growing | matching tracksuits

Wondering

Tuesday 29 July 2014

I’m out mowing, mid-morning. The Girl, who is taking care of E, sticks her head out the door and says, “E was wondering if we could have some of those peanut butter-filled pretzels.”

Sure.

I can just see our two-year-old son sitting on the couch, watching his favorite cartoon, The Littlest Pet Shop (no coercion there), and turning to L to say, “You know, I’m just a little hungry. Know what I’d like? Some of those peanut-butter-filled pretzel thingies. And you know, Daddy’s just right outside there, mowing the front yard. Maybe you could just, I don’t know, stick your head out the door and ask him. I mean, we could try to get it ourselves, but I think we’d probably be better off if we ask permission.”

Yes, that’s probably how it happened.

Sunday in the Park

Sunday 20 July 2014

L has had the same best friend, E (for the sake of simplicity, Big-E), for five years now. They met at preschool, thus bringing our families into a closer orbit than would have otherwise naturally occurred: play-dates became dinner with both families, or even a short vacation together.

Five years, for seven-year-olds, is virtually eternity. It stretches even longer than the endless nights of childhood when we simply can't wait until morning.

"How long until morning?" we as mom, and the resulting answer might as well be expressed in scientific notation.

So every now and then, the two families get together for an afternoon at the pool, dinner, or perhaps an afternoon at the park. The five kids have great fun together, the parents chat and take turns tag-teaming with each others' kids ("E, slow down!" "Big-E, you interrupted her!"), and in the end, we all return home satisfied. What's not to love about an outing that gives the kids great joy while simultaneously exhausting them?

Over the past year, though, a second connection has developed. E has been in the same preschool class as E (gosh -- this is getting confusing: three kids with the initial initial "E." Let's just call her "Lady-E"), and when we asked E if he was excited about seeing Lady-E today, he smiled hugely and said, "Taaaaak!" (The question was posed in Polish: he's much better about answer in the same language than L is at this point.)

So L and Big-E zoomed ahead on a scooter and bike respectively while E and Lady-E tended to hang back on their less speedy models. And I (initial for the middle child, not me) sort of hung in the middle, like a middle child would.

We saw some lovely views, including a beaver dam,

had fun pulling our vehicle when we got too tired to ride it,

and had a nice picnic to fill the bellies and stop the complaining.

E and Lady-E are now the same ages (roughly: Lady-E is about a year older) as L and Big-E were when they met. And while five years have passed in the interim, none of us could have possibly believed how quickly it would have gone. Five years for a seven-year-old -- forget about it. You might as well be talking the age of the universe.

Five years for any of us? It's a flash, a blink, a second degree, a mere half-a-decade.

It's absolutely nothing. Indeed, for us, the passage of twenty years has become nothing. I see on social media that a twenty-year-old beauty contestant boldly wore an insulin pump with her bikini (never mind the ethics of judging someone's worth or beauty -- oh, never mind), and I think, "Twenty years. That makes it 1994. I was starting my senior year of college."

These kids are still learning how to control their arms and legs: college seems like an impossibly distant reality for them, but for us, it will just be a blip. A few birthdays, a Christmas or two, and suddenly this child or that is packing up to head to this or that college.

I keep writing about this because it keeps becoming more and more obvious. "Hold on to these moments as they pass," sings Adam Duritz in "Long December," and the older I get, the more that rings true.

Saturday in July

Saturday 05 July 2014

A little bit of tickling: the Girl loves to be tickled (within reason, for she is very ticklish), but she’s only recently learned the difference between tickling and gouging. As far as the ticklishness goes, though, she clearly gets it from her mother.

A little bit of chess: the Girl is learning how to play, and the Boy is fascinated with the pieces.

And a little growing: another moment where we can see just a glimpse of what L might look like in five or so years.

Practice

Tuesday 01 July 2014

Lessons

Monday 30 June 2014

First, piano lessons — first time I’ve taught someone piano. Should be fun.

