You'll be making one eight-year old very happy while healing other kids. Even $5 helps.



 Thanks,
Adrienne

***Baby Toolkit is a collection of periodic dispatches from some Midwestern geek parents. We believe that miracles happen every day at Children's Miracle Network Hospitals, but we don't work for them- and EVERY DOLLAR WE RAISE for EXTRA-LIFE goes directly to Riley Children's Hospital. We're Amazon affiliates, so if you purchase through any of our Amazon links on other pages, a portion of the sale goes toward our coffers. Thanks. We also podcast about board games at www.greatbigtable.com.

Not Paying For Popcorn: Elementary School Economics

2006 Quarter Proof, public domain, United States Mint

Here in sweltering Hoosierland, we've already been back in school a few weeks.

The parent-teacher group at Ranger's elementary school sells 25 cent treats every Wednesday. Last year, I would put quarters in his backpack once a month. Sometimes he ran out before I remembered to replenish them, and those days were disappointments.

This year, the parent-teacher organization offered a new option. Prepay $7 to cover a year's treats and your student will be put on a prepaid list. Every week, your child can get in line and avoid the inconvenience of weekly payment. The only drawback is that no refunds are issued for missed days. At only a quarter an incident, that didn't seem unreasonable.

It sounded easy. I started looking for my checkbook so I could send a check to his teacher who would add him to the list. He would hardly notice the process.

That made me pause.

Do I want the economics of his weekly treat to be invisible?

So I gave Ranger some options.

I could send a check. He would breeze through the prepaid line, and I would forfeit quarters should he miss or not want his weekly treat.

-OR-

I could give him 28 quarters immediately. They would be his for weekly treats. If they are lost, stolen or misappropriated, they will not be replaced. Should he miss a week or not want a treat, he can keep the quarter.

His eyes lit up, and I didn't have to say any more (though I never let that stop me). He chose the quarters.

We found a jar where he could keep 24 of the quarters at home, and he put 4 in his backpack, just like last year.

"So you're going to remind me when a month's passed?" he asked.

"No."

We talked about methods of refilling the quarter pocket. He can put four in when the first ones were gone or he can top off to 4 each week. He can put in all seven dollars' worth and incur greater risk of loss. It is his choice.

The prepaid form is now in our recycling bin. Our approach is more complicated than prepayment, but it gives him the opportunity to fail when the stakes are incredibly low. Lose four quarters and miss a month. Spend them on something else and miss school treat day.

It also gives him the power to decide each week whether he prefers a quarter or a treat. Our kids do not get much money, so this will present a real decision. Being on the prepaid list costs him nothing and teaches him very little.

I'm wishing him the best with this small responsibility.

***Baby Toolkit is the 7 year-old blog of a geek mom, her Guy Friday, and their three young kids. We no longer have any babies, but we do have a board game podcast that keeps us up late some nights (GreatBigTable.com). We're Amazon affiliates, so if you buy through our links, we might be able to cobble together the funds for a really nice dinner for two at mid-range, small town restaurant a couple times a year. More likely than not, we'll squander the money on board games and domain registration fees. We're glad you're here, and we're incredibly proud of you for reading all of the fine print. You deserve a gold star, but please accept instead a virtual high-five from two other members of the full citation club.

Not Hearing Voices? New Great Big Table Episode Available

The Avengers faced the Justice League, Cypress Hill did a song with Pearl Jam, and now we have crossed over with @GreatBigTable .
— The Party Gamecast (@partygamecast) July 24, 2013

Jim and I just released a new Great Big Table episode featuring The Party Game Cast (from the Party Gamecast) where we all discuss Therapy: The Game.

***Baby Toolkit is the random squeakings of some barking mad Midwestern parents. Take it all with a shaker of salt. We have no financial interest in Therapy: The Game or its manufacturers, The Party Gamecast or any of the folks in the aforementioned tweet. We are Amazon affiliates, so any purchases made by clicking through our links fund our efforts at Baby Toolkit and Great Big Table, thanks!.