g
Playing with The Boy
The Boy got several new toy trucks today, adding to his already-extensive collection of toy cars, trucks, bulldozers, tractors, and the like.
Only one thing to do after dinner…
First Clues
The Boy found an old SIM card the other day and was convinced it was some sort of memory device. I, of course, played along thinking it might be a good way to transition into an actual treasure hunt.
Last night, K told E it wasn’t a memory card. “It’s from T-Mobile,” she explained. I’d explained that the “T” was for technology, perhaps.
“Why’d you tell him?”
“One day, he might take it to school and tell everyone it’s a memory card and someone will laugh and him and say, ‘It’s just something from T-Mobile.'”
Still, I persisted. Today, I shared with him the message that was buried in the memory card.
I had in mind hiding something in his copy of Green Eggs and Ham with the final half of the clue, an allusion to the ending in which Sam-I-Am promises to leave the protagonist alone if he’ll just try the green eggs and ham.
I hoped the clue I had the Girl plant while we were walking in the park would help solidify the connection: “Agent Rex, are you Sam?”
When we first arrived, E was terribly eager to look for clues; he looked in the unlikeliest of places, convinced that the Game Master would hide clues only in hard-to-find locations. I looked down at his shoes, though, and realized it woudn’t be the adventure I’d initially planned.
“Why did you put sandals on?”
“Because I couldn’t find my shoes.”
So I was constantly telling him to stay away from the remnants of snow, carrying him over spots where a puddle covered the entire path, and asking him, “Are your toes cold?”
When he finally reached the tree to which L had pinned the clue, he completely missed it because it just above his eye level.
When he finally found it and read it, he was perplexed. I knew I’d have to guide him toward Green Eggs and Ham, and I thought he could figure it out if we steered him that way deliberately.
We didn’t succeed.
And then K came home and the Boy explained everything to her.
“Oh, like Sam-I-Am.”
I’d considered texting her the details so she could respond just like that, but it was apparently not necessary.
Soon enough, the Boy was in possession of his third clue of the day:
Agent Rex, your mother doesn’t have an agent name. I can’t communicate with you until she has a name. When she does, send me a message in a manner I will explain at a later date. Until then, be brave, Agent Rex!
By now, though, the novelty of it was wearing off.
“This isn’t a treasure hunt,” he lamented. “It’s a clue hunt.”
True enough: Axel’s dad has set up all sorts of treasures along the way; I’m just winging it with clues I write in Evernote so I can keep track of everything I’ve said for the simple reason that I’m still not sure where we’re going.
“Maybe the Game Master will have us looking for stuff in Poland!” the Boy had said in anticipation of this summer’s trip.
“Maybe!” I replied, wondering if I could string him along for that long. The answer came today: not with clues alone, silly amateur, not with clues alone.
Still, it was great fun, not only because the Boy had fun (at first) but because the Girl enjoyed being in on the secret.
Pig Reef
The day began as yesterday began: outside.
The Boy has for some months been obsessed with The Axel Show, and lately, they’ve been going on an extended treasure hunt, set up by the Game Master and continually disrupted by imposter Game Masters who steal clues and create chaos. E desperately wants to have his own treasure hunt adventure, so we set off today to have one. No one’s hidden any treasure anywhere, but as with many things in life, it’s the process — the journey, the adventure — that matters.
When we got back home, we did some cleaning, ran some errands, then played Scrabble with the Girl. We’ve played Scrabble Jr. together before, but as we were cleaning, L discovered real Scrabble and knew we had to play today.
The Boy began and with some help from L, played “pit.” A simple start that didn’t offer a lot of options for continued play, but I had u, r, t, and s, so I played “trust,” which eventually led to “tug,” “rug,” “roar” and “diver,” but the Boy’s next play was to add “ig” to his first word and create “pig.” A few plays later, he took four letters from his holder and suggested adding them to “pig.” The letters: f, r and two e’s.
“You know, like a ‘pig reef,'” he explained.
The Girl and I decided it was the best play of the whole game.
A quick search on the internet revealed, much to our surprise, that there really is such a thing as a pigreef.
Snow
A snowy Sunday morning really has to start with bacon, eggs, and a couple of cinnamon buns. The long-awaited snow arrived, beginning last night, and we were all excited to see white outside in the morning.
As is the case more often than not when we finally do get snow, there was not much of it to speak of. Wet and heavy, it sat on the yard with blades of grass sticking up almost everywhere.
The kids were eager to get out as soon as possible, especially E.
“Let’s make a snow fort!” he squealed.
“I don’t think it’s good snow for that,” K tried to explain. “It’s too wet. Wet, wet, wet,” she said, but E wasn’t convinced. What six-year-old living in South Carolina would be? Snow is snow is snow.
We had similar a year ago:
Slush
Heading out, we discovered the freezing mix that followed it had coated most everything with a layer of ice, leaving K to worry if her rosemary bush, which seems indestructible, might indeed finally die. But there were more important things, like a dog that was thrilled to be in the snow and two kids almost as excited.
We decided to head out and see what the neighborhood looked like. Part of that was to gauge how K might make it to work tomorrow and part of it was to estimate whether we’d be heading back to school on Wednesday or Thursday.
Monday and Tuesday, we knew, would be a wash. The temperature is supposed to drop Monday night, leaving everything an even slicker mess, and even if it didn’t, our county is huge, running up into the foothills up north. Even if it’s passable here, it’s not there.
Our exploring showed us that we weren’t the only ones out: there were a few tracks left behind by brave souls — tongue in cheek there — who went out in the snow (which was more slush than anything on the road and entirely drive-able), and we encountered a couple returning home with staples in hand — beer and chips.
