Hoop Dreams

Like many kids, ours go through phases when it comes to toys. One second, they're playing with something; .0001 seconds later, they are playing with something else and don't go back to the first toy for approximately three years, if ever.

Our youngest has been very good at exploring the playroom. She regularly rediscovers items and could spend an hour playing on her own. Our oldest has aged out of a lot of toys but has never found an art project she didn't want to try. We have more beads than Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras, enough markers with the caps not-quite-fully-closed to drive me crazy.

That leaves our son, the most finicky of them all when it comes to toys. He plays hard and then moves on, only reusing toys if someone is with him. (If you don't believe me, ask the pile of Super Mario Bros. Legos in the corner of our play area.) His all-or-nothing approach also carried over to reading. He tore through all of the "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" books and then announced he would not read anything else until the new book in the series came out... in six months. It took weeks of cajoling - and several rejected book series - before he started reading the "Big Nate" series, which he also just finished.

All of which is to say Belle and I were a little apprehensive at first to replace the basketball hoop on our driveway as a Hanukkah present for him. The hoop was rusting and would need to be taken down soon anyways, but we both feared spending thousands of dollars on a nice hoop that would just become part of our landscaping. Still, I couldn't deny the voice in my head, like in "Field of Dreams": If you build it, he will play. 

One reason why I was confident was he started playing rec-league basketball. He's on a team of about a dozen boys, ages 5 and 6, with varying degrees of basketball proficiency. The team meets every Saturday for 90 minutes, the first half a team practice, the second a scrimmage against another team. When the coach asked for volunteers to help him, I offered my assistance, although warning him my playing career ended in high school on a rec-league team with friends. (My scouting report was high motor, limited range, tenacious defense - in other words, a Short White Guy.)

And so I've become "Coach Danny," assisting with drills and trying to dodge stray basketballs. We work on dribbling, shooting and passing, explain the importance of getting back on defense and finding the open man. And then we watch everything we teach get thrown out the window once the scrimmage begins. If I had a nickel for every time I've yelled "PASS THE BALL!", I could have paid for a dome over the hoop at our house. 

The league's rules call for man-to-man defense (no double-teaming) after half court and stealing only when someone passes the ball. This, in theory, would allow everyone to practice dribbling and passing and prevent large pileups on the court. In reality, each possession typically involves one boy taking a few dribbles before being surrounded by members of the opposing the team. He then picks up the ball and tries to run away from the defense, maybe taking another dribble or two. 

The longer the boy holds the ball, the closer his teammates move toward him, hands in the air, asking for the ball. The ball-handler then runs to another spot before throwing the ball somewhere near the basket. Whether the ball bounces after hitting the rim or rolls on the ground, multiple boys will fall on top of each other trying to grab it. On the occasions a boy makes a basket, the cheers from parents and family seem a mix of happiness, surprise and relief for one fewer collision trying to corral a loose ball.

I consider a scrimmage a success if only one boy left the court in tears because of a minor injury and no one is bleeding. The boys are tired when it's over and my throat is raw from yelling instructions and encouragement. But everyone has had a great time, including, much to my delight, my son. He began basketball season unsure of his dribbling and barely grazing the net of the 8-foot rims. Now, he dribbles confidently, understands the basics of the game and looks for his shot. 

And while he doesn't get too many shots during the game, he regularly practices on our basketball hoop. I rebound for him for hours in my winter jacket and deliberately miss shots so he can win our games of "HORSE." Best of all, he'll sometimes go outside on his own to play. 

He won't be in the NBA when he grows up, but seeing his interest in basketball grow exponentially in just a few months has been great to watch. Our bet on a basketball hoop has already paid off, and we look forward to its continued, regular use. 

At least until the next "Wimpy Kid" book comes out.

Guess who's crying at dinner

Belle and I have had young children for so long, our daydreams are about having just one baby in the house. In those halcyon days, we could take turns watching her so we could get other things done, such as exercising or taking a shower without interruption.

One of our recent dinners.

We particularly remember the relative tranquility of the dinner/bedtime routine. Granted, I spent about two years of bedtimes laying on the floor next to my oldest daughter and then trying to slink out of her room as quietly as possible when she finally fell asleep. But at least once I made it downstairs, what little there was to clean up was put away and Belle and I could potentially watch an entire episode of "The Bachelor." These days, once everyone is asleep and the house is cleaned up, we are lucky to make it through 10 minutes of "The Bachelor" before someone is dozing off on the sofa.

Parents with teenagers or kids out of the house always say you will miss the days when your kids are babies, and I can see that, especially as we watch our youngest go through the "firsts" for the last time. One day I will look back fondly on the dinner/bedtime routine. But since that day is not today, I figured I would document a typical early evening in our house for posterity's sake. Because, like "The Bachelor," it's all about the journey.

2:37 a.m. - As I wake up for my middle-of-the-night potty trip, I realize I forgot to take the chicken out of the freezer so it can defrost for the night's dinner.

2:16 p.m. - Prior to the pandemic, we had a stable of recipes we knew we could make quickly once we got home from work. Since Belle and I are still both primarily working from home, we've been able to try new recipes and do some prep during work breaks. Granted, the odds of all of our kids liking a new recipe are roughly 1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000-to-1. But you've got to break some eggs to make an omelette. (Especially if an omelette is for dinner.)

