Matching Tracksuits

g

Big Monday

Monday 22 July 2019

The first order of the day: get the front end alignment done on the Paddy Wagon (or minivan as others might call it). The Boy, learning that I was going to take the car and ride my bike back, insisted on going with me.

Second, later in the day, a playdate with D, his best friend in kindergarten who changed schools for first grade. D’s mother, R, was a Spanish teacher at my school, and it just so happened that our boys were in the same class, and it just so happened that they became great friends, independent of any intervention from parents. The playdate included almost everything the Boy loves, namely Legos and swimming.

Later, eat an enormous dinner: salmon, potatoes, and one of his absolute favorites, asparagus. (How many seven-year-olds love asparagus, mushrooms, and blood sausage?)

Clean Plate

Finally, after a little rest to let the food settle, go on a seven-mile bike ride.

Any wonder he went to sleep almost immediately?

Taking Mama Out For a Ride

Sunday 21 July 2019

We took K out for a ride — the ride that we almost always go on — and it was interesting: the Boy was out-riding K on some of the climbs, climbs that just a few months ago he couldn’t make without stopping. Today, he took a couple of those climbs two, three times.

“We’ve got a strong little cyclist,” I said.

“Yes, we do.”

Reading

Saturday 20 July 2019

“You probably need to take the Boy: he’s getting fussy about it,” said K as we were making plans for the busy day ahead. Who would take the Boy to his summer reading academy and who would take Papa to meet with the estate liquidator? Originally, I was going to do the former, but K’s comment made me realize she was right.

The program, developed by Clemson University, has bounced around conversations with various mothers, and it comes highly recommended. E’s not a bad reader, we thought, but he’s still a developing reader: there’s always room for improvement.

The Boy had his own opinion about it. He did not want to go. “I’m a terrible reader!” he lamented during the drive over to the university center. “I read so slowly. And A, he’s reading XYZ” (can’t remember the book, but I’m reading it to the Boy now) “all by himself!”

“You don’t need to compare yourself to A; just compare yourself to E.”

“But there’s no other E. How can I compare myself to E when I’m the only E I know?” He’s at the age that I’m not quite sure whether he’s joking or not. Sometimes I get it wrong, and he gets mildly frustrated that I didn’t catch on and play along.

We got to the university center and found probably a dozen kids waiting with a parent or two. He nestled into me as we stood there, which is common when he’s in an unfamiliar situation, and I was beginning to worry anew about how it would be when I tried to leave. After all, it was a nearly-two-hour course, and I didn’t want to sit there with him when I had so many other things to do. But those worries were for naught: he settled into the classroom easily, and when the teacher dismissed the parents after the various, expected preliminaries, he was completely calm when I walked over to him, hugged him, and said, “Have fun.”

I knew what he was thinking: “I won’t have fun! I don’t like reading!” We’d had this conversation in the car, too.

“I think that’s just because you’re not so confident about your reading.”

“Maybe,” he conceded.

“This class is designed to help you build your confidence by giving you new tricks for reading,” I explained.

So when I went to hug him goodbye, I was expecting a bit of panic, a bit of frustration, a bit of reluctance that just wasn’t there, which made it all the easier to leave and do the various chores around Nana’s and Papa’s place (at what point do I stop call it “Nana’s and Papa’s place” and just “Papa’s place?” Probably never, because it will always be “Nana’s and Papa’s place”) like replacing a couple of broken door knobs and sundry repairs to get it ready for selling.

I got back to the class with five minutes to spare, just as the teacher began making final announcements: “And I would like to the parents of K, W, R, and E before you leave, please.” The short version: she’d done preliminary testing on everyone today and felt that our kids would be better served in the rising-third-grader class.

As we walked out, I asked E, “She was taking quickly; did you understand everything?”

“Yes.”

When we got back to Nana’s and Papa’s, E burst in and told K immediately.

The Boy so often suffers from his lack of confidence in some things. He realizes he’s just not as fast as many of his friends; in soccer, he sees that he doesn’t play nearly as well as some of his teammates; and reading — well, he’s never felt great about that.

Maybe now, he does.

Fossil Hunting

Thursday 18 July 2019

The Boy watched a documentary with Papa about the Cretaceous–Paleogene extinction event. His verdict: “I think I want to be a paleontologist now.” He thought about it a moment before amending it: “Well, I have just been thinking about it since yesterday, so that might change.”

Cleaning our finds

Still, this evening after dinner, he was keen on going fossil hunting. After I told him he couldn’t just randomly dig holes in the backyard — “We have a dog to do that; we don’t need more.” — I suggested we look in the creek. We found nothing, as I expected, but it didn’t dampen his enthusiasm. “After all, we found some really cool rocks.”

That we did.

Stone Ax

Tuesday 16 July 2019

The Boy, like all children, imitates what he sees. When the folks on his favorite YouTube show, The Axel Show, tried using a stone as an ax, he did the same thing.

“I’ve been making spears,” he explained. “I think I’ll sell some of them on Ebay.”

He’s come up with his own design as well — the two-ended spear. By “own design,” of course, I mean something he’s never seen. “This way, I can attack like this and like this,” he explained, waving the strick around furiously.

The Dog has her own interest in sticks.

Sunday on the Trail

Tuesday 16 July 2019

This weekend, we went back home — back to the southwest Virginia/northeast Tennessee area in which I grew up. Dear family friends invited us to spend the weekend with them for a few reasons, but most important was to give Papa a chance to meet with people who had been unable to attend Nana’s funeral. That was what Saturday was all about — spending time with folks who’d been like family to us. Most of the people I’d known since I was E’s age. It was just what Papa needed, and in fact, the laughter that generally filled the house that day was a balm for us all.

