…have a small child (my daughter, aka Nublet, aka The World’s Cutest Four-Year-Old) watching over your shoulder as you run Azjol-Nerub on your hunter. And then have her firing questions at you non-stop while you’re trying to work a marks hunter rotation that you’re rusty on from lack of play.
“Are those bugs?”
“Yes, honey, they’re bugs.”
“Are they mean bugs?”
“Yes, honey, they’re mean bugs and they’re trying to eat us.”
“They look like spiders.”
“They are sort of like spiders, yes.”
“Why’s that one got an arrow over his head?”
“I put it there so we know which bug to kill first.”
“Spiders eat icky bugs.”
“Look! That bug has little wings!”
“Yes, yes he does.”
“Is that wolf made out of ice?”
“No, honey, he’s just a white fluffy wolf.”
“He looks like he’s made out of ice.”
“He’s not, love, he’s just a big white wolf that follows my guy around.”
“Does he bite bugs?”
“Yes, sweetie, he bites bugs.”
“Hey, a bridge made of ice!”
“That’s not ice, that’s spiderweb.”
“But why aren’t you getting stuck?”
“I don’t know, love, that’s just the way the game works.”
“That’s a biiiiig spider.”
“Mm-hmm. And now he’s a big dead spider, see?”
“Eww, you fell in an icky river! Are you going to step on the little bugs?”
“No, sweetie, I’m just going to leave those alone.”
“Why? Shouldn’t you step on the little bugs?”
“No, hon, not enough time. See, there’s the big boss bug.”
“Oh, yeah. Hey, he’s gone in his hole.”
“Yeah, he does that, and he sends little bugs out to try and eat us.”
“I think he’s got a secret tunnel.”
“Mm-hmm.” (at this point I’m frantically trying to dodge darters)
“Look, no more boss bug!”
“Are you going to go back and squish the little bugs now?”
“No, sweetie, we’re done.”
“Are you flying away on your dragon now?”
“OK. I’m gonna go draw fairies now.”
This morning I got to sleep in a bit and wound up chilling out in bed while my three-year-old daughter (aka Nublet) “read” me a story from an illustrated book of cat poems. (And by “read,” I mean she looks at the pictures and makes up her own words. Thanks to a healthy dose of Dr. Seuss at bedtime, the girl actually has a frighteningly good sense of meter and rhyme. She is a nascent bookworm and geek, and me and my wife are thusly Very Proud Parents.)
She got to a poem with a drawing of two cats at a cat show, one smugly wearing a blue ribbon and the other sulking. She stared for a second, and then said:
“I’m a winner. You’re a wooser. A big, biiiig wooser.” *pause* “My skin is furry.”
Whaddaya think, gang? 3v3 arena material when she gets a little older?
There are a lot of things I want to do in WoW. I’d like to get some factions to Exalted, get the various Dungeonmaster titles, drop Sarth + 3 drakes and win the roll on a spiffy new proto-drake.
But you could give me every level 226 epic in the game and every single achievement in the list, and none of it would compare to the joy of lying under the covers in bed with my wife on a cold, rainy Saturday morning, with our three-year-old daughter in between us “reading” us a story from a book of dog pictures.
Quick story…I was on my death knight alt hunting in Nagrand. My wife (aka Wife Unit, also player of Rashona the druid on Feathermoon) and three-year-old daughter, aka Nublet, came in before they headed out to take some food to a friend who’s sick.
As I got up, picked my darling little girl up and gave her a big, big hug, she flung her arms around my neck, hugged me tight, looked over my shoulder at my monitor, and said, “Daddy, Daddy! There’s a bad man on your puter!”
I turned around in time to see an air elemental wailing on Moktor.
The air elemental was dispatched, my DK was saved, and Nublet got another hug for saving me a repair bill.