The Boy, golf club in hand, enjoyed exploring all the places the slush looked like ice. He slapped and swung at every slushy puddle he saw.
The Girl was thrilled to have the dog in tow.
In the evening, K made the pierogi and uszka we’ll be having Christmas Eve. The Boy got to play with some dough, and I was given the boot since I don’t work well with perogi, K in formed me.
Coming Snow
We’ve heard about it all week, which is typical here in South Carolina. Yet it’s so unpredictable that forecasters no longer call it “a winter storm” or “a snow storm” but rather “a winter weather event.”
At the beginning of the week, the story had it that it was supposed to start Saturday morning. There would be tons of snow or tons of ice or both. And what fell would stick around for a while, because the temperature was supposed to stay low for some time.
A bit frustrating — using up a snow day just a couple of weeks before winter break. The make-up day switches to a regular school day, and we lose that little respite in March or April when we actually need it.
But in the end, there’s little purpose in fretting about it. The weather is out of our control, and the decision to cancel school is out of our control.
What was in our control today was how to spend the rainy, cold evening. We’re probably the last on our block to put up our Christmas tree, but we have an excuse: K’s Polish roots require — demand — a compromise on the “Up Just After Thanksgiving” (or, these days, before Thanksgiving) “Down On Boxing Day” American tree tradition and the “Up a Couple of Days Before Christmas Down at the End of January” Polish tradition.
We go mid-December to mid-January. Today I guess we were a little ahead of schedule.
And the snow? As I write, there’s a light dusting on everything and more coming.
Nana’s First Hospital Intake
Nowy Targ Cemetery
Winter Sunset, Jablonka
Wednesday Evening
Math homework with the Girl; Christmas cards with the Boy; toys with Clover.
Family Game
We had a little family game time this evening. L came downstairs and asked if we could play Forbidden Island or whatever that game that has a 15+ page instruction book is called. I’d laughed at the rules earlier when L and K were trying to figure it out: three different decks of cards (or is it four), multiple little things you can do, a turn that seems to last forever — it just seemed overly complicated.
Tonight, I sat down with them and let them explain it. Fairly simple when it comes down to it — I guess I just wasn’t willing to do the work at the beginning, digging through the instructions and figuring it out.
It’s interesting in that instead of playing against the other players, you’re all trying to accomplish the same goal. Cooperation instead of competition.
A great way to spend the evening.
Inside the Nowy Targ Bus Station
Zakopane in November
Playing in the Hall
The Last Few Days
The Boy has been watching the Netflix series Extraordinary Houses. He loves it. Loves it. He’s started designing houses in his free time.
The Girl has been getting into math that requires assistance. K is only too happy to help.
Lipnica Sunset
I look at some of the images from my time in Lipnica Wielka, a little village on the southern border of Poland (who would think to move there?!), and I find it difficult to believe I actually did live there. It is so far removed from my present reality, so very distant and foreign, that I find it difficult to comprehend how I came to live there and how, after two years in Boston, I came to return there.
I lived there seven years — seven — and loved almost each and every day of those approximately 2,100 days.
Saturday Repeat
The Day After
Thanksgiving 2018
The day began with the relatively new Thanksgiving tradition: K and L went to Mass at the church we used to attend (which we still attend once a month for Polish mass, said now for a couple of years in English by a Columbian priest) for the parish’s special Thanksgiving Mass. The choir sings portions of the Mass in English, portions in Spanish, portions in Polish, and portions in Tagalog. As they do for any special Mass, the girls dressed in traditional Polish Highlander clothes.
While the girls were gone, the Boy continued with his help.
We prepared the turkey, made the requisite casserole, made the dressing, cooked the giblet gravy, and then baked it all. Except for the gravy.
We packed everything up and headed over to Nana’s and Papa’s for a quiet late lunch/early dinner. Everyone said it was delicious, but I wasn’t entirely satisfied with what I delivered.
- The dressing was a disaster: too much liquid. I forgot to figure the fact that I’d added orange wedges and cranberries, which released a ridiculous amount of liquid.
- The cranberry sauce was a bit too sour for my taste. I’d cut the recipe’s sugar requirement by about 30%, thinking, “American recipes are always too sweet.” Perhaps not. It wasn’t as much of a failure as the dressing, but I’ve made better.
- The turkey probably could have cooked a bit longer. It was done, but it clung to the bone just a bit too much. A half an hour more would have made it better, I think, without overdoing it.
- The syrup for the baklava was just a touch too thick. It didn’t entirely absorb into the fillo dough — at least not like I like it. It wasn’t bad, perse, but it could have been just a little better.
Still, we’re always a little too hard on ourselves. K pointed out that we could simply bake the dressing a little longer tomorrow. The cranberry sauce was perfect for her. The kids devoured the turkey. And even I can’t really complain about the baklava. I just wanted a fourth bullet point for that list for some reason.
Thanksgiving Eve Vingette
“Can you do this?” E asked as he hung upside down from the net ladder at the jungle gym.
“That’s easy,” said the young stranger who’d joined us. His mother had pulled up right at the jungle gym and sat in the car, likely swiping endlessly on her phone.
Thus began the game of “Can you do this?” that lasted for the duration of the time the two boys played together. To everything that E asked, the other boy replied, “Oh, that’s easy.” To most of the things the other boy asked, E replied, “No, not yet.” In a final effort to have something that the other boy couldn’t do, E asked if he could leap from this part of the jungle gym to that. He shook his head.
“My sister can,” the Boy said proudly.
