matching tracksuits

fun in threes, sometimes fours

the boy

Murder Mystery

E and I were heading back down the driveway Wednesday night after taking the garbage cans out to the side of the room for morning pickup when we heard the most awful screaming coming from the woods behind our neighbor's house. We thought it might be a cat fight, but it quickly became clear that it was only one animal screeching. I remembered when Clover encountered a raccoon on the other side of the fence this summer and the sounds it was making, and I told E, "It's most likely a raccoon."

Clearing out the leaves to improve water flow

Today, we decided to go out for a little adventuring in the creek behind our house. We hadn't been for quite some time. I guess we just overdid it this summer, and the Boy was just tired of it. Still, today I talked him into it. We didn't get very far before we found out what happened to the raccoon:

"There's a dead raccoon in the creek!" E exclaimed with a mix of fascination and disgust in his voice. We talked about what could have killed it. "We've seen blue herons in the creek, but I don't think one of them would attack a raccoon," he reasoned.

"No, they're not going to do anything like that, especially at night," I confirmed.

"Perhaps it was a ... " His voice trailed off. He really didn't know what to think. "It's the second one we've found," he recalled, and then remembered what we'd reasoned about that raccoon: "Maybe it was a copperhead! Or maybe a snapping turtle."

"I don't think it would be either of them," I explained. "They're both cold-blooded, and it's cold these days. They'll be tucked away somewhere hibernating."

"But Dad, we're wearing shorts today -- it's not that cold."

Carving

One of the skills the Boy is supposed to be learning as he works toward his Bear badge in cub scouts is whittling. We were supposed to be working in soap this week.

It's really a perfect hobby for the Boy: it requires patience, patience, patience, and we're finding as he gets older, the less patient he's becoming.

Warship

I was reading The Power Worshippers: Inside the Dangerous Rise of Religious Nationalism this evening, a frightening look at some Evangelicals’ attempt (and often more than just an attempt) to inject religion into government; K was working on documents for a listing she’s preparing; L was Facetiming a friend; E was drawing and writing a story about clowns. I realized it was seven already and I hadn’t done much of anything with the kids other than talk to them at dinner. I headed to E’s room and suggested we play with Legos.

“Yes!”

We’ve built a number of things with blocks over the years. A church. A school. A prison. Multiple boats. Countless wheeled vehicles. A bridge. A few houses.

Today, we took the remnants of the bridge, destroyed part of a prison watchtower, and broke apart the remains of some cars and other nonsense to create a battleship. The ultimate battleship. Complete with gigantic booms coming off the side that can smash any vessel that comes too close, a number of guns, fore and aft, that could take out a small armada, and a newly-invented weapon:

The head canon — a forward-leaning Lego man whose head can be launched at will toward any enemy.

Downtown Saturday

Sunday in the Fall

A perfect Sunday.

We had a lovely morning breakfast.

The Boy got a new bike.

A couple of friends came over for a bonfire.

Election 2020

Our first task of the day: voting. We didn’t want to head out and wait in the lines like everyone else in the morning, but would there even be lines? The last election, K was there before seven and waited over an hour.

“We’ll wait until about 10 and then check the lines.”

At ten, the Boy decided we should make a fire, so K went to check on the situation and came back a little over a half an hour later saying she’d voted.

“There’s a line outside,” she said, “and a bit of a line inside, but it looks longer than it is because of social distancing.”

So I went ahead and drove up to the Methodist church that is our polling location and was done within a few minutes.

I voted for Biden, knowing very well that my vote wouldn’t count in the grand scheme of things because South Carolina is solidly Evangelical, which these days means solidly behind Trump. Noah Lugeons said a few months ago that the right and the religious right have become one and the same, and that’s particularly true here in South Carolina. It makes me wonder, though: how many people don’t go out and vote for the Democratic candidate they want in office because they know they live in a solidly red state? Isn’t that some sort of not-so-subtle mental voter disenfranchisement?

Still, my disgust with the Republican party at this point is so complete that I’ve joked I would vote for Satan himself if he were running against the GOP. In the eyes of my neighbors and some friends, I did indeed vote for Satan, but since I don’t believe in him anyway, it’s just a rhetorical flourish.

The afternoon includes a game of Monopoly. I really dislike that game, but I really like spending time with our kids, so I agree to play it. (Isn’t that the case with most adults? Who over the age of fourteen or fifteen really likes this game?)

For the Boy, it can be an up-and-down experience, this game. At the beginning, he’s so very excited about playing. When I agreed to play, he was literally bouncing around the kitchen in joy.

And it’s great fun for everyone for a while. And then we start getting property, and E, with his own little quirky tactical sense, refuses to buy anything other than the utilities and the railroads, so fairly quickly, he’s behind in development. So when he lands on my property and has to pay $650 because I’ve built it up quickly, it creates a breakdown.

And when he lands on free parking, he can hardly stand it. In the end, I surrendered like I always do: just when it’s clear that I’m going to be wiped out if I keep playing, I give all my property and money to the Boy, who is usually quite low on cash as well, and hope for the best. L, though, has good strategic sense, and she quickly dominates the board and the Boy.

The rest of the day is filled with trampoline jumping, a bike ride, and games of Sorry and Candyland. And the election? As far from our thoughts as possible.

Swimming

We've enrolled the Boy in some swimming lessons this autumn despite his protestations that "I can swim already!" It's only about a forty-minute lesson once a week, and we haven't figured out how to get him in the pool during other times. Truth be told, I don't know that we'll have that problem solved by the time his sessions finish: we're already almost halfway through them, and I can't say that we've even done more than mention how nice it would be, in a sort of offhand manner, to get him in the pool for additional practice.

Friday Fire

First Day at 100%

We go to school five days a week now, and this has advantages and disadvantages.

First, I get all my friends back. A and O are my two best friends, and because of Covid, I didn’t have them in class since we went to school in different groups. Today, though, we go five days a week, and we don’t have two groups anymore. We talked about the surprise I’m going to do for their mom. I’m going to take a Dobby mask and try to surprise her and maybe spook her a little bit with a fake knife.

Next, I feel better having a big group of twenty people. I think that everyone in one class should be together and not split up into two groups.

However, I have to wear a mask all day, and this is a disadvantage. A mask is uncomfortable because it rubs on your mouth, and it itches. Even though it’s uncomfortable, I have to do it because covid is bad, and we have to stop the spread. Masks help stop the spread.

I think that it’s very much better than two groups because I get so many people to be with.

Sunday in the Fall