matching tracksuits

Almost all children adore animals. Kids are attracted to the novel, and what could be more novel than another living creature?

L’s love of animals borders on obsessive, and like many obsessions, hers leads to behaviors that seem counterproductive: she loves are cat almost literally to death (at least that’s certainly the cat’s point of view). And so a visit to a farm is simply perfect for L: she gets to experience animals up close, yet the familiarity that leads L to take so many liberties with our cat  is missing.

Over the weekend, we went to a birthday party held at a local stable and farm — brilliant idea. We petted chickens and fed goats.

The highlight, of course, was in the barn.

Like all good riders, the children got a chance to do a little horse grooming, learning how to brush the horses with the various brushes then applying their new knowledge.

L is a curious mix of excitement and conscientiousness. She was eager to try the various brushes and wanted to use them correctly, but she never really took the time to try to remember — to allow others to remind her — how to the various brushes.

She’s a little like me, I guess: she dives in, fairly confident that she’ll get it right soon enough that any mistakes made along the way won’t be significantly problematic.

Fortunately, the conscientious side of her took control when she was on the horse. She listened carefully and didn’t deviate from instructions even slightly.

Once it was all over, the swings outside the barn beckoned. L had had fun the entire day, but she seem a little relieved to be doing something she knew how to do. Novel is good, in small doses.

The Girl enjoys playing with the chess set I brought back from Poland. (If I remember correctly, a gift from Nana and Papa, when they came for our wedding.) She has invented her own little version that involves us using single pieces to push our opponent’s single piece around the board for a few moments. She loves the game, but I’ve yet to discern the sublime objective.

Occasionally she just gets all the pieces out and puts them on the board. There’s usually a pattern: black pieces on black squares; white pieces on white squares.

A perfectly impossible position, but notice: the white king is in check, forking the queen.

It’s another example of the similarities between toddlers and older children with autism: pattern, pattern, pattern. Everything has its place, and to disturb that order is to invite chaos, in more ways that one.

We’re more like that than we’d like to admit. A colleague once commented that we’re all on the autism spectrum; it’s just that some of us have very mild cases. Mine manifests itself in my obsession with seeing patterns in floor tiles and then feeling a compulsion to walk in accordance with said patterns.

That’s probably why I looked at L’s work, smiled, and said proudly, “Very symmetrical. Well done.”

We’ve been teaching the Girl to share. With no siblings, she’s fairly accustomed to having all her toys all to herself. Yet sharing is not something you can force or even teach like tying a shoe. It’s something in which she needs to see the intrinsic value herself. And the only way to convey that — the joy of sharing, you could call it — is to model it.

“Here, Mama. Would you like some of my cake?” I ask K. She has a slice herself, but she gladly accepts. We smile, but they’re genuine smiles: it’s amusing, the whole process, and it’s difficult to do it with a straight face.

L is beginning to catch on. The other day, she brought me a bit of candy she’d tried, saying, ”Tata, I’m sharing this with you. I don’t like it.”

There’s a particular hat that is positively ubiquitous in southern Poland. Farmers, loggers, town drunks — any and all men can wear them, especially once they reach age forty.

I received one before I left Poland. Though I could never bring myself to wear it there, I wore it occasionally in the States.

The Girl recently discovered it.

It seems it’s no longer mine.

We’ve lived here long enough to learn through firsthand experience that the Greenville area doesn’t get snow; it gets ice. Still, the ground becomes white, and it’s inviting to a little girl.

The driveway became a skating rink. Or, more accurately, a slipping-and-sliding rink.

Photo by K

But L’s great dream was to make a snowball and throw it. She made a valiant effort, scraping the ice from the ground, forming it into a little ball

Photo by K

and giving it a toss.

Photo by K

I never really liked card games as a kid. I guess Uno was alright once in a while, but that doesn’t really count as a real card game. Since Windows hadn’t yet come out when I was a kid, I never learned to play Hearts. Spades was popular among some friends, as was — oddly enough — euchre, but I just didn’t get it. What was the point? (Bridge, of course, was out of the question then; now, it’s the only card game I truly enjoy.)

L learned a new game today — “learn” being used in a most generous way. She didn’t quite get the point; she couldn’t quite understand why Babcia took the upturned cards for herself sometimes and sometimes gave them to her.

I can’t remember what this particular game is called in English. In Polish, it’s “wojna” — war. Perhaps it’s the same in English. I can’t really recall. (Another one of those odd circumstances in which I know the Polish but am unsure of the English.)

Most importantly: the Girl enjoyed it (for a few minutes).

“Let’s play it again!” she chimed again and again.

