shadowmask
First Post
Family Gamers: Gaming in the military – with kids…
Military folk are often viewed as indefatigable, unflappable and generally not easy to scare. We take that attitude into our hobbies, families, jobs and everything else we value. Then you mix the high intensity gaming many people enjoy, regardless of military affiliation or lack thereof, with children…young children. The age of children with myriad ways of getting your attention.
Fourteen years ago in a place not so far away…
There we were - a group of six adults, all of us associated with the military in some way. Four of us were active duty; two of us were dependent spouses. Dice reflected the glaring overhead lights as the DM cackled while he rolled the bad guys’ initiative after recording our characters’. clack, clack, clack We watched, hoping for something less than five since we’d all rolled low. The d20 rattled on the table top, slowing to a stop. A loud groan erupted from all of us; it was an eighteen. The DM, coincidentally my husband, opened his mouth to tell us the details of what seemed certain to be our characters’ gory death at the hands (and axes and swords) of the hobgoblin/bugbear army…
“Whaaaaaaaa!!” erupted from the back of the house in the general vicinity of one of the bedrooms where the kids were asleep. Everyone jumped. Everyone, even the guy who always tried to play it cool. The only thing our military training did for us in this situation is put us in peak physical condition so we jumped higher than anyone would believe and in a general “scatter” pattern. Not exactly easy on the ego.
“Whose kid is that?” Tenative? Maybe. Decisive? Not really. So much for military fortitude when facing the unknown hazards of toddler crises. “Whaaaaa!!!!!!!”
As parent to the youngest of the children in the house, I got up, after making sure my knees would support my weight, and investigated. Yes, I was one of the active duty folks, and yep, the screamer was mine. I worked fast to comfort and quiet my curly-haired tyke hoping for a quick get-away back to the game table. I ran through the Suggested Parental Child Comfort List<SUP>TM</SUP> that comes in the Parent Handbook<SUP>©</SUP>. You didn’t get one? You need to take your child back to the manufacturer and demand they supply you with the Handbook or take the child back and provide you with a refund.
Speaking quietly – No luck.
Rubbing the back – Still screaming. My darling child added shoving my hands away and increased his volume.
Finding the Favorite Stuffy – Score!!! Tried to walk out, kid began screaming much louder than before.
By this time, five minutes have gone by; everyone else is finishing up their snack break and wondering what’s taking so long. I began to sweat. Military training, basic and otherwise, does not prepare one for parenthood. At least we learn to adapt and overcome. I was going to win this thing, and this kid was going back to sleep while we finished our gaming session. Ah, the arrogance of youth mixed with an inflated sense of competence.
Check breeches – No problems there.
Cup of water – It gets thrown toward the door. As an aside, have I mentioned my oldest had a mean right hook/pitch when he was little? No? Now you know.
Another five minutes passed. The conversation has shifted from gaming and food to work. Crap! I avoided the pick-up maneuver up to now, but if I wanted to get back into the game, I had to bite the bullet and do it.
Pick-up – Snuffles followed by snuggles complete with little one’s head on mama’s shoulder. (all together now) Awww.
Upright rocking – The little angel, who was screaming fit to raise the dead fifteen minutes before, emitted a little snore. Continued rocking for another two minutes.
Gently lay down – Eyes popped open, and…
Would you believe the changeling went all nazgûl on me? Seriously, anyone who has seen LotR: The Two Towers would’ve recognized the sonic attack as the nazgûl’s screech when Frodo climbs to the top of a wall in Osgiliath while Faramir tries to defend the abandoned city from the Ring Wraiths and their forces.
The house fell silent; not even breathing was heard. I conceded defeat. Picking him up stopped the attack on my eardrums, although it did nothing for the bleeding that had already occurred. We walked out, my now-bright-eyed-bushy-tailed son all smiles, contentedly snuggled into the crook of my neck.
We sat. “How long before he falls asleep?” I looked at the woman across from me with what was probably a ‘Do you think I’d bring him out if he were going to SLEEP?!’ expression. It took me a moment to remember she was a friend under normal circumstances who apparently lost her mind briefly.
“Where were we? Ah, yes, the army attacks.” My husband was trying so hard to maintain the intensity from before while trying not to scare the extremely interested toddler. clack, clack, clack The dice were shaken (not stirred), then rolled out onto the table for all to see. Hits on everyone in range, which was everyone. No one died. The fighter was up resulting in…a swing and a miss. Our volume started to increase, now that we were in the thick of the fight.
My turn. I picked up my d20, begging it to roll high. Bingo! A sixteen. I looked for my damage dice, a d6, only to find my two year old chewing on it.
Have you ever tried taking something from a child who didn’t want to give it up? Forget that nonsense about how easy it is to take candy from a baby. Whoever thought that phrase up was full of malarkey.
Even slime covered, I couldn’t get the blasted thing out of my child’s hands, let alone his mouth. It took three full-grown adults, two of them military-trained (remember the calm, cool, collected description – that so did not apply to us), in order to pry it from his wriggly, super-glued grip.
We set the d6 on a paper towel to dry, and I borrowed from another player. Wonderful, 1 + 0 Strength modifier, and the hobgoblin was still up. The night continued in that vein until we successfully managed a TPK. My maniacal boy giggled at the adults acting funny, and he reached for more of the shiny hard things making all the noise.
Final tally of the evening:
Military – trained adults – 1
Toddler – 9
PCs – 15 hits, 80 HP worth of damage
Hobgoblin/Bugbear Army – TPK
Truthfully, I think the two year old won that particular exchange.
