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Examen

Sunday 11 January 2015

Though I don't do it daily, I should. It's probably one of the best things converting to Catholicism has done for me -- the daily examen. The form I use comes from St. Ignatius's Spiritual Exercises and has some simple steps:

Become aware of God’s presence.
Review the day with gratitude.
Pay attention to your emotions.
Choose one feature of the day and pray from it.
Look toward tomorrow.

As part of L's widening spiritual education, she and I have begun doing this together. We've been using a podcast to help us out, and we sit in her room and reflect on our day using the podcast labeled "examen for children." It could really work for anyone, though. It boils everything down to a few ideas.

What did you do that made you happy today? Give God thanks for it.
What did you do that made you sad today? Apologize to God for it (and it adds that you might need to apologize to a person as well).
What do you think you might need help with tomorrow? Ask God for that help.

Tonight, we shared with each other our joyful moments. It was fairly simple, and we had the same moment: when she and I with E played with Legos.

What an impressive array of equipment we now have, using the old Legos Nana saved from my childhood combined with the new sets the Girl has been collecting. We have a camper, a log cabin, a yacht, a space craft, an alien ship, an alien prison. We had fierce space battles in the morning and attacks on humans in the evening, with our brave defenders battling the Borg -- though I didn't explain the whole concept of "we will assimilate you!" as I attacked -- as they tried to snatch innocent campers from their weekend getaways. The Boy teamed up with me and we launched a fearsome, dual-pronged attack that resulted in the kidnapping of both astronauts and campers. But alas, L and her space cadets were too clever for us and managed to free everyone just in time for bed.

What joy, I thought as I did my own examen this evening. And what a shame that I don't do it more often. I let other things get in the way. I become selfish. I too often have different priorities. Not to say I neglect my children, but I think perhaps some days I don't do enough. And so I resolve to do better the next day, and some days I do, and some days I don't.

K, on the other hand, has always impressed me with her selflessness with the kids. That's a mother's gift, I suppose. No, it's not a gift. That takes it out of my control. It's a mother's choice. And that is another simple experience -- seeing such a wonderful mother in action -- to be thankful for during my examen.

First Day 2015

Thursday 01 January 2015

"Let's go to the airplane park!" There's a small airport near downtown Greenville which has an aviation-themed park next to it. The far end of the park abuts the runway, and it's a favorite for the kids: you can play on a fantastic playground, ride your bike around the paved oval circling the whole playground, and watch small airplanes land and take-off.

At the far end of the track, next to the runway, there is a significantly steep slope -- significantly steep for a toddler, that is -- and it should be a heart-stopping moment every time the Boy roars down the slope. But he does it so carefully, first going down only half the slope, then a bit more, a bit more, until he's going down the whole thing. He's so cautious that it takes some of the worry from both K and me. But every time we're there without a helmet for him, I think, "Drat -- should have brought that helmet."

After dinner, it's play time. First some family play with E's fishing game he got for Christmas. We try to teach the Boy how to let the swinging magnet slow so that he can lower it to the fish to "catch" it, but he has a more effective way: simply grab the magnet in one hand while holding the rod in the other. Simple. But eventually we convince him.

Afterward, we split up to have some more interest-specific play. The Boy and I head up to his room to play with his cars. Although we only have the sheriff character from Cars, we choose a car to be Lightning McQueen and another to be Mater and go tractor tipping, just like in the film.

The ladies, in the meantime, play Ticket to Ride, a train-based strategy game that enthralls the Boy -- trains, so of course! -- but is obviously too much for his young mind to comprehend.

Everyone Gets a Turn

Tuesday 09 September 2014

In the backyard, everyone gets a turn on the swing, even if they don't fit. Everyone gets a chance to chase the cat, even if there's no hope of catching her. Everyone gets a moment to cry, even though only a few want to.

Standing on their Heads

Friday 18 July 2014

We played a little bit tonight instead of reading. It’s summer, after all.

