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A Rainbow, Some Circuits, and Cars

Tuesday 11 August 2015

We've had rain every afternoon for the past several days. After such a long streak of dry weather, it is certainly a welcome view, even if it does prevent the kids from going outside. But the rain really only lasts an hour or so in the late afternoon, so it's easy to work around. Today, though, we got an added bonus: our own personal rainbow.

"Do you think there's a pot of gold at the end?" L asked, and it occurred to me that we might actually be able to make our fortune if that were the case as both ends the rainbow seemed to be within our property lines. We wouldn't even have to worry about claims of the property owner once we tracked down the gold. Sadly, though, before we could go out and hunt it down (or perhaps both down -- who knows whether or not rainbows have treasure at both ends), the colors faded.

But the rain really wasn't even a problem for the kids: everyone had something to do. L was busy loading apps on the tablet she bought for herself with the money she's been collecting. I won't quite say "saving" because it's been burning a cliche hole in her pocket, and she got most of it in one go. Still, she managed to hold off on spending it in Poland, likely because Babcia kept her financed and all the friends who came to visit brought little knickknacks as well

As for the Boy, he was, as usual, content playing with his cars.

Plans, Rain, and Barszcz

Thursday 06 August 2015

It's usually not until the end of the day, when it's too late, that I realize I haven't been living my life that day as if I had chosen, out of all days, to relive that one day. It's not until I'm with L, working through our examen (which we have re-initiated with our reunion after a summer break) that I see that I've been going through the day relatively blindly. I look back on the day at that point and realize I wasted time and energy wallowing about in this or that negative emotion, letting this or that frustration take control. I look back, I see these things, I promise to do better the next day, and I promptly forget.

During tonight's, though, it occurred to me that I'd been constantly aware of how lovely the day was as it unfolded. I rode my bike to school and was pleasantly surprised at my average speed. I had a long productive meeting with the other teachers on our instructional team, planning a multi-disciplinary unit that might not only teach some academic skills but also affect change in the kids' lives. Despite the afternoon rain, I made it back to the house relatively dry. I had a lovely dinner with my family, marveling at how the kids both devour beet-root soup, which seems unimaginable given the pickiness of L. We had a pleasant walk after dinner, with the kids scooting ahead and returning on their various vehicles.

And then, during our examen, I looked down at our wiry, energetic (often frustratingly so), intelligent daughter, and I realized that simply being around all the wonderful people in my life should be enough to make me aware of the marvelously blessed life I have. I have incredible colleagues at work; I always work with a great group of students; I have children that make me beam; I married a woman that constantly astounds me; I have parents that give to our own family unconditionally. I am lacking nothing. We are lacking nothing. Nothing of any importance. Simply being aware of this is the trick to having a great day, day after day.

Tuesday

Tuesday 04 August 2015

I always maintained that Tuesdays had nothing going for them. Don’t get me wrong: I’m not about to suggest that Mondays have a lot going for them, I would continue. Mondays, though, have the force of the weekend behind them and the sheer necessity to get going. You push through Monday like you push through a two-kilometer, 5% grade climb at the beginning of a long bike ride: it’s not pleasant, but you still have the energy to do it, so you just do it.

Wednesday carries the advantage of being the mid-way marker of the week: make it through Wednesday, and it’s all downhill from there. Thursday is almost Friday, and Friday is Friday. Only Tuesday has nothing going for it.

This all carries the assumption that the only enjoyable part of the week, the only part of the week really worth enjoying, is the weekend. In the summer, for a teacher, that just isn’t true: every day is the weekend in a sense. Every day can be a day of exploration, a day of getting stamped with anti-bug, anti-wild-attack-cat antidotes. Every day can include some discovery and rediscovery with one’s children.

That’s the easy part. The challenge is getting that to carry over into the school year, to think, “‘Tuesday has nothing going for it’ is nonsense because all days have something going for them.”

To live each day as if, given a choice of any day in your life to relive, you chose today.

At this point in the year, less than two weeks before the kids head back into the classroom, I’m always confident that I’ll succeed. Last year, that confidence didn’t even make it through the first week of school, so challenging were a couple of classes. But in the end, that too is a choice.

A Week of Pictures

Sunday 07 June 2015

With all the work I've been doing on this site (all of which is behind the scenes: an integration of all the various sites I'm responsible for into one single WordPress installation for ease of maintenance), I haven't had time to work on the site. And I've gotten behind with pictures and stories, but especially the former.

Bubbles

Saturday 23 May 2015

The Boy wakes up just when K and L both fall asleep in the afternoon for a nap. He's cranky, fussy, and high maintenance. What to do? Take him down to our swing/hammock area and blow bubbles. And when everyone wakes back up, what else are we doing to do but show them our tricks: I create the bubbles; he chases them down and destroys them.

It's another one of those moments when I marvel at the simplicity of what it takes to entertain a three-year-old. He can do the same thing over and over continuously, like ~~most~~ all kids his age. "I'm bored" has become an occasional refrain we hear from the Girl; never do we hear it from the Boy, unless he's just copying her. The Boy can simply do the same thing over and over and over and over once he's decided it's entertaining, and what he finds entertaining can be the most simplistic action. Look at what it takes to entertain adults: vast stadiums with grown men (almost always men) being paid multi-million dollar contracts to play a sport so everyone else can vicariously participate, when all they need, all theyÂ really need, is a bottle of bubbles.

Testing

Wednesday 22 April 2015

The Boy got some new tools yesterday. Today, we had to test them.

The Boy got some new gum boots yesterday. Today, we had to test them.

