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parenting

Monday

Monday 07 May 2018

~~A few~~ Two random thoughts from the day:

The Girl is trying out for volleyball. She started working on her skills Saturday after having bought a ball that morning.

"How did it go?" I asked when I got home.

"I was the worst one there," came the simple reply.

It turned out that it was a two-day tryout session, and so I immediately wondered if she'd be discouraged from her first experience and say, "I don't have a chance of making the team. I don't want to go to the second day." And I was wondering how I might handle that. Is it something I should make her do in the interest of building character -- following through on what you set out to do and all that? Or should we just let it go?

Turns out, the dilemma never presented itself: after gymnastics, she asked if we could go practice volleyball for a few minutes.

Second thought: While the Girl was in volleyball, I did some shopping, and I went through the self-checkout lane when I was done. If they'd had these things in Poland twenty years ago, I might not have stayed. It was tough, those first weeks; it was especially tough making friends when I didn't speak the language. The store saved me. No self-service there: no, just a counter and a packed shelf behind it, with a sales clerk between you and your merchandise. So I had to ask for every single item. Which led to funny mistakes and misunderstandings. Which led to laughter. Which led to friendships.

End of Spring Break 2018

Friday 06 April 2018

The guests have all returned home and we’re all getting ready to return to our normal schedules next week. That meant a bit of cleaning today — getting things back in some semblance of order after four days of fun in sixes as opposed to fun in fours. Fifty percent more people results in decidedly more than fifty percent more mess, but who’s complaining? It gave the kids a bit of a chance to build some character.

In the morning, the Boy and I finished off a little project we’d started the day before. The area in front of our new fence’s gate will never — never — see grass again due to the simple fact that the gate funnels foot traffic in a way that an open space never did. We dug down about four inches, added some landscaping timbers and two dozen bags of river rock and solved the problem.

We created a new one in the meantime. The Boy, as always, was keen to help. He wanted to help drive the spikes into the timbers.

“Be careful,” I said. “You can easily get hurt.” A little Boy slinging a two-pound hammer about could be a formula for a mini-disaster, and that’s exactly what happened. He was driving in the spike I’d started for him, holding the hammer with two hands as I’d instructed when he unexpectedly reached down and grabbed the spike with one hand just as he was dropping the hammer. The crying was as close to screaming as it could be: he struck a glancing blow that gouged out a little hunk of flesh.

He sat in my lap afterward for a long time as the cry died to a whimper and then finally stopped. It was another one of those little reminders about how being a parent is such a gift. There was only one person on the planet whom he ~~might have~~ would have picked over me to comfort him: K. It’s medicine for the soul to feel that needed.

In the afternoon, the family went to a local plant nursery to pick up the shrubs and trees we’re going to use to fill in the corner of the fence.

“I don’t want the first thing people see when they pull into our driveway to be that fence,” K said on more than one occasion. That fence — K has a love/hate relationship with it. She loves the sense of security it provides given the simple fact that one of our neighbors has a pit bull that has gotten out of its small fenced area a few times, but she hates the look.

We hope to finish the planting tomorrow — the above is a before shot as a point of reference prior to our initial planting today. The forecast doesn’t look cooperative, though. We’ll find something to do, though, no doubt.

Hard and Soft

Friday 05 January 2018

We were at Nana's and Papa's this afternoon, and I asked the Boy who he wanted to ride back with.

"Mama!"

"That's right -- no one loves Tata!" I laughed.

Later in the evening, as the Boy was nestling into his covers for the night and I lay beside him, he stroked my cheek and said, "Daddy, you're the best daddy. And I always love you no matter who I ride home with."

Final game of Memory before bed -- just after the snack

He paused for a moment, then added, "It's just that Mommy is soft, and you're a hard chunk."

Teaching

Sunday 26 November 2017

“I just realized we haven’t read E the Christmas story,” my wife said to me this evening. I thought of the Dickens tale, and remembering the new film version of its making that is now out, I thought, “What a great idea.”

“You mean the Dickens story?” I asked to confirm.

“No, the Christmas story,” my wife replied.

I’ve just crashed. I haven’t so much lost my faith as given it up. Tossed it. Or rather, I think I’ve realized that I never had it to begin with. This is the second time in my life that this has happened. Why I didn’t learn the first time is beyond me, but something made me want to be a Catholic like my wife. A desire for consistency? Who knows. I do know that that desire is gone now. It all seems so preposterous, the Bible, the saints, the Son of God — it just seems like a fairy tale to me again.

So the last thing in the world I want to do now is to teach this to my children. But the next-to-last thing in the world I want to do now is come clean to my wife about my new, old skepticism. I’ve decided to just play along, for now, living in a sort of spiritual closet with my children and trying to keep quiet about my doubts in front of them.

