X-Box

We recently opened our refinished basement for business. But not before I bought a ridiculous TV. It was a reward for being a giant baby about how much money we were over budget on the project only 88% of the time.

But the TV is huge, flat, and according to the box, filled to the brim with plasma. After I unpacked it and hooked it up, Elijah was on his best behavior. He was almost…too nice.

“I love you daddy!” he’d shout at completely random moments. “Cute shirt, daddy!” he’d proclaim as I picked cheese off the sleeve. But then I realized his purpose: my pal Tom had left his X-Box at our place.

I had a brief, but passionate addiction to X-Box in my late 20’s and I was worried that Elijah would inherit it. But after a negotiation that involved zero tolerance for bother hitting and whining, he was allowed a session of “Star Wars Lego.”

We actually had a great time playing. Too great.

Elijah’s sole purpose in life quickly became “Play X-Box.” Anything positive that happened to him was quickly followed by, “Can I play X-Box?” He managed to insert X-Box into the most casual conversation.

“Mommy, Daddy, it’s snowing canIplayX-box outside!” “Mommy! I’m wearing my Curious canIplayX-Box George underwear!” “Luca! Stop canIplayX-Box pinching me!”

A few days ago, Diana made the executive decision to send the X-Box home with Steve and Finn. I was happy about this decision because it occurred while I was out of the country. Finn and Steve were happy about this decision because they got the X-Box. Diana was happy about this decision because the X-Box did not match our paint downstairs.

Elijah was not happy about this decision.