Still in English, though…

A cloudy day. We’d been in the house all weekend, with the sole exception being a trip to the church on Christmas day. So after L woke up, we headed downtown.

Cloudy days are good for photographing moving water: slow shutter speeds.

0.4, f/22.0, 18 mm

One step over-exposure combined with a closed down lens meant I was able to get the shutter speeds I’d always wanted.

1/4, f/22.0, 70 mm

1/4, f/22.0, 52 mm

But L wasn’t interested in shutter speeds or f-stop values: we’d promised her chocolate milk once we got downtown, and that was her only interest.

Latte for K and me; hot chocolate for Babcia; and fruit juice for the Girl (unfortunately, no chocolate milk to be found) — we were ready for a walk down main street.

There were a few of us out for a walk. Most everyone else seemed to be huddled in the bars and restaurants that line Main Street. I guess with the bowl games and the southern love affair with football it’s logical.

Still, there were a few families out. A grandmother and granddaughter posed for pictures against a backdrop of traffic as we crossed the street to head back to our car. Just a few blocks down the street the view is much more striking, with the waterfall and bridge and lights. As we walked by, I idly wondered about their choice of location.

Being downtown always makes me a little frustrated that we don’t head there more often.

The winter answer to that question is obvious. After a couple of shots in front of the large city Christmas tree, we headed back to the car.

We parked within view of some of the most expensive condos in the area. Location, location, location. Their owners probably don’t complain about not going downtown often enough.

Everyone began preparing in the morning. Truth be told, K started weeks ago: making pierogi and uszki (two different types of dumplings) and freezing them. Still, with two soups, dumplings, kraut with wild mushrooms, and a main course (accompanying salads and such not counted) on the menu, we had to get a quick start.

There was a salad to make, beginning with boiling veggies and eggs — lots of this. And sauteing onions on a cosmic scale.

There was chopping galore: before and after the boiling; during this; before that. “Click, click, click,” was the soundtrack of the morning.

And there was ironing and setting of places.

In the end, it was the common lament: all the time spent cooking, and the food disappeared so relatively quickly. There’s the eternal entertaining conflict: one wants them to savor everything, yet while everything is warm and the fish is still moist, one wants everyone just to hurry up and get to the next course.

It was a special wigilia for us because it was a special Christmas Eve for L: the first one she knew what was going on, possibly the first one in her memory for some time. She ate the barszcz; she devoured the mushroom soup; and she sat calmly as the rest of us ate. Afterward, Nana and Papa successfully spoiled her with their generosity (not to mention us: as I write, I’m listening to Madeline Peyroux’s excellent new album, Bare Bones, on a new iPod — the woman is incapable of making a bad album). With guests, gifts, and attention, the Girl danced, sang, smiled, laughed, and was the center of the evening. It’s likely to be that way for, well, the foreseeable future.

It’s amazing the number of confrontations and tantrums we’ve avoided by giving L a time frame. Simply establishing a temporal structure allows us all to avoid frustration. She knows what to expect and, more importantly, when; we know that we’ll have a much more compliant little girl.

It works for almost everything. When L is watching a movie, it’s referenced in terms of the film’s scenes: “When this scene is over, we’ll go for our bath.” The scene finishes; she toddles off to the bathroom when requested to do so. When L is reading a book before bedtime, a reminder that she’ll be going to be in five minutes elicits “Okay”; saying, out of the blue, “Okay, put the book up. It’s time for bed!” is likely to produce nothing but conflict.

It would if some parts of life had more pre-established time frames.

Photo: “Clock Top” by laffy4k

Though her birthday was three days ago, L’s birthday party was today. Her first birthday was a much more adult-centered party. Her second birthday party was still dominated by adults. This year, it was all about the kids.

There was pizza and ice cream and candy and juice, but most importantly, there were games.

I believe we were seeing a little bit of L’s school side, As mentioned earlier, L’s teachers always comment on her mellow, compliant nature, something we don’t see too often here.

Whenever we try to play a game with her, there can be tense moments of an attitude that can be described as a typical toddler egoism: “It’s mine; I’ll do with it as I please.”

Today, there was none of that. L exhibited a simple graciousness that never demanded to be first, never begged to have it all, never stated that it must be this way and not that. She was the perfect host. It was her party, and she didn’t cry because apparently she didn’t ever want to.

And who could blame her? L’s two best friends from school were there, and what’s more, there was dancing.

The three candles were out in a flash, and the party seemed to wrap up even faster. I glanced at the clock and saw it was, in fact, two hours since the first guests arrived.

In a word, a success. “See you next year,” said one parent as a best friend was leaving.

We’re looking forward to it — especially the Girl.