Matching Tracksuits

Month: February 2019

Tuesday Play

Tuesday 26 February 2019

The Boy has wanted a Rubik’s cube for some time now — a week or so. For him, it’s felt like an eternity. We ordered him a pair from the South American River Store: a 2×2 and a classic 3×3. This evening, I worked with him on the 2×2, trying to show him how to move corners around. It’s a two- or three-step process most of the time, and while he’s making progress, he’s still got some time before he’ll feel comfortable working a 3×3. And that’s just working one color.

I never learned how to work a cube fully. I could do one side, two sides. I think I got three sides once or twice. But a fully completed puzzle? It never happened. I had a book, but it just didn’t make sense.

Now we have YouTube — which means I’ll defeat this beast before I die…

Sunday from Monday

Monday 25 February 2019

Yesterday, the sun finally came out. I had dreams of taking the kids to the park with the dog and playing with the Boy in the backyard — exploring, he calls it. But it was one of those days that seemed to finish before they began.

After a lunch of waffles, we made it to the creek to do a little exploring. We were both curious to see the effects of all the rain on our favorite locations. The impromptu bridge we’ve always used to cross the small creek was all but gone, washed away by the water of a week’s rainfall. Not deterred, the Boy insisted that we could find another way across. We did. It involved accidentally putting his entire left foot into the water. While wearing school shoes.

What were we thinking, heading out in school shoes?

Later, after the camera’s battery died, we found a new little spot where we could climb down to the water. The Boy slipped on the way down and spread mud all down the back and side of his jeans.

“Mommy said these are my best jeans,” he informed me with a giggle.

Saturday

Saturday 16 February 2019

The Boy and I began the day early for a Saturday. My alarm went off at 6:15 but I snoozed it until 6:30 — that was really the plan when I went to bed last night, I must admit — and we both go up and had breakfast and cartoons (Tom and Jerry) before heading off to Clemson University for the annual Clemson Day for South Carolina Scouts.

It’s supposed to be in the main stadium, which makes it a great draw for everyone, but this year, with the weather questionable, it took place in the football team’s indoor practice area. (You know a football program is bringing in a lot of money for the university when they have a couple of outdoor practice facilities and an indoor one to boot.) Clemson football, soccer, volleyball, and track athletes ran the kids through drills and games for three hours, with each rotation ending with an autograph session.

“Parents, please remember that the autograph time is only for the kids,” the announcer reminded everyone several times.

As I suspected, the Boy was not keen on participating at the beginning. He’d been excited about going when I first mentioned it many weeks ago, but the excitement had waned as the day itself approached, and he suggested that he might just stay with me on the sideline and watch.

I tied gently encouraging him, but he wouldn’t budge. Finally, I went nuclear: “Buddy, I didn’t get up at 6:15 on a Saturday to sit with you on the sidelines.” Once he got out there, he was fine.

In the afternoon, a little exploring.

Click on images for larger version.

Wednesday Afternoon Exploring

Wednesday 13 February 2019

We had a few minutes of sunlight left after dinner, so what did we do? The only thing there was to do — head out to the wilderness that forms the border between our neighborhood and the one next to it and explore.

On the way down, the Boy taught me some ninja tricks, like how to sneak around. Quite a light step that boy has.

Every time we get back here, the Boy suggests that the next time we come, we need to bring some snippers and take care of all the thorns we have to navigate. I’m of two minds about this: on the one hand, it would ease our journey, and it would make some portions accessible. Still, the challenge is half the fun. And it gives us a chance to toughen up.

“Oh, I have a thorn!” the Boy will cry out.

“Tough it out. Push through it,” I reply.

Plus, it’s not our property, I explain…

Early February Sunday

Sunday 3 February 2019

It should have been a positive experience — you don’t expect to come home from a Cub Scout meeting with an upset little boy, but that’s what happened. After the meeting, all the den leaders and assistants gathered for a quick meeting and the boys went off to play for a while. The Boy walked over last, and when he did, everyone decided to play Sharks and Minnows and declared that the Boy was the shark.

