This morning’s forecast? A 100% chance of giggles and a possible tower collapse! We dusted off the old familiar wooden blocks of Jenga and set up shop on the playroom rug — Karma on one side, Leo on the other, me in the middle as the “official block adjuster and tumble cheerleader.”

The tower started off dignified enough, perfectly stacked and noble in its symmetry. Karma, ever the careful one, poked gently at the sides like she was checking on a sleeping kitten. Leo, full of wiggly energy, dove right in — “I’m gonna pull the middle one, just like a ninja!” he announced. It teetered. We held our breath. It stayed up! Cheers all around.

There’s something magical about Jenga with kids. The anticipation. The triumph of a well-placed move. The pretend drama when it looks like it might fall — and doesn’t. Or does. Karma clapped her hands every time the tower survived a move. “It’s still standing! It’s a castle now!” she declared. At one point, we named the tower “Queen Tallie” and gave her a royal voice. “Please don’t take my bricks,” she said dramatically, “I’m very ticklish.”

Eventually, as it always must, Queen Tallie came tumbling down — courtesy of Leo’s enthusiastic middle yank and a bit of joyful shouting. Blocks flew like tiny wooden fireworks. The kids burst into laughter and immediately started restacking. “Again!” Karma chirped.

We played three rounds in total. Sometimes Karma just wanted to build a house instead. Sometimes Leo tried to make it into a spaceship. But we always came back to the challenge — the thrill — of the slow, careful pull… the joy of things falling and being built right back up again.

By the end of it all, the rug was a mess of scattered blocks and beaming smiles. And my heart felt like a tower of sunshine bricks — wobbling from love, but standing strong.

Sorry about the lack of images, when playing with the littles… it was an adventure just to play.