5:15 - Having played nice and quietly after coming home from school, the older kids retire to their reading nooks to HAHAHAHAHA just kidding! After hopefully not maiming one another while playing, they turn on the TV. To avoid further fighting, one chooses what to watch on odd-numbered days, the other on even ones. My Nobel Peace Prize for that Solomonic decision must have gotten lost in the mail.

5:20 - While the older kids watch TV, we give them a snack of apples and peanut butter. This was a combination I did not grow up eating and (hot take alert!!) I'm not a fan. But if it gets them to eat a fruit, so be it.

5:25 - I always forget how long it takes the oven to preheat, so it's right about now I realize I should have turned it on 10 minutes ago.

5:25 - The youngest watches Sesame Street on an iPad in the kitchen, devouring whatever food we put in a bowl in front of her. 

5:25:30 - She politely hands the bowl back to myself or Belle.

5:27 - As dinner is cooking, we try to clean up some of the day's dishes in the kitchen and toys in the playroom.

5:44 - "When is dinner going to be ready?" someone asks in from the living room. "In about 15 minutes," we reply.

5:47 - "Is dinner ready?" someone asks from the living room.

5:59 - Dinner is put on the table.

5:59:01 - "I don't like it," at least one kid announces.

5:59:15 - The youngest drops her water cup for the first of at least several times.

6:02 - 6:07 - Everyone is happy and quietly eating.

6:07:02 - "I'm still hungry," at least one kid announces with food still on their plate.

6:13 - The youngest smiles as she runs her sauce-covered hands through her hair.

6:20 - The older kids have wandered away from the table as the youngest puts the finishing touches on tearing up a napkin and throwing it on the floor. 

6:26 - The youngest gets cleaned up and out of her booster seat. We shift into bath time.

6:31 - There are few things in the world more enjoyable than giving a baby a bath. The Buddha belly, the rolls of skin, the look of surprise each time water goes over their heads, the laughter as they splash water. All of this makes it easy to ignore the screaming in my older daughter's room as she and my son fight while talking to my parents on the iPad. 

6:35 - Showing signs of environmental consciousness very early in life, my youngest eschews using a towel and air-dries. Trying to put lotion on a moving, naked baby must be what trying to catch a chicken is like.

6:37 - After more than six years of washing and untangling her hair in the bath, my oldest recently has decided to shower herself. Granted, I still have to work the shampoo through her hair and then take off the shower head to really rinse it, but we're moving in the right direction.

6:38 - Negotiations begin with my son over his bath. Belle arrives upstairs, having cleaned the dining room after dinner. In related news, we're on our third Dustbuster in two years. 

6:42 - As Belle brushes our older daughter's hair, my son has agreed to terms on his bath: Dad will give the bath in under 3 minutes, keeping the timer on his phone visible, after which Mom will get him dressed. (Again, the Nobel Peace Prize must have gotten lost in the mail.) Our youngest, having fought putting a fresh diaper on, poops in said diaper.

6:50 - My son exits the bath with 10 seconds left on the timer and leaves the bathroom. The oldest returns to the bathroom to floss and brush her teeth. 

6:53 - Having left the bathroom to close bedroom blinds, I return to see my daughter has neither started flossing nor brushing. I only have to ask eight more times before flossing starts.

7:01 - "Almost there," I say to myself, taking a deep breath.

7:10 - The oldest children have clean teeth and are ready for story time. 

7:15 - The oldest children finish fighting over what story mom is going to read them.

7:20 - As Belle reads to the oldest children on my son's bed, I'm on the floor in the room of our youngest, surrounded by a pile of baby books. My daughter gives me a book to read, rapidly turns the pages and discards the book, stopping occasionally to lift a flap or feel a texture on the page. We "read" approximately 82 books in seven minutes.

7:24 - Whenever I read to the older kids, I do the occasional silly voice but mainly focus on finishing the book. Belle, by contrast, goes with more of a dialogue, asking questions along the way. ("How do you think the alligator felt when the bunny took his ice cream cone?")

7:26 - Question overheard in the other room: "How did Sonia Sotomayor learn so much as a child?" (Answer: She went to the library and read books.) Question I ask my youngest: "How does baby feel when she is yawning? (Answer, after lifting the flap on the page: Baby is tired.)

7:30 - The older kids get tucked in. 

7:33 - As the youngest nurses, my son comes out of his room for (hopefully) the only time of the night.

7:40 - The youngest goes down in her crib.

7:41 - My son comes out of his room for (hopefully) the last time of the night.

7:43 - Despite no one having been in the playroom for two hours, more toys have piled up on the floor.

7:47 - I spend so much time in front of the sink cleaning dishes that I'm filming a public service announcement next week about the dangers of dish-pan hands.

8:14 - Belle and I finish up our work for the day.

8:58 - Belle makes her to-do list for tomorrow. I ask what is for dinner so I can avoid waking up in the middle of the night realizing I forgot to take chicken out of the freezer.

9:23 - We sit down on the sofa to watch TV. Neither of us wants to move for several hours but...

9:36 - Belle's eyes are closed. I turn on ESPN.

9:44 - I give Belle a nudge and we start to head upstairs. 

9:45 - As I turn off the lights on our main level, I notice all of the toys are back on the floor again.