Exploring in the area bordering Papa’s condo

I instantly had a bad feeling about it.

“Minnows in!” E shouted enthusiastically, and everyone ran into the play area, dodged the Boy’s attempts at tagging them, and made it to the other side.

“Minnows in!” E shouted, still smiling, still enthusiastically.

The same thing happened.

Then the taunting started. It wasn’t mean-spirited taunting. “Nana nana boo boo you can’t catch me” — that type of thing. But the truth was, the Boy couldn’t catch them. Several of them were just too fast because they were naturally faster or because they were older, and the Boy still has not developed a good Sharks and Minnows strategy. (Then again, who has?)

And so they continued. Two times. Three times. Four times. Each time, the Boy shouted “Minnows in!” with the same enthusiasm and smile, but I could tell it was starting to be strained.

Finally, after the fifth time, with the taunting increasing, I called the Boy over and said, “Time to go.”

“Okay,” he said. No begging to stay. No asking for five more minutes. Just a quick response and a jog over to my side.

As we left, one of the boys said, “I could walk to the other side, and you couldn’t get me.”

“This would be impossible in summer with all this kudzu.”

“How’d you feel about that?” I asked as we walked to the car.

“Bad.”

We talked about it more on the way home, and the Boy declared simply, “Scouts are not supposed to act like that.”

There was no real maliciousness in the boys’ actions. They were just first- and second-grade boys being silly boys. But our boy — the Boy, forever capitalized — is especially sensitive to such things.

“I’ve learned I can’t trust a lot of people,” he confided on the way home.

It was a sad parenting decision, but I suggested that might be a good idea. Sometimes it’s best to be a little skeptical about people, I explained, in simpler terms. “Trust is something we earn. Don’t just give it away.”

We got back to the house, snuggled a little, and everything seemed okay, but tonight, while brushing his teeth, he confided to K, “I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

Neither can I.

Competition

Friday 1 February 2019

A random memory…

They were standing on the street toward the beginning of the flea market area, Jehovah’s Witnesses in a decidedly devout swatch of a very Catholic country. Of all the Christian sects that have sprouted in America — Mormons, Seventh Day Adventists, Christian Scientists, Jehovah’s Witnesses, and hundreds or thousands of smaller ones — it is only the Jehovah’s Witnesses that have had any real success in Poland. According to the group’s website, their numbers are as follow:

  • 116,299—Ministers who teach the Bible
  • 1,288—Congregations
  • 1 to 330—Ratio of Jehovah’s Witnesses to population

It’s a religion that can only cater to a certain population in southern Poland: according to the JW website, the nearest congregation is in Krakow, and its meetings are conducted in English, with some meetings in Mandarin. That narrows potential converts significantly.

My friend R and I encountered the JWs as we were finishing our wanderings with our children through the market. I’ve known R for twenty years. He lived in Warsaw, and we shared a love of chess. I’d often spend the weekend at his apartment playing chess most of the day and hanging out in bars during the evening.

He married shortly after K and I left Poland in 2005, and his wife, fluent in French, got an administrative job in Brussels working for the EU. They’ve lived there ever since. A few years ago, R underwent a religious conversion and became what could only be called a Polish Evangelical living in decidedly-secular Brussels.

We met up again when we were last in Poland, and he stayed with his two children at Babcia’s bed and breakfast for a few days. We played a little chess, talked about parenthood, took our children to various sites, and discussed religion. A lot.

He had a few words to say about the JWs we encountered, and when I suggested we go talk to them, he balked. Indeed, he was right: what would an Evanglical and a highly-skeptical nearly-lapsed Catholic have to say to them? There’s no point getting into a discussion that would likely devolve into an argument for no real reason at all.

I couldn’t help but be curious, though. How did the local population receive them? Did they face hecklers? Did anyone act aggressively toward them? Catholicism and nationalism go hand in hand in the mountains of southern Poland, so I wouldn’t have been surprised to find that they were also accused of being traitors as well as heretics.

If they’re hanging around this summer while we’re in Poland, I’ll make the effort to talk to them.