It's been a trying couple of weeks, trying to figure out if we're going to Poland this year. The problems were myriad -- so much uncertainty, not the least of which was the simple question, "Is this even a smart thing to be considering." The main issue driving all this was the simple fact that we haven't been in three years, which means the kids have not seen Babcia in three years, and K has not seen her mother in three years.
Then a couple of weeks ago, all the plans got turned upside down: Aunt D, with whom Papa was going to stay while we were gone, went into the hospital herself with non-COVID issues. She's still not moving much, and we knew immediately that plans would change even if we did go to Poland. We made the decision that I would simply stay behind and K would take my ticket (with the proper adjustments from the powers that be, of course).
It seemed a good solution. K would now have six weeks with her mother, and the first two weeks would be dedicated time with her as there is a mandatory quarantine for anyone arriving from outside the country. But then we found other things out: it was likely that the visit would be limited as Poles are taking this much more seriously than Americans. The fear was how many people would be unwilling to meet due to COVID concerns? After all, even Babcia and her neighbors distance themselves and limit contact as much as possible.
All this depended on actually making the trip, though. The flights, according to all the information we had, were not canceled. If the flights were not actually canceled, it turned out, fees would apply to everything: changing dates, cancellations, changing seats (joking there). The fee to cancel would be $300 per ticket. That's almost an entire ticket just to cancel all four.
So all these concerns bearing down on us.
And then today, the flights were canceled and all our options simplified.
Babcia was naturally heartbroken; K was sad but relieved; E, who has been talking about the possibility of the trip incessantly for a few days, was disappointed; L, who is thirteen, shrugged and said, "Oh, too bad."
Cycling
The Boy and I started our summer cycling season in earnest a couple of weeks ago. We've discovered a few things along the way, including a lake within a couple of miles of our house that we didn't even know exists.
But the Boy is itching for a new bike. His current bike is at its limits: the seat cannot go any higher, and he's able to out-pedal the fastest gear. "I need more gears!" he consistently insists.
This evening, when we had fifteen minutes before his bedtime, the Boy asked if we could go out and adjust L's bike so he could ride it.
It was a struggle, to be sure. He had a fair amount of difficulty just getting on the bike, but once on, he insisted that he's ready for just such a bike.
