The Backyard

By Scott Kushner

Being in the backyard feels like unlocking a parenting achievement.

Even if it’s literally sitting on a tarp in the middle of some grass while kids play with the same exact toys they were playing with in the living room, there’s something about getting beyond the walls of the house that feels like a win.

With a city quarantine in place, and finding myself often outnumbered by kids under 3 years old, the options are admittedly limited. Especially in the pyrrhic pursuit of trying to limit screen time.

There’s reading books (which they get bored of), lining up activities like coloring (which they immediately quit on) or playing the same 10 songs over and over on the Alexa speaker (by now Jeff Bezos’ crew is well aware if there’s ever a summer tour featuring Trombone Shorty, Dave Matthews playing his first album, the Presidents of the United States of America, and Elmo, there’s a good place to direct a bunch of push notifications). Regardless, it’s often full of short-attention span theater and becomes a bit daunting to get through the day.

So, the industrious father takes the crew to the backyard.

Nothing particularly interesting is occurring in this particular backyard. While, we are blessed to have a large yard, it is painfully underutilized and barren.

Pre-quarantine we spent some time on our deck, but the grass was mostly just a thing to look at it. We’ve been in this house for seven years and I can count less than 15 times we ever did anything actually of use in this yard.

It served an excellent bathroom for a french bulldog, though.

Anyway, I’ll take the blame for not realizing a toddler would obviously enjoy this green backdrop. I have zero patience, or ability, to actually connect the pieces of a play set. And I never envisioned a time we would be marooned from a playground for this long, so bothering to install something our son might actually enjoy slipped my mind.

I know. It was stupid. 

Instead, it’s just an empty patch of grass with a water table for splashing, a tee ball set, and a hose.

For the baby, none of these things even matter. I walk out there with the tarp, throw a few toys on there for him to grab and gnaw on and he’s content. Victory.

The 2-year old is of course more challenging, because he’s unimpressed by my accomplishment of opening the back door and putting toys on a mat. So, I’m forced to improvise by either spraying the sacrificial dog with a hose to make him laugh, or endlessly re-setting the softball on the tee for him to literally poke with the handle of a plastic bat. The ball moves about six inches.

In a pinch, he just screams at me to swing him and spin around while holding him, a richly deserved and nausea-inducing punishment for not just buying a swing set months ago.

Writing this down makes me realize how obscenely small of an achievement all of this is.

But as its happening, there’s a real sense I’ve tackled the odds and overcome adversity. We are outside! There’s grass! And sun! And the sound of neighbors arguing while day drinking!

Sure, it’s basically the same as inside, with less options, climate control and toys…but it’s not inside. It’s outside!

By the time 30 or so minutes pass I can clearly see by the faces of both children that they’re over this daily experiment.

Soon, we trudge back inside, set to play “Ants Marching” on the speaker for the 100th time. But I can sense the sweet smell of victory, which is emanating from the sweat pouring out of me, knowing I haven’t put on deodorant in a few weeks.

Small wins count. Even if they’re only a few feet away.

Welcome to the Thunderdome

By Scott Kushner

Some moments in life are magnified. Whether it’s a split second, single day or indefinite timeframe it’s often hard to know precisely how meaningful something is until given the perspective of time.

But, not right now.

This is a crucial test. And an obvious one.

There’s nowhere to hide from this problem. And no place to run away from it. Or mechanism to throw money at it. Or any of the other myriad of ways I’ve found to ease tension before it reaches this close to a boiling point.

Instead, COVID-19, the coronavirus, is inescapable.

Day care closed. The babysitter quit. My wife’s job shifted from specializing in anesthesia to being put on the front lines of the ICU, bedside caring for the sickest people in one of the sickest cities in the world.

I was laid off from my part-time (dream) job at the newspaper, but thankfully kept my full-time gig, allowed to work remotely.

So, here I am. Two kids. A 2-year old and a 7-month old, who need caring for every day, while emails fly in and phone calls buzz. Meanwhile, my wife is being put at actual risk, thrown into the middle of a global pandemic like a firefighter in the midst of an endless blaze.

(Oh yeah. And there’s a spoiled/lazy French Bulldog who lives exclusively to eat inadvertent table scraps from children and cries if they’re unreachable.)

The times. They are undeniably stressful.

But this is where circumstances have thrown me and the responsibility to my family is to respond. 

As a sports writer my duty is to detect pivot points, and dissect why those times of peak fluctuation either fell toward failure or success.

Well, right now, I’d be commenting that the coach I’m covering should’ve never let it get to this point, because what he’s attempting to do is completely unsustainable based on his knowledge, abilities and history.

But, here I am.

Three days per week, it’s me against a toddler and a baby, desperately trying to fend off the requests of Sesame Street and Toy Story to actually be a productive caregiver while my wife is working one of the most undesired positions imaginable. In the meantime, my obligations to an understanding employer mean I can’t ignore my phone, needing to be at least marginally responsive during the handful of quiet moments available.

The other four days per week, my wife and I work in tandem. She is far better than I am, actually trying to make nutritious meals, play games and set an example.

I’m far more prone to give in to the whining to watch Elmo and simply tear off the lid of a Lunchable and throw it on the table, while sticking a pacifier in the baby’s mouth to get through the next hour.

And one thing I’ve missed over the past few weeks is the opportunity to write down my thoughts. In the past these have been about the Pelicans or some other sports narrative, but right now, the focus is on myself and my family.

But I still think it’s important to write.

So, without any payment and without any real prompting, here I am. I’ll try to update this blog as often as feels relieving, digging into the real world happenings while also using this as a journal to remember just how chaotic these circumstances are in real time.

If you’re here to read along, welcome. I hope you enjoy.