matching tracksuits

First Day Returning

Monday 04 January 2016

The first day back can always be stressful: you walk back into the school wondering what kind of day the kinds have packed in their book bags and hauled to school from Christmas break. Some years, they unpack a chattiness and an unwillingness to work that in a lot of ways is understandable. Other years, they haul out their books and their attention and make the day slide by almost effortlessly.

It occurred to me that I could help them pack their bag by having them leave on a good note, hence my opłatek efforts at the end of the year. Through most of the day, I thought that perhaps it had worked, that perhaps ending the year on a deliberately positive note helped bring them back with a positive outlook. They worked brilliantly, and not a complaint as I introduced and modeled a new weekly assignment, the article of the week, based on Kelly Gallagher’s ideas.

The final period of the day rolled to a close, and one young lady who was absent the final day asked me if I’d saved a cookie for her.

“Excuse me?”

“The cookies you gave everyone before the break.”

Here it was — definitive proof that what we’d done together had made an impact, for someone had clearly told her about the experience. Obviously it had struck something in their souls, made them resonate as one for a moment, showing them the oneness of humanity and all the hopes and dreams of everyone who has ever set out to create a utopia.

“Oh, yes,” I replied. “How did you hear about them?”

“Oh, everyone was just saying they were really tasty.”

A utopia for the taste buds, I guess, is better than no utopia at all.

Final Sunday of the Break

Sunday 03 January 2016

Just as predicted, we blinked twice and it was Christmas Eve; another two blinks and it was New Year's Eve. And now, it's all over again. Another Christmas break is little more than memory. But that's not a bad thing: Most of our lives are memory. The present is just a passing phase that disappears as soon as you acknowledge its existence. The future is relatively uncertain. So it's our memories that make up the majority of our life.

Today was glorious, but we were all tired, so we stayed home. It was a lazy day from the beginning: the alarm went off at seven, and it took only a moment for K and me to decide that the eleven o'clock Mass was a better option than the nine o'clock Mass.

We were thinking about going for some afternoon outing, perhaps hiking somewhere, but soon after Mass, as we were heading to the car, I think I'd decided that even going to a nearby park might be too ambitious.

So in the end, we spent the day at home. There was an abundance of trampoline time, including the fun game of Charge Yourself with Ample Static Electricity by Shuffling Around the Trampoline with Your Socks On Then Discharge It All Onto Daddy's Bald Head. A fun game, that.

New Year’s 2016

Friday 01 January 2016

For someone as obsessed with the passage of time as I am, I am strangely ambivalent about New Year's Eve. When I was younger, it was just an excuse to go to a party. As I grow older, it's just an excuse to get together with friends.

Then, as our children grow older, it's become an excuse for them to stay up as long as humanly possible.

And a last stab at ice cream and chocolate overload.

Last night, I children did both. For L, it's not much of a feat -- she managed it last year, and probably the year before. For the Boy, though, to stay up that late. This is the kid that fell asleep at his normal bedtime at our Christmas gathering last week.

But he made it. And he survived the fearful experience of his first near encounter with fireworks.

"Daddy, I want to go back inside," he said, a slight panic in his voice.

"What's my job?" I asked him.

"To protect me."

"So I would never put you in a dangerous situation, right? I would never put you somewhere that you could get hurt, right?"

After a few minutes, he was a different little boy.

"Daddy, I love fireworks."

Overcoming a fear -- a good way to start the year.

2015

Thursday 31 December 2015

For Granted

Wednesday 30 December 2015

This evening, K and I finished out the day watching Iris, a film about the British writer Iris Murdoch. I know little about Murdoch, and I've never read any of her work, but the film stars Dame Judi Dench, so I thought it couldn't be that bad, and it really wasn't. Dench does a good job, as always, and it's a tough thing, I would imagine, portraying a lively mind sinking into Alzheimer's. It got me to research Murdoch, though, and I found a curious quote attributed to her about marriage:

I have a strong memory of an interview between Murdoch and the writer A.N. Wilson in which, when asked about her marriage, she replied: “Oh well; I love, and am loved.” She also informed Wilson that the benefit of marriage is being able to take the other for granted. (Source)

The article is entitled "The secrets of Iris Murdoch and John Bayley's unconventional marriage," and the article reveals that "She was apparently very sexual, and not only with John; he, perhaps, was less interested in matters carnal." In short, she had multiple affairs, apparently fairly openly, throughout their marriage. In the film, Murdoch says to Bayley early in their romance, when he has just discovered her unfaithfulness, which she freely admits, that he just has to accept her as she is. She's not willing to change for him, in other words. While that might be admirable in some areas, in sexual promiscuity I find it a bit selfish, and I found myself wondering at the end of the film if that's what she meant in the interview (I researched as the film uncoiled) about being able to "take the other for granted."