And yet I hope to plant a seed of skepticism in my children, a questioning spirit that doesn’t settle for simple answers, that doesn’t accept answers without asking further questions.

As he was eating his pre-bed yogurt, I began reading the story from the illustrated Bible someone gave him.

It begins with the Annunciation, an angel appearing before a young girl and announcing that she will bear the child of God.

My mind immediately began running through the problems with this: the whole nonsensical doctrine of completely human and completely divine; the oddly perverse insistence that the girl must be a virgin out of a desire to use this to fulfill a supposed Old Testament prophecy that the Messiah will be born of a virgin, which in fact was based on an inaccurate translation from Hebrew to Latin; the whole question of why in the world a god would announce his presence in such an oddly ineffective way. All this and more. Yet I just asked a simple question: “What do you think about this?”

“It’s good,” my son said.

“What do you mean?”

“Because God can do anything,” came the odd answer. He is, after all, five: critical thinking is not a skill he yet possesses.

On the next page, we read about Joseph’s concerns about marrying Mary and the account in Luke of an angel appearing to him to soothe his worries.

My mind immediately began running through the problems with this: was he just worried that Mary, being unmarried yet pregnant, risked some sort of horrible punishment at the hands of the first-century Jews, who were still stoning people? Did he find it odd that this happened before marriage, knowing the potential societal reaction? Did he wonder if perhaps Mary was just promiscuous? Why exactly did the angel need to calm his fears?

A few pages later, angels appear again, this time to the shepherds in the fields.

“Has an angel ever appeared to you?” I asked.

“No,” came the direct answer.

“Me neither,” I said. “I wonder why.” And I continued reading.

It’s in these types of conversations that I hope to spark a bit of probing skepticism. Does this mean I am seeking superstitiously to undermine my wife? I suppose it does. Is that a bad thing? I suppose it’s a bit dishonest.

If I keep this up, the real conundrum awaits in the probably-not-too-distant future: what will I say when my daughter, who is almost eleven, begins noticing the changes? I can’t bring myself to say the creed during the Mass because I don’t believe in one God, the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth, of all things visible and invisible, and I don’t believe in one Lord Jesus Christ, the Only Begotten Son of God, born of the Father before all ages. I won’t be going for communion anymore because when the priest says, “The body of Christ,” I am to assent to that belief by saying, “Amen.” And I don’t believe that the priest is giving out anything other than tasteless wafers and overly-sweet wine.

So she will notice, and she will ask, “Daddy, why don’t you go to communion anymore?”

And what will I say?

The Choice

Sunday 24 September 2017

She didn’t want to go to the park to take the dog for a walk. At one point, she adamantly refused. Not at one point. Immediately. Had she not done so, I might — might — have considered letting her stay behind, considering what she wanted to do instead, but that immediate refusal made that impossible. K and I pointed out a few simple facts: she hadn’t gotten much exercise today; she was dying for a dog and now not willing to help; there was time for that other activity when we got back; and so on. So she went on the walk with the Boy and me, with Clover leading the way. (Next training task: get her to stop pulling on the lead.) And it’s safe to say she enjoyed it. We laughed a bit, chatted a bit, and she danced down the trail a bit — all typical. And in the car on the way, she did what she wanted to stay behind to do: she read one of the mountain of books she checked out of the library yesterday.

She wanted to stay behind to read.

I can’t get some of my students to read a paragraph without griping, but she wanted to read. She’s chewed through an unbelievable 2,700 pages so far this school year, and she’s gotten hooked on a new series, which I’m ashamed to say I can’t even identify. Given her year-long obsession with mythology, it’s not hard to guess about the subject matter. But that number, which she shared during breakfast today — 2,700. That’s just impressive. I’ve read 39 books in 2017 so far. That’s probably a touch over 3,000 pages, but that’s over the course of almost nine months. She’s read almost a third of that in a ninth of the time.

So the choice was this: force her to get some exercise and share in the companionship of a walk or let her read. Had she not forced my hand with her fussing obstinacy, I’m not sure what was the right choice.

Today’s Picture

I was too lazy to import and work on the handful of pictures I took of the morning light in our backyard, so here’s one of a fruit and vegetable vendor in Warsaw over the summer getting ticketed for not having the proper paperwork.

Note

Where’d I get that 3,000 pages? I was tired. Somehow I did the math in my head so incredibly incorrectly that it’s laughable, but now that I realize that, I’m too tired to go back and rewrite it. L’s better at math than I am, too.

Oravsky Hrad — Redux

Friday 07 July 2017

A fourth (or is it fifth? or third?) visit to Oravsky Hrad. This time, a few changes. A simplified camera set up to accompany a simplified tour due to the ages of our tourist. And a few random thoughts that unwound along the way.

