“Daddy, you be Clemson. I’ll be the Cubs.” We’re not much of a sports family, but in the Greenville area, it’s impossible to escape Clemson. We get hand-me-downs in bright orange with a white paw print, and the Boy hears about the school’s athletic exploits at school, so he’s aware of Clemson as something that always seems to be on the periphery. The Cubs are even simpler: I’m not much of a baseball fan, but I watch a bit during the World Series, and with 2016’s being so historic, I couldn’t miss it. And of course I cheered for the Cubs. And so the Boy did likewise.
One of the Boy’s favorite books for a while was My Cold Went on Vacation, which tells the story of a little boy who catches a cold and recovers, only to wonder where the cold has gone. He loved it because in each picture, the cold — a green-faced, long-nosed, always smiling circle — was visible somewhere; I loved it because of the style of the illustrations. It was an educational book for the Boy as well: we got to talk about how colds are spread, and he told me about kids in his pre-school class who had gotten ill throughout the year. He reminisced about his own colds and giggled each time he saw that the cold eventually returned home to visit with his sister a while.
So went our week as a family. The Boy started us off with a stomach virus on Monday that kept him home Tuesday as well. He let it take a leisurely stroll around the neighborhood before letting it back in Thursday to lay me out all day Friday. And then last night, K was complaining about being more tired than she should have been, and I knew where our family virus had gone after it left me.
As a result, most of this week has been kind of start-and-stop. The Boy got sick and everything slowed down; he got better and everything returned to normal. And so went the cycle.
It’s something of a short metaphor for this time of year: the end of the school year is within sight, but it’s still off in the distance a bit, just a little way down the line. We can see it, and we’re all ready for it. We’re ready to close the year out, pack our bags, and fly to Poland for a few weeks. But it just keeps chugging.
And so do we. But that light — it’s there, in the distance…
The Boy got a new bike yesterday — well, new to him. It’s bigger, with a higher seat and larger turning radius. It took him a while to get used to it — a few minutes anyway.
Every day has a story in it. That’s what writers will tell you. “You just have to find the thread of the narrative and follow it.” Something like that. If that’s the case, the threads of our Sunday afternoon stories area always the same. They always weave about our little recreation area down at in the corner of our property.
First, there’s the green swing. “I call green swing!” one of our children — usually L — we shout when we head down the hill. Yesterday, before the kids went down (our Saturday evening threads are often the same as our Sunday afternoon threads), while the Girl was still getting ready in her room, the Boy whispered, “I call green swing.”
The Boy had occupation day at school today. He’s been excited about this for ages. The real treat, though, was when he went with K to pick up the Girl. The police officers directing traffic as school let out were all smiles when they saw him. One pointed out that, with his three bars, he was their superior officer.
Just when we thought spring was here, we knew we couldn’t possibly be right. There’s always one more last stab of winter, one last attempt to hold on to the short cold days and remind us how thankful we are for a little warmth.
It’s been in the seventies for a couple of weeks now. The blueberries are covered in blossoms, and various trees are sending out leaves. So of course it makes sense for winter to get one last dig in before giving up for the year.
We were supposed to have a three-day week this week but because of two snow days earlier in the year, we lost them. My worry, hearing about the potential for snow, was that we’d lose our third and final make-up day, which is the Monday after Easter. Sure, having a snow day Monday would be nice in a sense, but at what price?
So the small amount of snow that dusted the grass — areas in the backyard that had nothing but soil melted the snow immediately — seemed a little threat. Only one thing to do: put the new police uniform on and spend the day chasing bad guys.
And play some games.
I’ve been retroactively creating gallery to transform this more into a scrapbook and less into a blog.