Month: June 2014
First, piano lessons — first time I’ve taught someone piano. Should be fun.
Next, swim lessons — we’re paying someone to do this, but I could probably teach her as well.
Next, ice skating lessons — no way I could teach her how to do this.
Finally, some badminton practice.
Go round and round.
The driver of the car says, “Sing a little more quietly, please.”
The Boy in the back says, “Hi there, Tata!”
The kids in the car listen to Frozen together.
Well, not quite metrically accurate, but you could probably make it fit.
It’s been going on for almost a week now, this bi-yearly deck project. It’s taken a bit longer each time around, and while I try to tell myself that this is because of unforeseen rain, lack of materials, or something similar, I suspect that the speed with which I do it contributes. The cleaning and staining of the the deck is something that works best during hot, clear days, and these days, I work about forty minutes to an hour, and I feel compelled to go back inside and cool off.
Getting a helper today was really an unexpected treat. First, there’s the help. Sure, there was the learning curve. And yes, yes, I did have to go back and correct some runs — it’s the poor girl’s first time, for heaven’s sake. What do you expect?
But for a beginner, she certainly showed she was a quick student with a good eye for detail.
The second reason, of course, is the simple fact of who my helper was: to have your daughter be willing to help without any cajoling or bribery is a precious thing. Okay, there was a reward, but that was after the fact, after the agreement to help, after the work was done, but she didn’t know about it when she agreed to help out.
The proof: disappointment when I told her she was done.
“Well, can I paint this?” she asked. “What about that?” I finally found some work for her, but not enough to fill the time I had left rolling stain onto the floor, so she just sat and chatted with me.
The Boy loves to help as well. His independent streak is a bit more developed than his skills are, and he often insists, in Polish, that he do something alone (“Sam!” he says), but that desire is there, and we can easily channel it.
Some days it’s as easy as channeling water; other days, not so much. But that’s what being two is all about.
Of our two, the Boy is always the first to wake up; indeed he’s often the first of the four of us. But these summer days, there’s a definite order: K, E, I, and then L. And it’s E that wakes up L. He toddles down the hallway, calling, “L, get up!” He climbs up on her bed, rolls around a bit, and then proclaims, “Time to get up!”
By this time, I’ve walked into the room, and E, worried that L is still asleep, suggests a more direct method of waking the Girl.
“Jump on L?” he asks, head cocked, as if he were simply asking if I would like him to bring a dirty plate from the table for washing.
“No, no, don’t jump on sissy.”
He turns to the window.
And by the way, the pickles turned out perfectly.
With one child, it was easier to make sure that we spread our time evenly. L had a monopoly. We played games with her, talked to her, cuddled with her. With her and only her.
When E came along, we warned her that things would change, that she’d have to share: time, attention, resources. Not love. Somehow that spread effortlessly, but the signs of love, the signs of love for a seven-year-old, anyway.
But with the Boy deep in his afternoon nap on a Wednesday afternoon, it’s time for a bit of that old monopoly.
The Boy is fearless on his four-wheel scoot-along (what the heck is that thing?). He comes barreling down our driveway at dizzying speeds, velocities that can stop a parent’s heart, if only briefly until he begins braking by dragging his shoes.
The Girl roars down the driveway even faster on her scooter, but that’s less worrisome: she’s seven, after all. More coordination, more understanding of the risks (though that only seems theoretical at times).
This evening we decided to take them both to a local favorite park for a little workout of these skills.
The Boy, though, had other interests.
Still, we managed to get them both together for just a moment for a picture from the newest observation deck.
And then the Boy showed just how sweet he can be.
Sure, I’m just basing this claim off anecdotal evidence I’ve experienced in my own classroom, but I’ll make the claim nonetheless: today’s kids just don’t have the imagination of past generations. I base this on the experience of students in creative writing classes having nothing to write about, and when given help with discovering the wealth of topics that surrounds them, they usually wrote about video games or thinly veiled remakes of various films.
The scene that greets me almost every day arriving at school goes a long way in explaining this, I believe.
The Girl, at this point, doesn’t suffer from such a lack of imagination. She’ll take a blanket, old sheer for window treatments, and heavy winter gloves and declare herself the queen of England.
