I am not good at playing games. Years ago I won at bowling and was so ecstatic, I jumped for joy. When my future husband pointed out that I wasn’t a graceful winner, I apologized and explained that I’d never won before. Not bowling, not mini-golf, not anything. Growing up, it seemed my father always won the games we played. If it were just my older brother and I, I still couldn’t compete. I told my fiance that I had plenty of practice losing. “I’m a good loser,” I promised.

The other night, however, I wondered if this were true. My husband and I had bought the board game Clue for our seven year old daughter. In elementary school, I’d played it a couple times at a friend’s house and enjoyed it. After all, it had colorful characters like Mrs. Peacock and Professor Plum, miniature revolvers and candlesticks, and it offered the chance to play detective.  I was excited that my daughter was finally old enough to play a game I’d truly enjoy. No more Candyland or Don’t Break the Ice for me.

She requested we play every night and more often than not, my husband set aside the papers he was grading and took his place around the table. It surprised us the first time our daughter solved the mystery. Then she won again. And when she didn’t win, my husband did.

Wait a minute.

I noticed a pattern developing. My husband won because of his exceptional deductive reasoning skills. My daughter won because she wasn’t afraid to guess and be wrong. But me—I waited to accuse a suspect until I was 100% sure. By that time, someone else would beat me to the punch.

Last night my daughter wanted to play again and I suggested we take a break. This game that I’d fantasized about as a child turned out to be yet another one in which I had no skill. Then my husband teased me, “Momma doesn’t want to play because she always loses.”

Here the Mommy Guilt kicked in. Everything I say and do is setting an example. How could I expect my little girl to smile and say, “Good game” after she lost when I didn’t?

So I took a deep breath and agreed to participate. Right away I could tell I was going to lose again. I rolled plenty of ones and twos. I got trapped in a room I didn’t want to be in. The fates conspired against me. Too soon my daughter bragged that she knew the weapon and the guilty party. All she had left was to figure out the location of the crime. My husband said he had it narrowed down to 25%. Ugh! I told them both to be quiet or people wouldn’t like playing with them. (And by “people” I mostly meant me.) My husband “Awwww” ed in my direction.

That’s when I realized that after plenty of experience, I hadn’t even mastered the art of losing gracefully.

Sensing that one of my opponents would soon win, I was frustrated that they seemed closer to a solution than I was. But I did have a pretty good guess. I decided to take a page from my daughter’s playbook. For the first time ever, I dared to make an accusation without 100% certainty.

Fate smiled upon me and I was right. I’d won! Finally I felt the rush of victory. I reminded myself not to smile too broadly. Good sportsmanship (and good role modeling) take effort.

What amazes me is how well my daughter handles it when she guesses the answer and is wrong. Patiently she waits for the game to end, giddy because we are doing something together as a family. She doesn’t let her mistake stop her from taking a chance the next time, either. Perhaps those who excel at games, like in life, are those willing to risk failure.

Sometimes we win and sometimes we lose. What matters is that we had fun along the way--together.

Are you a good loser? I'd love to hear your comments!

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How often do both you and your guy LOVE a movie? I mean, he likes Die Hard and you like The Notebook. Someone is always compromising. Until now. Because The Music Never Stopped manages the challenging feat of reaching both sexes. 

The main character, 35-year-old Gabriel, was inspired by a real amnesiac stuck in the 1960's due to a brain tumor. From there, the writer, Dr. Oliver Sacks ("Awakenings"), created an inspiring story about a conservative father who kicks his hippie son out of the house. For twenty years, they don't speak. . . until Gabriel is admitted to the hospital dazed and confused. Surgery saves his health, but the doctors are unable to undo the damage. Gabriel barely speaks and cannot remember what happened five minutes ago. Despite the heartbreak, his parents visit him daily.

Eventually they discover that music unlocks parts of Gabriel's memory. Like a light switch, a favorite Grateful Dead or Bob Dylan song allows Gabriel to engage in animated conversations. Unfortunately, the music threatens to reignite the old war between father and son. Is the music really helping this family heal or is it sometimes better to forget?

This movie made my husband and I laugh out loud and ache deep inside. When it was over, I regretted the fact that I could've missed seeing it. As far as I'm concerned, this movie was a million times better than "Awakenings" for which the writer is better known. If you missed this 2011 Sundance Film Festival pick, I highly recommend you check out The Music Never Stopped now. 

How long would you wait for someone you love to return to their former self? If you'd like another story about how a head injury challenges and inspires a family, read "On the Verge" for $2.99 on Amazon. 

Have you already watched Miracle on 34th Street and It’s a Wonderful Life and every other Christmas movie you can think of? I love the classics, but I also enjoy discovering a family film I’ve never seen before. If you’re like me, longing for a heart-warming story in which you don’t have all of the lines memorized, check out Prancer.