I take so much for granted it's not even humorous in the slightest. I take for granted that I will have a dry place to stay when the rain pours and pours as it has for the last several days. I take it for granted that I will walk up and see my wife and children in the morning and carry on my life like normal. I take for granted that I can slip downstairs late one evening, occasionally light a cigar and pour a little libation, and write.

I take for granted that my family will have food to eat, and that if, after returning home from inspecting the neighborhood during a let-up in the downpour, we decide to have mac and cheese for lunch, that we can do just that. And I take for granted that I can take all these things for granted.

And that is probably why I have always been somewhat obsessed by time and its passing. Like so many others, I get into the habit of taking things for granted, and when they come to an end, as this year is or as our extended holiday break is, I realize unconsciously that I've taken it for granted and not made the most of it. At least I did. Having children changed that to a degree

I learned to be aware of each passing moment because it was just that, a passing moment. This is especially true since the birth of E. The Girl's first years showed me how one can grow accustomed to -- take for granted -- the little quirks a child exhibits as she grows and then suddenly, one realizes that the child has outgrown that quirk.

Now I'm still obsessed with time, but the obsession has changed. No longer do I find myself thinking, "This wonderful experience is ending, and I'm not sure anything coming will ever be as magnificent as this," for that was how I framed my taking-for-granted nature. Instead, I find myself shocked at how quickly time as passed, regretting slightly the moments I've taken for granted and more determined not to do it any more.

Tuesday

Tuesday 29 December 2015

With a break in the clouds, the unseasonably warm temperatures, and a free day for everyone, there was only one place to go: the park.

First a bit of playground fun. L has been growing more creative in her daring, but still needs a bit of help every now and then. Her grand idea of swinging down from the monkey in one fluid motion ended with frantic calls for help. Her insistence that she could take whatever spinning madness I could produce on the tire swing ended with her begging me, though not in a panic, to slow her down.

Afterward, bikes. It was fairly amazing to see how L has changed with her bike riding. Adjacent to the park we were visiting was an abandoned BMX race track, with only the starting gates remaining. The Girl was eager to try riding down the lower portion, below the gates themselves. Once I showed here how to navigate the lowered starting barrier, she rode down the concrete ramp seemingly countless times. And the Boy, as he always does, imitated her. Yet, also as he always does, his trusted his intuition and didn't even want to try going from the top of the ramp.

Finally, an odd adventure: we've had a leak in the crawl space, and I've tried a few things to figure out what was causing the leak exactly. When I suggested that the Boy could go into the crawl space with me to check the latest effort, he was literally ecstatic. "Daddy, I love the crawl space!" And as L always does, she wanted to join us. I took the camera down to snap a few shots of the damage (which was not as bad as I thought), and of course I had to take a quick picture of the kids in a once-in-their-lifetimes location.

And while that bit of hanging insulation looks awfully close to them, it really wasn't -- an effect of the lens.

Sunset

Tuesday 29 December 2015

Water

Monday 28 December 2015

We can't live without it, but for the past week, I can't say that I'd be too unhappy to give it a shot. The evening before Wigilia preparation, several days of rain took control of our basement and my whole night: it became pouring, literally, up one of the formerly-thought-to-be-plugged termite treatment holes. At about midnight, I was shop-vac-ing sixteen gallons of water every eight minutes. The rain stopped at around one, and I finally stopped sucking up the water at around three.

And now, less than a week later, we're in the same situation. Days of rain, and then this:

A line of storms that's just moving northwest straight through our little state. And so I'm up at past one in the morning again, writing this (planning to back-date it for obvious reasons), waiting to see if the rain stops, wondering if my ~~second~~ ~~third~~ ~~fourth~~ who-knows-which attempt at patching the holes will at least hold for this deluge.

But I'm not complaining, though it sounds like it. I know it could be worse. I know others are experiencing worse -- everyone on our street, in our neighborhood, is experiencing the same thing and then some. And then there are the tornadoes in Texas and the midwest. Still, chronicling and all...