Thought One

In the crypt of the chapel at Orava Castle there are three coffins, two small ones and a large one. The tour being in Slovak and only partially comprehensible to me, I'm not sure if I understood it all, but I believe the two coffins are those of one owner's children, an eight month old and a four year old. I had one of those moments: I remember what family life used to be, even for the riches and most fortunate. Infant mortality was unbelievably high (compared to now), and even living past five or six was not assumed. Having children might mean burying them before they were a year old, and it might mean burying multiple children. They could have died for any number of diseases that have now been virtually eradicated through improved hygiene, a better understanding of disease and its transmission, and effective vaccines. Yet for them, each child's death was something of a mystery. Sure, they recognized and categorized diseases based on symptoms, but the actual cause was a mystery, as was any possible prevention.

And so I am grateful that I live in a time when protecting my children against measles, for example -- a potentially fatal disease that, according to the WHO, would have resulted in "an estimated 20.3 million deaths" between 2000-2015. I'm grateful that I live in a time when I can take my child to the doctor and get a diagnosis and medication to help the child. I'm grateful that I've never once wondered whether my children will die of measles or small pox before they turn five. As I looked at the smallest casket, I felt fairly sure that her parents would have given almost anything to have that kind of security.

Thought Two

Orava Castle was the set for Nosferatu, a 1922 film adaptation of Dracula. I remember hearing that the idea of a blood sucking tyrant came from Vlad the Impaler. Here was a man who could do just about anything to just about anyone and became famous for a particularly brutal way of killing. He seems to be the exact opposite of what we have in most countries in the Western world today, where the rule of law treats everyone -- theoretically -- the same. Anyone from a homeless person to the President of the United States can be subject to the same law.

Yet what is most surprising about Vlad is that he was a real law-and-order guy. While there were plenty of people who were killed for arbitrary things, a great number were killed due to transgressions of Vlad's severe moral code.

Further, Vlad was involved in fighting the Turks and preventing the spread of Islam in Europe. Despite his brutality, he was considered an orthodox Christian, and the Pope had little to nothing to say about his viciousness. He was, after all, fighting the Turks -- the rest is insignificant, right?

When the Turks' invasion began overwhelming Vlad's forces, he began a scorched-Earth policy, destroying villages on both sides of the Danube to slow the Turks' progress. This meant destroying his own people in vast numbers.

And so I began thinking about how we take this for granted today. We don't raise our children wondering whether or not our own leader is going to slaughter them trying to save his own power. We don't have to fear our rulers' whims because they are subject to the same laws we are.

Previous Visits

Tour Guide

Oravský Hrad

Mother’s Day Early

Saturday 13 May 2017

Saturday is always busy. This time of year, the lawn always needs a trim, and hedges often need their season's taming. Tomato plants are starting to blossom, literally and figuratively, so it's time to stake them. All fairly common late-spring Saturday work. Today, though, was a little different because of timing: tomorrow we will be going to a friend's First Communion, so the Mother's Day celebration had to be rescheduled.

Since I've neglected K's vehicle the last few weeks, the Boy and I decided it was time to clean Mama's car -- well, that's not exactly how it happened, but it sounds better that way. So the first thing we tackled today was the interior of the car. Every surface was exposed to an area of low pressure -- e.g., vacuumed -- and then wiped down. The Boy to the windshield rag and wiped down the parts of the exterior that, concealed by closed doors, never really get clean from normal washing. And of course, with the two of us involved, there was a bit of playing as well.

Afterward, the lawn got its weekly trim and the Girl prepared her Mother's Day present for Nana.

Our Mother's Day celebration isn't the only thing tomorrow's First Communion throws off, though. Tomorrow is the Boy's birthday. "I'll be a five-year-old tomorrow," was a common refrain today.

So after dinner came presents. It's a sign of his growing maturity that only a couple of the presents was a toy: a small jeep and trailer set that he took to bed with him and a Lego set that he will put together with Papa on Monday. The rest of the gifts were practical, useful even. A backpack -- an appropriate, camouflaged design -- will get its first test in a month when we head off to Poland. "And I'll use it in K5 for all those big books!" he explained excitedly. A new cycling helmet to match his new bike. A flashlight so he doesn't have to keep borrowing mine. "Daddy, I just need to..." So perhaps more than a couple of toys.

I sit writing this and glance down at the clock: five years ago, we would be leaving for the hospital in about an hour. It was Sunday night, and I was just about to drift off to sleep, some time around eleven, when K woke me and said we had to get to the hospital. A couple of hours later, we were holding the Boy in our arms. And now, in a few hours, he'll be the same age -- year-wise -- as L was when he was born.

In another five years? The Girl will be almost old enough to begin learning to drive. She'll be in her second year of high school. Entirely new worries, concerns that are now non-existent, will likely consume me. Boys will no longer be icky. A moment of inattention could result in more than just a broken glass. Her grades in school will no longer be of little consequence.

