“I choose Baby Peach!” Abbey, my three-year-old, declared while aggressively spinning in circles on top of my only nice throw pillow.
You know, the one. The decorative pillow. The one that exists purely to trick guests into thinking I have my life together. It had a genie design on it—had, being the key word—because at this point it’s seen things no enchanted object should ever witness.
After reaching what I assume was her maximum spin speed (somewhere between “figure skater” and “small tornado”), she sprinted to the starting line—also known as the entrance to the playroom.
Liam, my five-year-old and self-appointed race official, raised his voice with the authority of someone who has absolutely no authority.
“3… 2… 1… GO!!”
And just like that, both kids took off, making loud motor noises as they raced across the house like off-brand Mario Kart characters who had clearly been sorted into Gryffindor for bravery and not Ravenclaw for decision-making.
I genuinely can’t decide if introducing them to video games this early was a good parenting choice or the moment I accidentally opened the parenting equivalent of the Chamber of Secrets.
They’ve been asking to play since they could form sentences. Real sentences. Not just “juice” or “no bedtime,” but full negotiations. Recently, I caved—mostly for Liam because he’s five now, which feels like a respectable gaming age. Abbey joined because she refuses to be excluded from anything, including activities she does not fully understand.
To be clear: neither of them are good at Mario Kart.
Thankfully, the game has what I can only describe as magical assistance—cars that basically drive themselves and won’t fall off the track. Honestly, it’s less “racing game” and more “interactive participation ribbon simulator.”
All they really have to do is steer… occasionally. And maybe press a button to throw an item if they remember. Which they usually don’t.
Sometimes their characters just… drift. Aimlessly. Like they’re contemplating their life choices. Same, honestly.
But none of that matters.
Because their real favorite part? Picking their character.
Every. Single. Time.
After each race, we must pause everything—time, space, my patience—so they can carefully deliberate over their next choice like they’re selecting a wand at Ollivanders.
Meanwhile, I’m sitting there remembering when my favorite part of Mario Kart was absolutely destroying my siblings and asserting dominance like it was a professional sport.
Now?
Now I’m just hoping no one drives directly into a wall for the full three laps.
Witch, Please 
Leave a comment