As small parts tumbled out of the box and onto the deck of the front porch, the tension in every muscle of my upper body ratcheted just one tick tighter.
The came up to sniff one, and I frantically shooed her away.
In addition to my teeth being set on permanent edge as a result of these here pandemic times, we have gaps in the porch steps through which any one of these little do-dads could slip, and not only would my newly eager children have their dreams for a front yard game of badminton dashed, but the decision I don't remember making to NOT allow for under-porch access amid a renovation several years ago would come back to haunt me ... and these kids.
Oh, these kids.
I want to sing their praises.
I want to tell you how surprisingly wonderful they've been, not fighting with each other. Finding joy in the most simple of things, or just making it themselves out of hope and thin air.
Like this badminton set, I masked up to find at the five and ten. This set that is just a bunch of parts strewn across the porch deck like a puzzle.
As I try to decide how this v-shaped plastic nib fits into one of five pre-drilled holes in the nylon nesting poles, we all feel the heaviness that what was once an impulse now risks so much and so many.
"I almost can't believe there are no instructions," I say, hoping it didn't sound like too much of an indictment of my kids' investigative skills. But just enough ... knowing the likelihood of anyone in my house lifting a single thing in pursuit of a lost item.
My daughter looks again. This time she finds a bifold sheet of paper with simple illustrations instead of words, which she scans and quickly realizes I look like Steve Martin's "Freddy" to Michael Cain's "Lawrence" as I try to stick myself in the eye with a cork-topped fork.
"Here, let me have that," she says gently as she takes the poles and the widget and quietly sets about inserting Part A into Slot B, risking her perfect (and newly grown) nails in the process.
It is a moment to savor.
She is taking charge while her brother and I wordlessly follow her instruction, slipping the net onto the tops of our poles and waiting while she secured them with what I wouldn't be telling her were called "wing nuts."
Well, almost wordlessly. I forget that I haven't entirely digested the paper instructions, and think I'm "just helping" when I ask my son to "take three giant steps back."
"Hey, Mom... I'm "Simon" in this enterprise, and 'Simon' didn't say anything about taking three freaking steps."
"Simon" said a lot of words after that, but none of them were "freaking."
Not that I was clutching at any pearls.
I was just holding onto a pole as she anchored two spikes attached to twine on either side of me, and watched as she repeated the process where her brother stood, nine yards away. All of us mildly amazed when the setup kept standing as we finally stepped away.
It worked!
The taught net stood sturdily against the intermittent gusts of April winds. And there was much rejoicing.
Two children, holding racquets over their heads, pinwheeled around each other on the soft grass.
Neither one cared whether their side had the most or the least number of obstacles. The dog, roaming from one side to the other, evened things out.
The came up to sniff one, and I frantically shooed her away.
In addition to my teeth being set on permanent edge as a result of these here pandemic times, we have gaps in the porch steps through which any one of these little do-dads could slip, and not only would my newly eager children have their dreams for a front yard game of badminton dashed, but the decision I don't remember making to NOT allow for under-porch access amid a renovation several years ago would come back to haunt me ... and these kids.
Oh, these kids.
I want to sing their praises.
I want to tell you how surprisingly wonderful they've been, not fighting with each other. Finding joy in the most simple of things, or just making it themselves out of hope and thin air.
Like this badminton set, I masked up to find at the five and ten. This set that is just a bunch of parts strewn across the porch deck like a puzzle.
As I try to decide how this v-shaped plastic nib fits into one of five pre-drilled holes in the nylon nesting poles, we all feel the heaviness that what was once an impulse now risks so much and so many.
"I almost can't believe there are no instructions," I say, hoping it didn't sound like too much of an indictment of my kids' investigative skills. But just enough ... knowing the likelihood of anyone in my house lifting a single thing in pursuit of a lost item.
My daughter looks again. This time she finds a bifold sheet of paper with simple illustrations instead of words, which she scans and quickly realizes I look like Steve Martin's "Freddy" to Michael Cain's "Lawrence" as I try to stick myself in the eye with a cork-topped fork.
"Here, let me have that," she says gently as she takes the poles and the widget and quietly sets about inserting Part A into Slot B, risking her perfect (and newly grown) nails in the process.
It is a moment to savor.
She is taking charge while her brother and I wordlessly follow her instruction, slipping the net onto the tops of our poles and waiting while she secured them with what I wouldn't be telling her were called "wing nuts."
Well, almost wordlessly. I forget that I haven't entirely digested the paper instructions, and think I'm "just helping" when I ask my son to "take three giant steps back."
"Hey, Mom... I'm "Simon" in this enterprise, and 'Simon' didn't say anything about taking three freaking steps."
"Simon" said a lot of words after that, but none of them were "freaking."
Not that I was clutching at any pearls.
I was just holding onto a pole as she anchored two spikes attached to twine on either side of me, and watched as she repeated the process where her brother stood, nine yards away. All of us mildly amazed when the setup kept standing as we finally stepped away.
It worked!
The taught net stood sturdily against the intermittent gusts of April winds. And there was much rejoicing.
Two children, holding racquets over their heads, pinwheeled around each other on the soft grass.
Neither one cared whether their side had the most or the least number of obstacles. The dog, roaming from one side to the other, evened things out.
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