Five years used to seem like such a long time...

Saturday of Work

Saturday 06 May 2017

In a lot of ways, today seemed like a typical May Saturday. Coffee, eggs, a chat with Babcia. The morning sun made the backyard glow. It all appeared typical.

But the weather -- it's Polish summer here. Today I don't know that we ever broke into the sixties, and if we did, it was just barely. Add to it the chance of afternoon rain, and given one of my major chores of the day, the day scheduled itself. Morning work had to be the mowing.

As I was cutting the edges before transitioning to the long, almost hypnotic straight lines, a bit of motion in the deep grass caught my eye: a fledgling was hunkered down in a patch of tall grass. I cycled back and forth, nearing the bird, and I noticed that mother was near, flying in when I was away, taking off again as I approached. I knew I'd have to move the bird, and I worried a bit about how that might impact the situation. Since I always wear gloves when mowing, thanks to eczema, I didn't fear the old thought of transferring my scent to the bird and somehow making its mother reject it. I'm not even sure if that happens. I was just wondering whether the mother would find it if I moved it too far.

First I it near one of the round planters in the yard, but I knew I'd have to move it again when I neared the end of mowing. The second time, I moved it over to the corner of the house, to a patch of grass that I never manage to cut because I don't have a working weed wacker. Each time, mother bird had no problem finding the baby.

Yet I knew it was doomed. The second time I relocated the baby, it fluttered out of my glove and plopped straight down: no chance of it flying back to its nest. And with two cats in the yard, I knew it was only a matter of time before one of them made a natural discovery. "Wouldn't it just be better to put it out of it's future misery?" I wondered. Yet how could I do it? I could think of no quick and painless, and besides, who was I to say that it didn't stand a chance of survival.

Thankfully, the Girl was away at an amusement park with her school chorus. Had she been there, I would have had to fend her off and deal with her eventual frustrated sadness when I would have tried to convince her that, no, we couldn't take it into the house and try to raise it ourselves. That would be a sure death sentence.

When I walked back to empty the grass catcher, though, I saw that the chick had disappeared. Where it had gone remained a mystery for the rest of the day. Mother bird still fluttered around here and there, but I couldn't figure out where the bird was.

And as I type this, I find myself wondering if mother bird has nestled up to the chick for the night to protect it and comfort it. And I'm glad I'm not a bird parent facing that impossible situation.

Resisting

Wednesday 01 February 2017

Part of parenting is resisting. Resisting the urge to give in to tantrums because, let's face it, it would be easier in the short run. Resisting the urge to say something sarcastic when it's really not going to do anything but make the situation worse. Resisting the urge to change your kid's personality because some little quirk here or there is mildly annoying. Resisting the urge to compare your kids to others' children. Resisting the urge to use one sibling as a model for the other: "Why can't you be more like your brother?" Resisting the urge to let television be the babysitter when you're tired. Resisting the urge to say "No" when "Yes" won't hurt anything other than your schedule. Resisting the urge to say "Yes" when it's so much easier. Resisting the urge disengage when tired. Resisting the urge to stop resisting the urges...

Practicing with the small suitcase we'll be using this weekend, which he will use as his carry-on going to Poland this summer.

And part of parenting is embracing urges.

Late-January Monday

Monday 23 January 2017

It's been a long time since we've had a fairly typical Monday. Last Monday, we had no school, so K and I went out and bought a new car. The Monday before that, we were out of school because of snow. Or was that the previous Monday? Going back further there was winter break and so on. So today was a normal Monday. Up early, kids ready, off we go.

The afternoon was fairly typical as well. After chess club, I arrived home late. Everyone was in the backyard. I made my afternoon coffee, poured it in a travel mug, and headed out -- only to see everyone coming in.

"I'm coming in to get dinner ready," K said. The temptation was to be lazy, but laziness is what we got all weekend, with the rain, rain, and more rain.

"I'll go down with them," I suggested, and both the kids squealed and excitedly ran back down to the trampoline/swing/hammock/bridge/hiding spot area we've been developing over the last few years.

Afterward we had dinner. Relatively uneventful -- which is really saying something. The kids lately have been bickering like mad over the slightest thing, and it turns dinner into something less than perfectly enjoyable. We decided to conduct an experiment -- the "we" being K and I, for the kids would never agree to it. Not knowing what influence was primarily responsible for their behavior (for it's not been just the bickering), we've eliminated all possible influences for a week: no television, no computer, no friends. Just a week to refocus and recharge. The kids this weekend had to find other ways to entertain themselves when we weren't playing with them. L read, played with her Legos, drew. The Boy drew, played with his Legos, looked at books. The results are beginning to show: tonight, a much calmer dinner, with no hysterics about anything. In the evening, a calmness that hasn't been in our house for a while.