growing
Code
The Boy has become interested in ciphers and codes. They learned about them in school this week and so he wants to learn about more of them. Tonight, he and I were writing things back and forth in pig pen cipher:
It’s a simple replacement cipher, but the Boy loves it.
During our evening walk, I mentioned to him that Papa knew a real code: Morse Code.
“Really?!”
I thought Papa had mentioned that so many times, doing his “da-dit-dit” routine to spell various words out in code, that no one could have forgotten about that. Apparently, E had.
“I wish Papa was still here.”
We’ll be having those moments for some time to come, I think.
Little Girls
who no longer are.
Hero
We all dream of being a hero. We can say we don't, but we all have those little fantasies that at least once, we save the day. E is no exception, and for that reason, this fall's soccer season has been disappointing for him. It's not that he hasn't felt like a hero; he has positively felt like he's added very little to his team. In one game, an attacker beat him when he was a defender to score the first goal of the game, and I could see from his expression afterward that he felt horrible about it.
It certainly doesn't help that his team has won only one game this season, and that was only by forfeit because the other team didn't know about the game time change somehow and no one showed up. They've been beaten and they've been positively trounced.
"We're never going to win," has been the Boy's refrain as we head back to the car. The other boys feel the same, I think.
Last week, for example, while we were camping, only five of the players showed up. They played anyway, and the asshole coach of the opposing team played all seven positions against our five boys, so the poor boys got beaten, though not as badly as one might expect (7-4).
Today, too, we were shorthanded, but a boy from the other team joined our team, and we played at even strength. (That coach showed class unlike the classless individual from last week.) We began relatively unremarkably, with neither team really dominating. Then, about ten minutes into the first half, E broke free with the ball and headed straight to the goal, firing a rocket that went right by the goalie and sank into the back corner of the net.
"E just scored!!!!!!!!!!" I texted K with probably the biggest grin smeared across my face. Last season, his first with CESA (the local soccer league), he hadn't scored a single goal all season.
By the end of the first half the red team had equalized and then pulled ahead, so we went into break under a bit of pressure.
"I was sure we were going to lose," E explained later. When red scored a third time, E was convinced that they were going to experience their next inevitable loss. But shortly after that, the Boy broke through the defenses again and scored his second goal, pulling his team to within one. Just a few minutes after that, he was through again, but he stumbled a bit and sent the ball well wide of the goal.
"How amazing that would have been!" I thought.
Just moments later, the Boy broke through, outran two defenders, and shot a lovely looping curve into the net. Three goals in one game -- a coveted hat-trick. To top it all off, I finally had my camera up while he scored -- in the other two, I'd dropped it to my side and just cheered him on, but the final one, I kept firing away.
But of all the shots from today, my favorite is the one just after his first goal when he'd just gotten a big congratulatory low-five from a teammate. Head slightly down, a little spring in his step, he walked back to his position. I look at the image and wonder what exactly he was thinking, wonder just how much it might help his confidence, wonder if it might not be the best thing that's happened to him in ages.
Wypasiona Dolina 2021
Despite the fact that L had a less-than-positive experience with the line park just outside of Jablonka, it became just about her favorite activity when at Babcia's.
Overcoming
This year the Boy is old enough to do the larger courses, and it's clear: he'll probably share L's opinion of the park.
First Check
The Girl recently began working at Culver’s, which is a restaurant we’ve passed on a busy road a number of times but which we’ve never given a thought to. We really didn’t even know the type of food they serve. So we were in the dark as much as the Girl.
She’s worked a few short shifts now, and today, she picked up an extra shift through the app the company uses for scheduling employees. Workers can request coverage for unexpected time they want off, and others can pick up that coverage for extra hours. So she went in to work from 4:00 to 8:30 today.
Today, she got her first check.
Fresh
The Girl’s first day on the job was yesterday, but she was just shadowing people. “I learned how to restock the ketchup! Thrilling!” she exclaimed with a hint of sarcasm.
Today, she worked on the cash register, which means she had multiple interactions with the public.
“Hi! Welcome to Culver’s! What can I get started fresh for you today?”
“Is that what you have to say? Those exact words?” I asked during our conversation after she returned.
“No, we just have to work ‘fresh’ into it somehow.”
“So you could say something like, ‘Hi! Welcome to Culver’s, home of freshity fresh-fresh freshness!’? Would that work?”
She rolled her eyes as a fourteen-year-old will do.
As for the picture, I had to sneak it.
Boys’ Lunch
After visiting with Papa this morning, E and I decided we needed a boys’ afternoon out for lunch. And when it’s a boys’ afternoon out for lunch, we always choose Mexican. And when we choose Mexican, the Boy always chooses the same thing: enchiladas.
The Girl couldn’t go with us because, well, it was a boys’ afternoon, but also because she had her first day at work. I got to see her in her Culver’s uniform, but I didn’t get to snap a picture. Not yet, at least.
The Week Ends
We go from week to week without much thought most of the time. Monday comes, and we drag ourselves out of the bed and into work. Sometimes we're lucky and have a job that we enjoy, and we're eager to get to work. I'm fortunate that most Mondays, that's how I feel. But no matter how much we love our job, the week grinds us down, and Friday evening brings a welcome release. We make the most of the weekend, try to recharge ourselves, and head out into the world the next week.
We go through these weeks week after week, again and again, and each week brings some progress to whatever our goals and adventures might be, but after a while, everything just seems to blend together. Week after week, no single week seems to be different than the one that preceded it, or the one that proceeded it. Weeks pass like days which pass like hours, which flow by like seconds, which make the steady stream we call reality.
But every now and then, we have weeks that change everything made up of days that are constant little shifts that are made up of hours that are utterly unpredictable. And the reality we start those weeks with is completely different than the reality that ends the week.
When Nana had a pulmonary embolism two and a half years ago, the week she spent in the hospital afterward was just such a week. She should not, according to the statistics, have survived that first night. But she did. And any time someone survives like that, the week that follows is a week that realigns the reality of everyone connected to the survivor.
This has been such a week for us, ending in a trip to the ER. We make it into a room at the ER but have to wait for a while: there is an arrest issue on the floor, the nurse explains, and I have to ask for clarification: cardiac or criminal? It is, of course, the former, and I feel immediately stupid for asking the question.
The doctor comes in and asks Papa some questions. He sits behind me and talks to me about what's been going on. I show him some videos I shot. He's suddenly as concerned as I am. He orders some tests and tells me he's going to try to get the presiding hospital doctor to come in to see Papa.
While we wait, we hear a child outside crying as his mother tries to explain something he ate while crying at the same time. No one can really get the words out, but in the midst of it all, the mother is trying to comfort her son, calm herself, and talk to the doctor at the same time.
A nurse comes in and wheels out Papa as I reflect on the role reversal that's been building over the last two years. I recall an ER visit when I was in second grade and got busted in the face with a football helmet face mask because the coach was letting me run the workout with the other players even though I didn't yet have a uniform. Blood gushing everywhere, I required several stitches that evening. That was a week that changed a few things, but not everything: I refused to give up football even though my ability to practice was hampered. Curtailed even.
When Papa comes back in, he asks me where we are. I take his hand and tell him, giving his hand a squeeze and assuring him that we'll all be alright.
It reminds me immediately of what I used to say to L when we were nearing an argument over some petty triffle: "Don't worry, honey, you won't be thirteen forever."
"You always say that!"
"I'm not just saying that for your sake..."
Coming full circle in so many ways.