What To Do on a Hot Afternoon

Monday 16 June 2014

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.

Using What You’ve Got

Tuesday 14 January 2014

I arrive home and the Boy is in the backyard with Babcia, and he absolutely, positively doesn't want to come in. He's rediscovered the simplest toy, a found toy: a big pile of dirt. Add a couple of sticks, and he's positively in a daze of joy.

He digs a little hole, moves to a new spot, digs a little hole, moves to a new spot, digs, moves, digs, moves, digs -- a circle that seems endless.

Soon L stops illustrating the driveway with chalk sketches abstract and traditional and joins us in our digging. Soon, she has an idea: a stick forest.

E and I head deeper into the wild of the backyard to find more sticks. He tugs at exposed roots, drags sticks until something else attracts his attention, looks up trees until he loses his balance, picks up rocks and tosses them, and together, the three of us spend almost an hour together laughing, exploring, and playing completely toy-free.

The common regret of modern life: we're so spoiled that we're ruining ourselves. Imagination in kids today sometimes seems to be as illusive as quicksilver, but hopefully not in our children, and today, some evidence.

A stick forest.

Not a bad idea. Progress.

Lost Treasure

Monday 05 August 2013

"Daddy, we found this but we can't open it." I recognized it immediately: my mother's old jewelry box that had long ago become storage for toys. "We can't get in it, so we don't know what's there." And neither did I, but I was curious.

Nana and Papa had saved some of my old toys and books from my childhood, and now that K and I have children of our own, we've pulled some of the toys out and re-issued them. The Boy has gone simply crazy over my old Matchbox cars, and L has incorporated some of my old books into her favorites rotation, but this old box was a mystery. There was no use searching for a key, and the thought of picking a lock -- even a simple mechanism like this -- was laughable. A straight-slot screwdriver and a quick twist of the wrist did the trick, though.

"Oh, some of my old G.I. Joe toys!" And I was instantly transported back thirty years to the time when these simple bits of plastic were the world to me. I pulled the figures out, remembering how I'd discovered the fact that unscrewing the small screw in the figure's back opened a new world of creative possibilities: this figure's legs could be attached to that figure's torso.

Some of the figures exited the O.R. in worse repair than they entered. "What happened to that fellows arm?" I pondered before realize that it must have been a battle wound. The same with that fellow's melted-off hand.

My collection was always modest. I had a few figures, a few vehicles. Several in my collection were from mail-in offers, including two of my four bad guys. It was a long time before I realized how utterly laughable the idea of Cobra -- a secret army plotting to take over the world -- was, but at the time, it seemed a more realistic alternative to Star Wars figures.

And besides, G.I. Joe figures articulated at the elbows and knees, far more realistic than the Star Wars figures that had to look like they were eternally goose-steppingÂ imitatorsÂ of Frankenstein. Later figures even added a second plane of motion: the elbows rotated.

None in my collection sported that awesomeness, though: they were old-school, bend-at-the-elbow figures.

I took them out, lined them up, and explained to L who were the good guys and who the bad.

"Can we play with them tomorrow?" she asked.

"Sure," I replied, wondering what schemes and stories a girl used to playing with princesses and Barbies might come up with for a pile of old G.I. Joe figures.

Mirroring Life

Monday 27 May 2013

Three girls in the Girl’s room. It’s Memorial Day, so they have the day off. As such, they do the logical: they play school.

There and Back

Saturday 05 January 2013

When the Girl was much younger, much smaller, and much lighter, we spent a lot of time down at the swing. L could pass whole afternoons in the swing if she would have had someone there patient enough to push her that long. If took the time, I could find pictures of me pushing her, Papa pushing her, Dziadek pushing her, friends pushing her -- anyone who came for a visit, down there by the small creek that forms the boundary between our property and the neighbor's, pushing, pushing, pushing. Higher, higher, higher. That was the formula.