Summary

A mother recounts her children's creation of an imaginative fortress in their backyard during the pandemic, which serves as their escape from the confines of home and the stresses of the global situation.

Abstract

During the pandemic, with limited social interactions and virtual schooling, the author's children, aged 5 and 7, find themselves frequently bored and often bickering. To maintain peace, the mother encourages outdoor play, leading to the kids independently constructing a fortress in the backyard. Initially suspicious of their quiet collaboration, the mother discovers they have repurposed household items to create a detailed outdoor living space, complete with a garden path, separate kitchen and bathroom areas, and a set of rules for entry. This fortress not only occupies the children but also represents their resilience and creativity in the face of the pandemic's restrictions, providing them a sense of control and a refuge from the broader concerns of the world.

Opinions

The author initially fears the children's quiet play will lead to mischief but comes to appreciate their creativity and independence.
The children's fortress-building is seen as a positive coping mechanism during a time of limited social interactions and virtual schooling.
The mother recognizes the importance of allowing the children to play and create freely, despite the minor destruction to the lawn and the use of "inside toys" outside.
The fortress symbolizes the children's attempt to process the pandemic's impact on their lives in a way that is manageable and empowering for them.
The author values the children's ability to find joy and a sense of normalcy amidst the global crisis, emphasizing the importance of childhood innocence and play during difficult times.

The Backyard Fortress

My kids are 5 and 7, and when they are bored they entertain themselves by pushing each other’s buttons and looking for reasons to tattle. With the pandemic, limited play dates, and school closures, they have found themselves bored quite often.

Every time I think I have a minute to sneak off and read a book or eat ice cream out of the carton, it begins: “MOM, she is putting her feet on my side of the couch!” “MOM, he called my Ariel doll stupid!” “MOM, she’s tattling…I didn’t do it!” “MOM, he took the pink marker I was thinking about using next Tuesday!”

It’s tempting to be relieved when they are finally playing quietly together…ooo, I can pretend to meal prep while actually scrolling through Facebook newsfeeds! But don’t be fooled.

Usually, the only time they play independently without fighting it is because they are up to something sneaky: filling up the bathroom sinks with handsoap, drawing with Sharpies on their furniture, or opening up every box of bandaids to stick their artwork to the wall.

The days have been sunny, and I send them to play outside a lot. So when they were out in the backyard the other day and not bothering me, I selfishly took some time to myself: showering and folding laundry. But after about an hour of their collaborative teamwork, I started to get suspicious.

I was just headed out to check on them when I heard the backdoor open, and they quickly scampered past me to the basement playroom.

Hm. “What are you guys doing?” I asked as I peeked downstairs.

Their whispers stopped, and they looked up with the cherubic smiles of the ornery. Their arms were full of play food, kitchen utensils, stuffed animals, and craft supplies. “Just getting some things for our fortress,” my son, the oldest, said, blinking innocently. Ok sure. They looked like they were packing for the apocalypse out there.

Bringing “inside toys” outside is one of my husband’s pet peeves. But, exhausted from the many weeks of parenting in close quarters, I just sighed and let them go.

A few minutes later I heard a thumping sound coming from the backyard. When I looked out the window I saw my son hacking away at the ground with a garden spade near a large bush in the backyard. He was ripping up the scraggly grass and scraping the lawn down to bare dirt. Oh shit, there it is, the destruction. I got ready to yell… What do you think you’re doing?? There is now a dirt trench in the back of the yard. You just can’t tear up the lawn like that!

But as I stomped across the yard prepared to let him have it, my little boy lifted his head, and his eyes met mine. He was beaming. “LOOK!” he announced. “I made a garden path around the fortress! So you can find the entrance, Mom.”

I stopped and swallowed my words.

I looked over at the bush next to him and saw that he had also cut away large branches off one side of it. Again, my gut reaction was to be irritated that he trimmed this without asking. But I paused and waited for him to continue.

“I cut off these branches so it would be big enough for you and Dad to come inside.” He reached his arms up to show me, and his smile got bigger. He was proud. And he wanted to include me.

“But you have to knock and say the secret password,” added my 4 year-old daughter, peering out from between the branches. (Luckily I guessed it right on the first try: unicorn-poop-butt. *Sigh* I know her so well.)

Inside the umbrella of this brown, scraggly bush were two small chairs arranged around a painted tree stump that was set carefully with old sand toys and plastic food. There was a toy microwave nestled up in a branch (“so the baby dolls couldn’t reach it”) and a “pantry” in the back with extra food and craft supplies. Their playhouse was pulled up to the edge of the bush, stocked with an old frying pan and toy dishes. “That’s our kitchen,” they explained.

“And over there,” pointing to the other side of the bush, “is our bathroom.” My daughter rolled her eyes at her brother. “He already used it,” she said.

They both smiled tentatively, waiting to see if I would scold them or praise them.

I looked around and nodded. “Well, at least you kept your bathroom separated from the kitchen,” and we laughed.

They had built a space of their own.

They built a space away from the house we have all been tethered to for so many months. A space created without adult influence, yet open to visitors who were willing to follow their (very specific) set of rules.

It was their way of gaining some control and some physical escape. They created a world within their tiny world.

They are too young to fully understand the impact of this pandemic and the sacrifices we humans have collectively made to try to contain it. They are sad that school is virtual, and they miss their friends. Their grief over the loss of normalcy is softer and less defined than mine, but it is still there.

They can repeat the simple explanations we have given them for frequent hand-washing and physical-distancing, but they likely don’t dwell on the deeper fears and uncertainties that keep me up at night.

I will hold the space for the harder feelings: Fear of the big bad wolf in microscopic form, and Worry about the shaky future of civilization as we know it.

I will hold the space for those feelings because I am their grownup and they shouldn’t have to feel stuff that big yet.

I want them to dig their trenches and sculpt their doorways and set their tables and stock their pantries. Tear up some grass, cut a few branches, let the inside toys gather some outside dirt — those things are trivial.

I want them to not feel traumatized by this era of global trauma. I want them to find support in each other and build something together that makes them feel safe.

I’m just glad they let me in. (unicorn-poop-butt)