Sam Elliott plays a financially-strapped widower who spends more time scolding his precocious daughter, Jessica, than talking to her. He’s at such a loss, he’s planning on sending her to live with her aunt. Before he can go through with his plans, his eight-year-old daughter finds an injured reindeer that she’s convinced is Prancer. Hiding and stealing food for this reindeer puts Jessica even more at odds with her gruff father.

This precious movie reminded me of the innocence and unconditional love of children. It almost made me cry while leaving a big, Santa-inspired smile on my daughter’s face. For a Christmas movie that speaks to the reality of hard times and the magic of the season, treat your family to Prancer.

Be sure to treat yourself to A Sister’s Promise which provides a Happy Ending with a Twist. For a chance to win a free autographed copy of “What Happiness Looks Like”, click here. Please "like" and "tweet."

“I wish Romeo could have kittens,” my seven-year-old daughter laments.  I know, you’re thinking Romeo can’t have kittens because Romeo is a male cat. That’s what we thought, too, when we adopted the gray striped kitten from the animal shelter. Since he was so affectionate, we named him Romeo. Then at our first trip to the vet to discuss getting the cat fixed, we learned that he was really a she. By then, I thought it might confuse the kitten to change its name. Either way, Romeo will never have kittens.

Now ten years old, the cat spends most of her day napping under the bed or shedding in my favorite chair. So it makes sense that my daughter wants a cute, playful kitten.

“I like kittens, too,” I say. “But they grow up so fast.” Kind of like kids—only faster. Plus I explain it would be twice the litter to scoop and twice the hairballs to clean. Like all starry-eyed children, my daughter offers to do all of the work. I do not fall for these empty promises. So she gets out a piece of paper and writes “Dear Santa.” She looks up at me, “Mom, how do you spell ‘real kitten’?”

Uh-oh. Will this be the year Santa disappoints her? Maybe another kitten wouldn’t be much more trouble. But then I remember. We’ve been a two-cat household before. We had a crazy calico that used to bite for no reason. I cried when I realized she couldn’t stay once we had a baby. Then my husband fed a starving stray on our back porch. We refused to name the black feline, calling her simply Kitty-kitty. Eventually I caved and took her to the vet for her vaccinations. I resented the hassle of feeding two cats—one inside and one outside. Then one day Kitty-kitty howled and started acting strange. I had no idea she’d soon die in our backyard. I cried and cried. Why hadn’t I realized something was terribly wrong?

That’s the thing about pets. You love them, but eventually they make you cry. Maybe it’s not just the hassle I want to avoid, but also the heartache. All of these memories make me realize I should appreciate what I have. Suddenly I wonder where Romeo is hiding so I can scratch behind her ears. I just love it when she purrs. . . .

(Please do not take this as an invitation to drop off any kittens on my doorstep!)

If you enjoy a story that warms you like the love of a good pet, you’ll appreciate On the Verge, where a husband’s head injury leads him to bring home a puppy and buy a house without talking to his new wife. Available on Amazon for $2.99.


For a chance to win an autographed copy of What Happiness Looks Like, click here.


CAST YOUR VOTE: Are two cats better than one?

How did I miss “the best film of 2005” according to the Los Angeles Times? Oh, yeah. I had a baby. I probably didn’t go to the theater more than once that year. But I don’t even remember hearing about this film. I'm so glad I stumbled across it at my local library.

Now my baby is seven and she loves to watch movies. In fact, if I let her eat popcorn in the living room while watching a DVD, I’ve elevated the event to something special. She still likes animated films, but I especially enjoy a movie that entertains us both. (You know—one with actors, not cartoons). That’s why I’m writing about “DUMA.”

Duma is the name of a cheetah that wanders into the road in South Africa where a father and son find him. (All we ever find in the road where I live are squirrels and skunks!) Since the cub is orphaned, the family takes him home to their farm miles away. The gentle squeak that comes out of that cheetah’s mouth is not what you expect. Soon the cat grows bigger than the boy and proves to be better than a watchdog. Unfortunately, the father dies and the boy, his mother, and Duma must leave the farm. (Be aware that the sad parts of the movie are off-screen. We do not see how the father dies, which works well for my sensitive daughter and me.)

Before the dad died, he told his son, Xan, that Duma needed to return to the wild. (What a great name! I think I'll name my next kid Xan, although he'll probably have to explain to everyone that it's pronounced Zan.) Xan decides to fulfill his dad’s wishes and runs away with the cheetah. African deserts, lions, crocodiles and a suspicious stranger provide plenty of obstacles for the twelve-year-old boy to overcome. He is amazingly resourceful, reading a compass and making a canoe out of sticks. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have fared nearly as well as he did, but I guess it is fiction. There was drama, but no tears until the very end when Duma finally remembers what it means to be wild.

This film would entertain children from ages seven on up and I highly recommend it! 

What’s your favorite family film? I'd love to know, so I can watch it! Would you like "Movies you Might've Missed" to become a regular feature?
 
If you're looking for a "sweet read with depth" after the kids go to bed, check out my 99 cent novella, Made for Two.