Sunday was for our immediate family: a bike ride down the Virginia Creeper Trail, a 34-mile multi-purpose trail built on the old railroad line that ran through the area.

We went along the first half, from Abingdon to Damascus. The longest the Boy had ridden to that point was about ten miles; this was to be about seventeen.

But seventeen miles through probably the most beautiful route any of us have ever ridden through, over fourteen railroad tressels, some of which towered probably 200-250 feet, some of which were surprisingly long.

The Boy powered through it like a champ. All our riding this summer has sculpted a seven-year-old with more endurance than I had at his age, and he pushed through the ride at a fairly impressive speed of 6.8 mph (according to my Fitbit).

At one point toward the end, he began complaining that he couldn’t make it. “I’m too tired!” he fussed, but we took about a ten-minute break and he was willing to push through the final miles.

During the last two miles, we got a challenge: a pair of riders called “on your left” and passed us. They looked to be in their sixties but dressed in cycling gear and riding fairly expensive-looking gravel bikes, they were experienced. They encouraged the Boy as they rode by us, and then as they pulled away, I suggested, “Why don’t we try to catch them?” I anticipated a laugh that the suggestion was ridiculous, but E clicked into a higher gear, stood up from the saddle, and powered ahead. “On our left!” we called out as we passed to the gentlemen’s cheers. “But can we keep this speed?” I thought. At one point, we slowed, and the riders neared. The Boy stood again, pedaled as fast as he could, and pushed through the last half mile or so to our stopping point. Our competition caught us, congratulated him, and gave him enthusiastic high-fives. “I guess you showed us, young man!” one said.

On the way home, though, there was only one thing to do…

Thee Pictures for Sunday

Sunday 7 July 2019

Watching soccer in Papa’s room
Dinner: kiszka and boczek
Family portrait

Hatchet

Friday 5 July 2019

It’s all the Boy has been talking about for the last few weeks.

“Daddy, can we get a hatchet?”

He was thinking about buying it with his own money; he was thinking about splitting the cost with us; he was thinking about it, talking about it, probably dreaming about it.

Today, we finally got it. He wanted to make sure that he wasn’t going to pay any of his money for it because he’s got his eye on another Lego set, but when, after buying nails, concrete screws, pegboard hooks, and other things on the list, we finally headed over to the gardening section, his excitement brought a smile to both K and me.

The highlight of the afternoon, then, was teaching him how to use it.

The Boy and Papa

Tuesday 2 July 2019

This morning, the Boy was showing Papa his newest truck design as I made breakfast for everyone.

A few minutes earlier, he was explaining how his friend N has designed his dream truck, and it, the Boy explained, would be completely illegal. “He had spikes on his tires! Big spikes! That would destroy the road!” he explained incredulously.

When the Boy was walking Papa through his design, I smiled: it had a wrecking ball, several guns, and various other accessories that would make it rather difficult to drive on public roads without drawing unwanted police attention.

Monday

Monday 1 July 2019

The day started with a ride back up to the north of the county to pick up my car.

I’d mapped the route on Strava, and it really didn’t seem so bad: 28km with nothing too intimidating in terms of ascents. But I’m not the cyclist I was 15 years ago. My legs aren’t what they used to be; my heart and lungs labor under what would have been the slightest effort at my fittest. And so when I hit the segment some Strava user named “Cleveland St. Climb – West,” it completely kills me.

It’s really pathetic. Look at this thing:

A mere half-kilometer that rises a mere 35-meters, with an average gradient of 8%. I finish in 3:08, with an average speed of 8.7 km/h. Of all the Stava users who have tackled that climb, I am the 386th fastest.

Details from my fitness tracker show just what a trial it was for me:

Ridiculously high pulse for a ridiculously slow speed. But I’m 46; I haven’t done serious exercise in years. I shouldn’t be surprised, and I’m not. But of course, I am.

When I got home, I did to the yellow bell bushes along our driveway what the ride did to me:

Big Air Adventures

Sunday 30 June 2019

The Boy spent the afternoon/evening at a birthday party held at Big Air, a local trampoline park. This particular attraction fascinated him, but he was a little nervous about taking it on. Until one of his friends invited him to join him.

Friday

Friday 28 June 2019

In the morning, I took the repairman’s advice from yesterday and started repairing (again) our dishwasher. How many honest repair guys will tell you, “You could fix this yourself and get the part cheaper on Ebay,” after giving you a quote of $354 for the repair? Not many. To be sure, he got his $80 trip/diagnostic fee, but honested himself out of another hundred bucks or so. Or perhaps he honested himself into more, for I’ll certainly never call anyone else .

The discharge pump was faulty, he said, and it came out this morning just as easily as he said it would. “There might be one or two screws down there — I can’t remember,” he said, “but then just rotate it and pull it out.” No screws — just a simple rotation and out it came.

In the afternoon, the neighborhood boys came over, and the Boy’s new Lego set came in, so there was only one thing to do.

The Ride Back

Thursday 27 June 2019

The Boy and I took the Honda up to the north of the county where a Polish friend has an auto shop. It’s a bit of a drive, but we trust him completely, and he’s taken care of our cars for probably close to a decade now.

Today, the Boy and I decided we would ride our bikes back — not quite home, for that would involve riding on roads I wouldn’t at all feel comfortable taking the Boy. Not quite home, but relatively close. In total, 11.48km in 57:02. Not bad for a seven year old. Not the longest he’s ever done, but still, not bad at all that speed.