On Can We Go to the Front Yard?

Reagan,

This one’s for you. I’m sure if you ask your grandma, she could probably think of a thing or two that I did when I was your age that I loved and she, well, didn’t love so much. Now, there are things like doing the vacuum cleaner, doing the mop, watching Youtube videos of Russian kids playing with toys with constant sounds/graphics/language that no one on our street could interpret/etc. that I don’t love so much.

But there is one thing that you always suggest when you’re bored that is just the pits. Here’s how you usually play that card.

R: Dad, can I go to Nash/Miles’ house?

D: Not today buddy. You spent all day yesterday with them and you…

R: (little tears) Can I do the white mop?

D: Reagan, the floor hasn’t been swept and before you can mop, you really need….

R: (big tears) You always say no!

D: T…

R: Can we go to the front yard?

By this point, you’ve been moved to tears and called me out for saying no to “everything,” which I would counter with you only ask for the same four or five things that never go well for me and always leave me feeling more stressed than before those things “get done.”

D: What do you want to do in the front yard?

R: Play

Here’s what that means…

Going to the front yard means going out to a shadeless blacktop driveway where my car is probably parked because we have half-a-dozen things earmarked for Facebook marketplace on the long-term-parking side (my side) of the garage. So shooting hoops is off the table. Assuming Koen is with us, two to seventeen wagons, strollers, garden equipment, brooms, leaf blowers, or weed spray is brought out of the garage and left in whichever spot your ADHD brains decide to move on to the next thing happen to be.

On a good day, I plan ahead and get a beer or two to keep me company while you guys run over to Miss Lynn’s house and chat her up, play with Ripley, or ransack her garage for who knows what. My favorite part is tipping my beer at 4pm to people driving by while I’m just sitting by myself in a cheap lawn chair on my driveway like I’ve been retired for 20 years and left all my F’s, along with my dignity, somewhere in the house.

Chances are that I’ll get a work phone call right about the time you get bored at Lynn’s and decide to put your brother in our (not cheap) collapsable wagon and run him up and down the sidewalk where near and certain danger is lurking in the form of sidewalk-cracks or a non-existent suspension system on the wagon. Nevermind the fact that, like most things within gravitational range of a six-year-old, the wagon doesn’t work quite as well as it did when we got it.

So here I am trying to pretend to whoever is on the phone that I’m a serious, professional person. Commit to memory whatever thing I need to get done from that phone call and hope that by the time I get back inside, I remember what it was because my brain cells are fleeting quickly at this point.

D: Reagan, do you want to ride your bike?

R: No thanks.

D: Do you want to throw a football or hit plastic golf balls?

R: …can I turn on the hose?

Meanwhile, your brother is probably peeing on the garage door because he’s graduated from going behind the bush to just peeing wherever the mood hits him. Things are going well… At this point, I’m just randomly pulling weeds from our neglected mulch bed.

I check my watch… we’ve been outside for 15 minutes.

Ten times out of nine, the reluctance to go outside has been replaced with the frantic urge to get back inside. At this point, you’re holding the aces and I’m grasping at straws to find a bartering chip to get you to come in peacefully. Snacks? Maybe. Ipad time? Likely. Spidey game or hand game for Koen? If I can just get this one thing done for work (which I’ll secretly tack on a little doom scrolling and “Find My” check to see how far away Kelly might be at this point).

At the end of the day, I know other parents will tell me how great these times are and how it gets tougher when you guys are older. Sure, I don’t have to worry about you guys getting into too much trouble at this age. But for Christmas’ sake, the things I’d do if you guys wanted to play sports or color or play with your Switch or read a book or play a board game or listen to music or play music or….shit, your mom isn’t going to be home for another hour and I can’t be locked inside that long…

Get your shoes on. We’re going to Kids Club.

Still love you,

Dad