Next, swim lessons — we’re paying someone to do this, but I could probably teach her as well.

Next, ice skating lessons — no way I could teach her how to do this.

Finally, some badminton practice.

Pickles and Picnics

Friday 20 June 2014

The Boy has some strange tastes, some strange favorites: pickle juice is a favorite drink. Finish off a bottle of pickles -- the American, vinegary type -- and he'll jump on that bottle immediately.

The Girl has always had some strange tastes, too. It's only been in the last year that she's even ventured to try that favorite of American kids from coast to coast, the humble (and not-so-good-for-you) hot dog.

What to make to make of this? Nothing more than the obvious: kids too are individuals, and their tastes grow and change with time. For now, we're happy the Girl loves so many Polish soups and the Boy just loves everything. Likely to change, but for now, it's good.

Cycles

Sunday 15 June 2014

When the Girl was little, Big Wolf was a popular guy who helped us pass a lot of hours.

“Shhh!” L would exclaim. “Big Wolf coming!” We would dive under whatever cover we could find and count down so that together we might sit up and command, “Big Wolf! Walk away!”

One day in the zoo, we found a plush wolf and knew what we had to do. It remains a highlight for us, a story K and I can retell with a smile, making L smile now too.

Time passed, though, and L grew, and the things that once thrilled her no longer did so. Big Wolf soon became one of many plush toys packed into a net hanging in the corner of her room. Forgotten? Not quite. But almost.

In recent days, the Boy and I have begun playing “Big Wolf” again. He holds his index finger to his lips, shushes us, and proclaims, “Oh! Big Wolf!”

We most often do it in the hammock, a recent discovery for us both. Three days in a row now we’ve gone down the the blue hammock in our wooded backyard and lay there as the evening sun sets all the leaves above us aglow. Just as with L, we play that we must pretend to be asleep in order to keep from provoking Big Wolf. The Girl has brought E her wolf plush toy, and now the Boy must have Big Wolf in the crib at all times, nap and evening rest.

The Girl in the meantime continues to create new cycles for the Boy and me to repeat later. Trips to the pool become lessons in sitting on the bottom of the pool, managing to touch the bottom at the deep end, and holding one’s breath for extended periods. Just as E is now, L was once terrified to put her face in the water, horrified at the thought of getting a droplet of water in her eye, and completely frightened of the deep end. Sooner than we realize, the Boy too will put away Big Wolf, take up his goggles, and tell me, “Tata, teach me a new pool trick.”

Another Day, Another Park

Friday 13 June 2014

“I don’t want to go to the park! We went to the park yesterday. We went to the park the day before yesterday. I’m tired of the park. I’m sick, sick, sick of the park.”

Thus we began our morning. Breakfast, a bit of My Little Pony on Netflix, some freshly picked raspberries and blackberries — none of these things, which some might be tempted, incorrectly I might add, to call bribes, worked. On the way to the car, it was the same.

“I’m taking my Pokemon handbook,” she huffed. “I don’t want to play.”

Of course by the time we got to the park, she’d reconsidered and thought she’d just give the playground a try.

“If not, I’ll go get my book.”

Naturally, she never went to get her book. How could she when the Boy was on such a roll: afraid of nothing, he even went down the big slide — and I mean big slide — all by himself. He panicked a bit on the way down, which is why he burned his forearm on the smooth plastic and probably explained that wide-eyed look he had, but it wasn’t enough to keep him from trying again.

Eating Meatballs

Tuesday 03 June 2014

We were heading out to check the mail this afternoon, L riding her scooter and E in my arms, when a old, loud pickup truck roared up the street. The Boy waved furious and shouted, "Hi Truck! We going to eat meatballs!"

In short, the Boy gets excited about the prospect of Swedish meatballs.

Morning Rituals

Thursday 17 April 2014

The day should begin like this. Every single day. Of course, it's April, which, according to the cliche, brings showers, indicating gray skies. Still, such an April is rare here in our part of the South.