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Saturday Growth

Saturday 16 March 2019

The day began with a bit of unusual work: pulling old wiring out of the attic. At first, the plan was just to remove them from the area over the old carport. But when in the afternoon I began the second part of today's tasks -- adding insulation to the lower part of the house -- I realized I could pull almost all the wiring out -- just about the whole length of the house. It was a relic from the past: old 10-gauge wiring used for long-removed baseboard heaters.

We took a break around lunchtime for E's first game of the season. Emil had his first break of the spring season in the second quarter. (Youth soccer is divided into quarters.) He beat the last defender, sent his shot past the goalie toward the far corner, and would have made a goal but for a few inches.

Afterward, it was back into the attic for me. In the end, I put in several bags of insulation and took out one full contractor back of wiring.

Saturday

Saturday 16 February 2019

The Boy and I began the day early for a Saturday. My alarm went off at 6:15 but I snoozed it until 6:30 -- that was really the plan when I went to bed last night, I must admit -- and we both go up and had breakfast and cartoons (Tom and Jerry) before heading off to Clemson University for the annual Clemson Day for South Carolina Scouts.

It's supposed to be in the main stadium, which makes it a great draw for everyone, but this year, with the weather questionable, it took place in the football team's indoor practice area. (You know a football program is bringing in a lot of money for the university when they have a couple of outdoor practice facilities and an indoor one to boot.) Clemson football, soccer, volleyball, and track athletes ran the kids through drills and games for three hours, with each rotation ending with an autograph session.

"Parents, please remember that the autograph time is only for the kids," the announcer reminded everyone several times.

As I suspected, the Boy was not keen on participating at the beginning. He'd been excited about going when I first mentioned it many weeks ago, but the excitement had waned as the day itself approached, and he suggested that he might just stay with me on the sideline and watch.

I tied gently encouraging him, but he wouldn't budge. Finally, I went nuclear: "Buddy, I didn't get up at 6:15 on a Saturday to sit with you on the sidelines." Once he got out there, he was fine.

In the afternoon, a little exploring.

Last Game and Pinewood Derby

Saturday 26 January 2019

The Boy played his last game of his first basketball season today. He didn't make a basket, though he took a shot. He had a couple of turnovers. At one point, he was defending his assigned player even though his team was on offense. All signs of a new player still finding his way in a game that he really doesn't fully understand. But he played with such heart. He did everything his coach told him (coaches at this level are allowed on the court, as soccer coaches at that age group are allowed on the field), and oblivious to the above facts, he enjoyed it, which is what counts most.

"I know what I'm saving up for," he declared earlier this week. "A basketball goal for our house." The only problem: we don't really have a place to put a goal. But our neighbor has a small court set up on his driveway -- we'll have to find the time to go there more often, K and I decided.

In the early evening, we went for the Boy's second pinewood derby. We'd been working on the car this week, and the Boy went into it with a lot of confidence. At the very least, he was sure, we would have the best-looking car. He'd decided on a humvee, which made for easy painting and it looked pretty good when it was all said and done: I did the cutting and some of the sanding; he did the painting and some of the sanding.

When the racing started, his car finished consistently in fourth place out of the six cars racing. That meant he wasn't the fastest but wasn't the slowest either. A more competitive spirit would equate those terms with "best" and "worst," but I try not to look at it that way because I'm only somewhat competitive.

Sometimes I wonder, or rather fear, that his lack of competitiveness comes from a lack of confidence, that he feels he has no chance of winning anyway and so why not cut one's losses and not appear to be terribly worried about the results of inherently competitive events. That's how I was, I think, when I was a child and teen. It wasn't that I worried about losing; I just didn't want to get embarrassed, to get beaten into the ground, so to speak. In gym class during high school, when we had basketball, I was reticent to participate because I was never all that good. I even refused to dress out some days, making the excuse that because I was on the swim team and got plenty of exercise that way, I really didn't even need the activity. Swimming was different, though, because I had success in the pool and felt more confident there.

Is that compensation or something more concerning? I don't really know, and I'm honestly not terribly worried about it. I think in the end, all of us with a little competitive spirit in us do that.

Monday Evening Walk

Monday 29 October 2018

Our schedule has calmed down significantly: no longer do we have something each and every evening. Soccer -- done. Volleyball -- done. We've decided, as a result of having so much free time (relatively speaking), to make Monday evenings (and possibly Tuesday nights, but not this week -- that frantic pace has ripples that spill over to this week) family walk evenings. So today, after dinner, we took the dog and headed to Conestee Park, our favorite local park.

E and I rode our bikes there yesterday, almost achieving our goal of riding on every bit of trail and/or road (a total of 10.2 km), and we discovered a couple of new trails that we thought we'd introduce the girls to.