Military folk are often viewed as indefatigable, unflappable and generally not easy to scare. We take that attitude into our hobbies, families, jobs and everything else we value. Then you mix the high intensity gaming many people enjoy, regardless of military affiliation or lack thereof, with children…young children. The age of children with myriad ways of getting your attention.
Fourteen years ago in a place not so far away…
There we were - a group of six adults, all of us associated with the military in some way. Four of us were active duty; two of us were dependent spouses. Dice reflected the glaring overhead lights as the DM cackled while he rolled the bad guys’ initiative after recording our characters’. clack, clack, clack We watched, hoping for something less than five since we’d all rolled low. The d20 rattled on the table top, slowing to a stop. A loud groan erupted from all of us; it was an eighteen. The DM, coincidentally my husband, opened his mouth to tell us the details of what seemed certain to be our characters’ gory death at the hands (and axes and swords) of the hobgoblin/bugbear army…
“Whaaaaaaaa!!” erupted from the back of the house in the general vicinity of one of the bedrooms where the kids were asleep. Everyone jumped. Everyone, even the guy who always tried to play it cool. The only thing our military training did for us in this situation is put us in peak physical condition so we jumped higher than anyone would believe and in a general “scatter” pattern. Not exactly easy on the ego.
“Whose kid is that?” Tenative? Maybe. Decisive? Not really. So much for military fortitude when facing the unknown hazards of toddler crises. “Whaaaaa!!!!!!!”
As parent to the youngest of the children in the house, I got up, after making sure my knees would support my weight, and investigated. Yes, I was one of the active duty folks, and yep, the screamer was mine. I worked fast to comfort and quiet my curly-haired tyke hoping for a quick get-away back to the game table. I ran through the Suggested Parental Child Comfort List<SUP>TM</SUP> that comes in the Parent Handbook<SUP>©</SUP>. You didn’t get one? You need to take your child back to the manufacturer and demand they supply you with the Handbook or take the child back and provide you with a refund.
Speaking quietly – No luck.
Rubbing the back – Still screaming. My darling child added shoving my hands away and increased his volume.
Finding the Favorite Stuffy – Score!!! Tried to walk out, kid began screaming much louder than before.
By this time, five minutes have gone by; everyone else is finishing up their snack break and wondering what’s taking so long. I began to sweat. Military training, basic and otherwise, does not prepare one for parenthood. At least we learn to adapt and overcome. I was going to win this thing, and this kid was going back to sleep while we finished our gaming session. Ah, the arrogance of youth mixed with an inflated sense of competence.
Check breeches – No problems there.
Cup of water – It gets thrown toward the door. As an aside, have I mentioned my oldest had a mean right hook/pitch when he was little? No? Now you know.
Another five minutes passed. The conversation has shifted from gaming and food to work. Crap! I avoided the pick-up maneuver up to now, but if I wanted to get back into the game, I had to bite the bullet and do it.
Pick-up – Snuffles followed by snuggles complete with little one’s head on mama’s shoulder. (all together now) Awww.
Upright rocking – The little angel, who was screaming fit to raise the dead fifteen minutes before, emitted a little snore. Continued rocking for another two minutes.
Gently lay down – Eyes popped open, and…
Would you believe the changeling went all nazgûl on me? Seriously, anyone who has seen LotR: The Two Towers would’ve recognized the sonic attack as the nazgûl’s screech when Frodo climbs to the top of a wall in Osgiliath while Faramir tries to defend the abandoned city from the Ring Wraiths and their forces.
The house fell silent; not even breathing was heard. I conceded defeat. Picking him up stopped the attack on my eardrums, although it did nothing for the bleeding that had already occurred. We walked out, my now-bright-eyed-bushy-tailed son all smiles, contentedly snuggled into the crook of my neck.
We sat. “How long before he falls asleep?” I looked at the woman across from me with what was probably a ‘Do you think I’d bring him out if he were going to SLEEP?!’ expression. It took me a moment to remember she was a friend under normal circumstances who apparently lost her mind briefly.
“Where were we? Ah, yes, the army attacks.” My husband was trying so hard to maintain the intensity from before while trying not to scare the extremely interested toddler. clack, clack, clack The dice were shaken (not stirred), then rolled out onto the table for all to see. Hits on everyone in range, which was everyone. No one died. The fighter was up resulting in…a swing and a miss. Our volume started to increase, now that we were in the thick of the fight.
My turn. I picked up my d20, begging it to roll high. Bingo! A sixteen. I looked for my damage dice, a d6, only to find my two year old chewing on it.
Have you ever tried taking something from a child who didn’t want to give it up? Forget that nonsense about how easy it is to take candy from a baby. Whoever thought that phrase up was full of malarkey.
Even slime covered, I couldn’t get the blasted thing out of my child’s hands, let alone his mouth. It took three full-grown adults, two of them military-trained (remember the calm, cool, collected description – that so did not apply to us), in order to pry it from his wriggly, super-glued grip.
We set the d6 on a paper towel to dry, and I borrowed from another player. Wonderful, 1 + 0 Strength modifier, and the hobgoblin was still up. The night continued in that vein until we successfully managed a TPK. My maniacal boy giggled at the adults acting funny, and he reached for more of the shiny hard things making all the noise.
Final tally of the evening:
Military – trained adults – 1
Toddler – 9
PCs – 15 hits, 80 HP worth of damage
Hobgoblin/Bugbear Army – TPK
Truthfully, I think the two year old won that particular exchange.
