Yesterday there was a little yelling at our house. We are remodeling the basement and had to move some extremely heavy items out of the way, one is a foosball table that hasn’t been pried through the narrow doorway it somehow entered almost 20 years ago. After fighting several large pieces of furniture through the tiny opening, and letting a few choice words slip during our frustration, it was time for the main event, the foosball table. We removed the table legs, but this still left us with a cumbersome and very heavy table top with metal rods sliding and protruding from both sides.

Needless to say, by the time we finished and made it to the dinner table my son and daughter and husband were cranky. I thought food would help. It wasn’t enough. The kids asked  to be excused. “No.” My husbands replied. They moped and complained, picked up the dishes and asked again. “Not until we play a game of foosball.” I said. (The foosball table is now in our kitchen).

My son complied but explained he would only give minimal effort. “Great, you can be on my team.” I smiled.  “I’m so good, we won’t need a big effort from you to win.”

We all sidled up to the table and started to play. The kids moved more slowly, grumpily (if that is a word). Making it quite obvious that they were not going to have fun. I put in a couple of shots across the full length of the table with my goalie. My daughter put in a hard shot from her front line. My husband slammed a ball into a player with such force it almost pop off the table.  “Nice save Lilly,” he said as he reached down and patted the plastic player on the head. (The players have names taped on them from when the kids were young.)

The kids were now smiling and joined in, using the players names as the game continued. My son started spinning the ball when he dropped it in the start play, something I hate but let go because I was allowing him to be sucked into the game in whatever way was necessary. Dinner ended with a loss for me at the table, but a win for the night as the family let go of the anger and joked and laughed and enjoyed the rest of the evening.

As I passed my husband on the way to wash the pots and pans, he smiled and whispered, “Nice save.” And he wasn’t talking about my work as goalie.

WRITING PROMPT: Write about a time when you “saved the day”.