Tag

I'm pretty sure Ada is nuclear-powered. There is no way someone can have that much energy just by metabolizing food.

For a six-week stretch this semester, Katie has class three nights a week, so Ada and I are getting a lot of quality father-daughter time in. For Ada, quality time translates into testing daddy's endurance until he breaks.

Ada is usually pretty fired up when I pick her up from pre-school - she's been busy playing with her other nuclear-powered friends and they've kept each other amped up all day. I am usually not so fired-up. I'm only coffee-powered and that just can't compete. On the way out to the car she will invariably ask a) what do we have to eat? and b) what we are going to be doing tonight? The second question is actually rhetorical - whether I like it or not, the answer is tag.

Ada will start pestering me to start the game of tag as soon as she is released from the confines of her car seat, and as soon as my computer bag hits the kitchen floor she commences the game with "come chase me!"

Our new house has many features that Ada enjoys - her own bathroom, lots of light switches, stairs... - but enough room to pick up speed is clearly at the top of the list. Ada's tag route heads into the living room where she winds around the coffee table and recliner before veering back into the kitchen where multiple laps around the island keep dad at bay until I stop and allow her to run around into me. After I tag her (only in the middle of her back, because she makes the rules and the point of having rules is to fix things so that Ada wins), it is my turn to run away. I'm too big to squeeze by the recliner so my only way out of the livingroom is to wait for Ada to run at me and then try to dance around her, as Ada would say, "like kung-fu panda." This is, of course, exhausting, and soon enough Ada snags me with a fingertip or the paw of a stuffed animal (see: rules), it's back to chasing her around the island.

Eventually I insist on needing a break from tag. This prompts Ada to move on to the next event, which is racing from the front door to the door at the back of the house heading into the garage. Lined up in a starter's stance, each with a hand on the door, Ada gives a "Ready - Go!" and we're off - swerving a bit to avoid the recliner, then tearing through the kitchen with arms stretched out to touch the door first. Ada, being a natural at competitive positioning, is quick to cut me off, so the races usually come down to me trying to reach around her without running her over. Usually she wins. Sometimes I sneak in a victory. Always she turns right around and assumes the starting position.

If I seem to be wavering in my enthusiasm for racing, Ada introduces a variation.

"This time we'll hop!" (which she does, with a couple quick steps to ensure her victory)

"You run and I'll hold on to your shirt!" (perfectly logical to a 4 year old...)

"Let's crawl!" (this one kills me - did I mention our floors are wood?)

Thoroughly beaten and exhausted I insist we stop to eat some dinner. Not that her little reactor core has any use for pasta or chicken, but its nice to pretend.