Change

Monday 13 April 2015

It was bound to happen, because it happens to all children these days. L came home crying that her friends -- her best friends in her class -- were bullying her. I don't think she used that word: it was a label added afterward. The first moment K and I had alone when I came home that day, she said, "Well, some kids are bullying L at school." And while at first blush, it sounded like it might not necessarily be bullying (we're so quick to call everything "bullying" these days): some of the Girl's friends were chasing here around the playground, grabbing her, not letting her go. But with each new detail, it became more likely "bullying" was not a misapplied label in this case. The girls, it seems, had recently decided that, because L had wanted to play alone during recess for a couple of days, that they didn't want anything to do with her. They were ganging up on her, chasing her, and then holding her by force, squeezing her arm so that it caused pain, and doing it all despite L's requests not to, despite L saying that it hurt. What was worst was that she took her entire free time one day in class to write cards of apology to her three friends, the instigators, basically saying, "For whatever I've done to make you angry at me, I'm sorry." One girl ripped the card up in front of L while another took some makers and scribbled all over it. L was literally in tears as she told me, and she had been in tears earlier in the day when she told K.

So many questions running through K's and my conversations about this. Do we know that the Girl, normally a sweet girl but capable of mean streaks like everyone, didn't in fact antagonize a bit? Does she know, for that matter? At what point do we get the teacher involved? What do we tell the teacher? She didn't want to tattle on them, for she still hoped to salvage the friendship, but she realized she needed help.

The most pressing question, though, was, "What do we tell the Girl?" In the end, we suggested that she hang near the teachers when they go out to recess, and when the gang begins to approach, move as close to the teacher as possible, then when they try to chase her, don't move. "They can't chase you if you aren't moving, right?" And then when they begin the squeezing, the plan was to say loudly, "Stop -- that's hurting me." The plan was that the teacher would hopefully hear and intervene, and technically, the Girl still wouldn't have to tattle.

The next day, the debriefing: "We're friends again."

K and I smiled. It's still coming, but it just hasn't quite made it.

Helping

Tuesday 07 April 2015

The Boy likes to help. He loves to help. Any time we do anything — sweeping, digging in the garden, pulling weeds — he wants to help. The question is whether this is a function of his personality, and thus something that will linger, or something that is a function of his age, something he might outgrow.

Perhaps a little of both, if we nurture it?

Thursday

Thursday 02 April 2015

The day started with the Boy playing a game of catch with M, his godmother, after breakfast. He of course chose the best and worst seat in the room: almost every time he tossed the ball or caught it, the swivel chair began turning, both thrilling and startling him.

After lunch, it was the girls' turn. K had promised L that if she met her computer-generated goal on the MAP score, she would pay for a visit to the local trampoline park. The goal, it turned out, was almost impossibly high: even the teacher felt it was too high. L had gotten to ambitious with Compass Learning, which affected the goal, the teacher explained. No matter: her results were stunning nonetheless (and more importantly, she took her time, having to return later to spend an additional thirty minutes to finish the test), and so K of courseÂ suggested bending the rules of the wager.

So off we went to Gravitopia, where the girls grew bolder and bolder with each moment until at last, and predictably, when they had reached the point that they were willing to try things they balked at only minutes earlier, it was time to go.

Then, a final surprise:

A former coworker gave E a motorized tractor, providing him with his own little slice of heaven.

Change

Saturday 07 March 2015

A warm day in early March makes us all think that perhaps we've turned the corner, that maybe we'll leave behind all the cold and dark of winter for the year now and begin thawing.

Granted, as someone in South Carolina, I can hardly complain about the cold, about true cold, but this year, we've had a few doses of true cold, of temperatures in the single digits, and we're all tired of it.

And so today, we got out as often as we could. Before the Boy's nap, we headed out to play Red Light, Green Light, one of the Boy's favorites, even if he doesn't quite understand it. Call "Red light!" and he trots up beside whoever his opponent is and only then stops, most often with a smile.

Afterward, we head to the backyard for some exploring. That usually, no always, means wandering and wondering about the two backyards, ours and our absent neighbor's, going to all the same places we always go -- our little hideouts, our little lookouts.

The trees, we discover during our walk, are eager for spring as well.

After the exploring, it's time to swing. Those two activities are the staples of our backyard adventures, with the order changing. Yet there has been a change in the last year: the Girl has taken over our role of pushing the Boy. But in true Girl fashion, she turns it into a game in and of itself. When the Boy accidentally kicks her, she moves into position to let him do it again -- after she fusses just a few moments -- and then begins performing. Only a slideshow can do the performance justice.

After a few minutes, it's time to switch. And that reveals another change: the Girl is far more patient these days than she was a year ago, a month ago. Well about some things.

"Is it my turn, Daddy?" she asks.

"No, let him swing a little longer," I reply, and she does. But eventually, it's time to be fair. She gets in the swing, her legs flopping over the edge, and the Boy heads off to find things to toss into the drainage ditch we call our stream.

He prefers sticks, but I collect them all to divide between our fire ring and our smoker, the better going to the latter.

By and large, I manage to convince him that spiky balls -- Sweetgum seed pods -- are far better for tossing. They carry farther, and the far more numerous.

The Girl, though, takes out her Explorer's Notebook, which is also her Drawing Notebook, and begins making notes of all the "extraordinary" (a new favorite word) discoveries we made, all the poisonous trees and plans, the Wild Cat, the imaginary creatures -- all our near-misses.

After the Boy's nap, we head to a local park. We were going to go to the small park by the small local airport, but the Girl was eager to go exploring more, somewhere new, and the Boy, to our surprise, was eager to change our plans.