What it’s Like

The original purpose of the blog is to give Elijah and Luca a view into what it was like growing up. As we are quarantined with Covid-19, I’ve been wondering, what will they remember? How will they feel about this, the most surreal time of their lives?

At the risk of eliminating any last bit of comedy from the blog, I’m going to attempt to paint an accurate picture so they have some idea of what it was like in March of 2020.

Here goes:

Hello future Eli and Luca! I hope you achieved your goals of becoming a sea animal helper and an NFL kicker. 

Right now, I am writing to you from the dining room. Where I have been stuck for 48 hours. You both have overheard some of the most boring conference calls in the world, where I’ve been debating whether or not we can air a commercial that features someone in an office (no one is in offices) or kids at school (no one is at school). There is an untouched puzzle on the table, a Viking hat I use for video conferences and a running list of Eli’s suggestions to help my clients’ business. “So, you know how goldfish made a sweet version of goldfish (grahams) I think you should do the opposite and make sweet (client name redacted) like a pretzel outside and a cheddar inside.” I’ve only yelled at you both twice for screaming during a conference call.

You both are bored. Very bored. Luca, you race to finish your schoolwork morning so you can play basketball/football with your posse. Technically it’s against the rules, but we’ve been lenient with kid social distancing. That’s what we call it. Social distancing. 

Eli, you take a little longer to get your work done. Mostly because you’ve been sneaking your phone in your room and split time between work and episodes of “Boss Baby.” I’m not sure I would choose that show to ride out the apocalypse, but to each their own. You haven’t spent much time with other kids because of “Boss Baby.”

Your mom is now manning the wine store solo. She sent her employees home for their own safety. But people want their wine. It’s kind of an odd move for Diana because she is panicking most of all about the virus. We aren’t allowed to touch anything before we have to “scrub in.” She has mandated no play dates (except outside sports) and won’t even allow your dear old dad to go drink at his friend John’s house. 

Things are eerily quiet. Mostly because we don’t leave the house. We don’t watch TV because it’s all the same heads talking about the virus. It feels like we are in the first 10 minutes of a zombie movie. Everyone is telling the same jokes online. 

Speaking of jokes, the bunker you made in the basement as a father’s day gag is now stocked with cans and water and a huge knife. We assume we’ll never use them. 

But you both are your usual goofy, hilarious selves. The fact the disease doesn’t really affect kids is a huge relief, but it’s still scary to see the world melt down like this. 

I love you guys. This will be fun to remember when it’s all over. 

Frat House

Wet, dirty clothes everywhere. Clods of dirt covering our foyer. Empty bags of chips strewn across our basement, under the blue couch and stuffed under beds. Pieces of a ripped up soda can on the steps. A pair of rubber boots filled with water. 

Diana looked across the disaster and sighed, “I live in a frat house.”

I lived in a frat house. Our house is in far worse condition. And we don’t have a 6 foot bong called “Bob the Bong.”

I’m not sure where the tipping point happened, but we’re fearful our house will never be clean again. Oh, we make Elijah and Luca clean up. But within minutes, our house is back to being a wildebeest birthing center. 

This doesn’t work well with Diana’s increasing fear of THE VIRUS. As more and more cases pop up across the country, the more Diana needs things to be clean. I am required to step into a chemical bath before kissing her.

The boys haven’t just stopped at destroying our house. They’ve turned their sights to our neighbors. Last Sunday, Luca accidentally broke a window two doors down during an especially ambitious game. The footage of the event can be found here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LNaHUxi6H-U

Luca begged Diana not to tell me about the window, because he was afraid I’d freak out and yell at him. So, she quietly swept the glass under the rug, so to speak, and worked out the new window details with our neighbors without my knowledge.

Our neighbor Paul came to our door a little while later to let us know he wanted to pay for part of the damage. 

At which point I totally freaked out. In my defense, the math in my head was Luca broke a window without telling me or anyone and was sticking Paul with the bill.

Much like our filthy house, my rage had hit a tipping point and no amount of Luc explanation could quell my yelling. 

With Diana’s calming help, I finally understood the whole story and apologized to Luca profusely for losing my mind. I felt awful for yelling but also for forcing Luca to keep things from me because of my yelling.

I decided to leave the empty raspberry container in the middle of the room, where it belonged. 

Viruses and Comics

There’s a big scary virus making its way across every news channel and website. What was once an “Oh those poor foreign people” issue is now so bad that a lot of our agency clients have informed us that they’d prefer we keep our dirty Chicago germs in Chicago. 

It’s hard to talk to kids about a potential global pandemic. Especially when your wife is stockpiling medical masks and seriously reconsidering her stance on guns. You know, for the zombies. We told them right now everyone is safe. The virus isn’t bad for kids and the best way to stay healthy is to wash your hands every thirty-eight seconds until they are raw.

 It was in this shaky, opening of a George A. Romero movie atmosphere that Elijah and I decided to attend the big Chicago comic book convention. Luca was busy catching other diseases at an overnight water park birthday extravaganza.

I almost canceled our trip downtown, but my friends made a tiny bit of fun at my suggestion. I chose to put my son in danger rather than not look 100% cool 100% of the time.

We arrived at the convention with my brother and his crew and I stopped all the kids before heading in. I said, “Safety meeting. There are some germs out there that we don’t want. So let’s all be careful out there.” There. That should be enough.

We found ourselves in a line before the other line before the line to get in. Hundreds and hundreds of nerds (myself included) shuffling around, all thinking the same thing: “Did someone just cough?”

Eventually, we made it into the hall. It was appropriately hilarious and awesome and sad and we had a blast. My virus fears were abated by a gigantic IPA in a plastic cup. Eli knew exactly when to ask for a $50 souvenir (at the beginning of my second IPA) and I barely resisted the urge to buy an obscenely expensive Superman sweater.  

I’m fairly sure we made it out with our insides unscathed by the super bug. My insides did take a bit of a beating from IPAs and convention snacks.