Abbey's Road: Do you speak Scrabble?

Some people’s love language is gifts. They’re having a bad day and you come home with a bouquet of roses and box of chocolates and bam! All is well with the world.

Other people’s love language is words of affirmation. Tell them that they’re doing a great job, their hair looks great and you love their new handbag and you’ve earned a friend for life.

There are more love languages, of course, and they vary according to which books you read and who you follow on Instagram. But my love language is rarely — nay, never — touched upon in these better known analyses, so I thought it would be best to broadcast it here in case we ever have the opportunity to meet in person:

My love language is Scrabble.

Not board games. Not words. Not online Scrabble or any clever digital knockoff with sound effects and obnoxious colors. Just plain old Scrabble at a table with pencils for scoring and a dictionary for looking up obscure two-letter words.

If I’m having a bad day, you are welcome to send me roses and buy me chocolates and chances are I will eat them (the chocolates) and display them (the roses) on the dining room table and even smile about it, but the hollow place in my heart will still remain.

If you compliment me on my new handbag and tell me I’m doing a great job, I will most assuredly be uplifted, but if you REALLY want to show me you care, you will challenge me to an old-school game of Scrabble (with coffee).

I can trace this love language back to my mom, who instilled in us a love of words, taught us to play and even brought our ‘70s-era Scrabble game on every family camping trip, so that on rainy days when there was nothing to do, we’d sit at the picnic table under the canopy and play scrabble by the light of a propane lantern.

We even have a special technique for turning all the letter tiles at once, funneling them right-side up from the game board to the box and flipping it upside down while holding the board in place. We haven’t patented it yet but I’m thinking we should. (Of course it would be easier to draw them out of the bag, but then you couldn’t admire the beautiful wood grain.)

Thanks to Scrabble, I know that “qi” is a word, as well as “qat” and “qadi.” I also know that “Ni” is not a word, a fact that I hope bothers every Monty Python fan as much as it does me.

Over the last few years I have been meticulously grooming Bookworm and The Architect — soon, Tiny will join — to be the next generation of Scrabblers, and my efforts are paying off: While, in the early years, I used to purposely let Bookworm win, she recently has beaten me at full effort. Clearly I have taught her well.

One particularly dismal Sunday afternoon I was pouting in my room and folding laundry with the door closed when I heard a ‘ding’ on my phone. It was a message from Bookworm with just one word:

“Scrabble?”

Immediately I was downstairs at the table with our Scrabble dictionary at the ready. Ironically, no additional words were necessary. Scrabble is the universal healer.

While I leave most of the board gaming in the house to Mr. Roy, who is patient enough to last through a game of Monopoly and every iteration of it that we own, my children all know that if they want to play Scrabble, they have to come to Mom.

If they’re bored, Scrabble.

Hungry? First a game of Scrabble.

Sick? A game of Scrabble might perk you up!

And in a way I see these little snippets of time, when we’re gathered around a cardboard square covered with wooden tiles, as investments in my kids’ future. Not necessarily because it expands their vocabulary (although it does) or teaches patience or utilizes strategy, but because it’s time that we spend together, face-to-face. We might share a snack and fill the silence with chatter.

And in all of this, we are speaking a love language — my love language. The language of Scrabble.

Abbey Roy is a mom of three girls who make every day an adventure. She writes to maintain her sanity. You can probably reach her at amroy@nncogannett.com, but responses are structured around bedtimes and weekends.

This article originally appeared on Newark Advocate: Some people's love language is gifts; Abbey's is Scrabble