The kids took turns with the dog, each handling her for a quarter of a mile (thanks, Fitbit).

And we got a chance to get a family portrait, albeit divided into two stages: the Boy wanted the camera and decided we didn't have enough pictures of me, so he made me pose.

Finally, he wanted one of K and me. "You need to stand there and kiss."

Last Games of the Season

Saturday 20 October 2018

The Boy had his final soccer game of the season. It was bitter-sweet: his team finished undefeated, but it was the last season they will train under Coach Kevin, who accepted a position coaching a high school girls' team.

The Girl's team got what it dished out the other everning -- a 3-0 defeat. She was upset about it, but only until we got home.

Friday Soccer

Friday 14 September 2018

First Game Fall 2018

Saturday 08 September 2018

The day started with the first game of the season, in a new age group, the six- to seven-year-old age group, which made the Boy one of the younger players on the field. It showed, but only a little bit. The star of our team, a young man named S, was seven years old and had some definite ball handling skills. He could weave in and out of defenders like a pro, and he must have had five or six shots on goal, making two of them. The Boy, by contrast, attacked best when he had a bit of room to work with. Charging through the opponents was still a bit beyond him, but I could see he was watching S, probably planning his own implementation of such a strategy.

In the afternoon, a little creek play with the first radio controlled car the Boy ever got.

Saturday

Wednesday 05 September 2018

Working Monday

Monday 25 June 2018

The Boy and I spent the day working, working like I never really do during the school year. Actual work. Sweaty work. Blister-biting work. Aching working. A friend — who helped us remodel our kitchen two years, without whom we would have been completely and totally lost — is making an addition to his house. Like our house, it’s brick veneer, and he won’t be able to match the brick perfectly with what’s available now, so we’re taking down the veneer from one end of the house.

We came home sweaty and tired yet satisfied.

And what did we do afterward, after a shower and lunch and a bit of relaxing? We went back outside to play soccer for almost an hour and get sweaty again.

We took on roles — E is Ronaldo while I’m Lewandowski — and played a game that must have been some kind of record as far as scoring goes: 18-14. I scored two goals accidentally: I blocked his attempts to kick the ball by me and surge to the net and the ball rolled into his net.

We were going to head out after dinner to finish the game, but a storm rolled in, so we sat and cheered K on as she made the latest batch of pickles.

Tomorrow, we do it all again — probably even the pickles, considering the amount of cucumbers we have.

Heading Home

Sunday 24 June 2018

After two consecutive losses that left them at the bottom of their four-team World Cup group, the Polish team is heading home after their third and final game later this week. Even if they win against Japan, they won’t have enough points to move on to the next round of sixteen teams.

But we didn’t know that when a group of Poles and sympathizers gathered to watch Poland play Columbia this afternoon.

There was optimism from the beginning, but I told K on the way there, “You know Columbia is going to win, right?”

Why? Poland had played so pathetically against Senegal that I felt they were broken psychologically. Senegal was supposed to be the push-over team in their group. They were supposed to be the ones everyone trampled on like they’re a bunch of amateurs. And then on Tuesday, the Poles scored an own-goal and let the Senegalese take an embarrassingly easy second goal due entirely to a ridiculous error from the Polish goalie to end 2-1.

I had that feeling, and truth be told, K did too. Everyone in the room except for the three Columbians in the room probably had that feeling as well. Of course, they might well have felt that way, too.

All the Poles sang “Mazurek Dąbrowskiego,” the Polish national anthem.

Poland has not yet perished,
So long as we still live.
What the foreign force has taken from us,
We shall with sabre retrieve.
March, march, Dąbrowski,
From the Italian land to Poland.
Under your command
We shall rejoin the nation.
We’ll cross the Vistula, we’ll cross the Warta,
We shall be Polish.
Bonaparte has given us the example
Of how we should prevail.

The Columbians sang their national anthem:

Oh, unwithering glory!
Oh, immortal jubilance!
In furrows of pain,
goodness now germinates.

The dreadful night has ceased.
Sublime Liberty
beams forth the dawn
of her invincible light.
All of humanity
that groans within its chains,
understands the words
of He who died on the cross.

In both cases, I think they only got through about two verses: the anthem at the stadium was instrumental and short.

The good mood among the Poles didn’t last long. Just before the end of the first half, Yerry Mina scored for Columbia. Of course, there was still hope. Among Poles, there’s always hope. But it was waning: a tie would not do. Only a victory could save the Polish national team. Yet halfway through the second half, at the 70-minute mark, Radamel Falcao scored a second goal for Columba. And as if to rub a little dirt in the Poles’ faces, Juan Cuadrado scored again five minutes later.