the boy
The Battle
With K's and the kids' departure to Poland nearing, we're spending as much time as possible at the pool. With L's swimming lessons -- and we were informed that it's time for her to move to the advanced group next time -- that meant that she was hitting the pool twice a day some days. And yet in spite of all this, getting out is the toughest part.
For the Girl, it's simple: she just doesn't want to get it. It's rare that she's the one who initiates the "when are we leaving" conversation. Usually, she seems willing to stay and stay and stay. And that translates to excessive lingering in the pool.
For the Boy, it's a whole other story: the towel is the challenge.
Up and Down
Trampolines, for the briefest of moments, allow you to break an otherwise unbreakable law, unbreakable because it's a physical not prescriptive cultural law: gravity. We go higher than we otherwise would be able, we seemingly float at our apogee for a half-moment longer, and the effects on our legs of all our weight crashing down are substantially diminished. Which is a long way of trying to explain the obvious: it's simply fun.
And tempting: as the Girl hurls her feet over her head, trying, again and again, to do a full front flip and land on her feet, I think back to a time ten years ago when, visiting a friend, I bounced about on his kids' trampoline and casually landed a forward flip. Nothing to it, really. Now, I jump, jump, jump, thinking of what my body needs to do to toss my feet over my own head, and while I know all the components of the action, my body says, "Well, maybe it's not so simple..."
Trampoline
We recently acquired a trampoline: a Polish family’s sons, now in college and high school, no longer jump on it. “And we thought you might like it,” they said.
Apparently we do!
A Week of Pictures
With all the work I've been doing on this site (all of which is behind the scenes: an integration of all the various sites I'm responsible for into one single WordPress installation for ease of maintenance), I haven't had time to work on the site. And I've gotten behind with pictures and stories, but especially the former.
Coasting
More bike riding with some learning: the Boy got a little more comfortable coasting while the Girl learned how to mount her bike while going uphill.
Bubbles
The Boy wakes up just when K and L both fall asleep in the afternoon for a nap. He's cranky, fussy, and high maintenance. What to do? Take him down to our swing/hammock area and blow bubbles. And when everyone wakes back up, what else are we doing to do but show them our tricks: I create the bubbles; he chases them down and destroys them.
It's another one of those moments when I marvel at the simplicity of what it takes to entertain a three-year-old. He can do the same thing over and over continuously, like most all kids his age. "I'm bored" has become an occasional refrain we hear from the Girl; never do we hear it from the Boy, unless he's just copying her. The Boy can simply do the same thing over and over and over and over once he's decided it's entertaining, and what he finds entertaining can be the most simplistic action. Look at what it takes to entertain adults: vast stadiums with grown men (almost always men) being paid multi-million dollar contracts to play a sport so everyone else can vicariously participate, when all they need, all they really need, is a bottle of bubbles.
Third Party
The gifts came on his actual birthday, last Thursday. A party can wait, but gifts? That's just cruel.
Wednesday of last week we took the Boy to Toys R Us to pick out some presents, and we bought him a little something that he didn't ask for but which we knew he would love. He's really outgrown his four-wheel vehicle (rover? quadcycle?), and his bike is still too heavy for him really to do much with. A glider was the obvious bridge.
So first thing Thursday morning, we put it together. It was the first time in over a week that I'd sat on the floor, and I wondered what it might be like to try to get back up, what with new, thick scar tissue, tired muscles, irritated everything. "Push it as much as you can as soon as you can," the surgeon had said, and that day, plopping down in the floor and getting back up seemed like quite a bit of pushing. Indeed, quite enough.
The Boy though was just getting started. He began with tentative walking in the kitchen/dining area. K and I showed him how to sit in the seat so that he balanced his weight over his arms and his backside, and within a couple of days, he was cruising in the house quite quickly.
Today then was just icing on the cliche. No icing on the cake, though: a bit of thick, fresh whipped cream. And some construction equipment moving about the crushed Oreos that plague every building site.
"I want a digger cake," E has been saying for some time as we've talked about his birthday party. We'd seen it via social media and knew he'd love it. K showed him a picture and it was instant mini-obsession. So the Girl and I laid out a piece of foil the same size as the cake, did some planning and positioning, then went to work creating a decorating masterpiece to top K's amazing cake.
The party itself was a small affair: just the grandparents and the Boy's best friend, N, who lives a couple of houses up from us and has become a regular visitor. We'd managed to keep the cake out of view until just before the moment of ceremonious candle extinguishing, and the result was predictable but sweet: some squealing, some laughing, and an immediate desire to play with the diggers on the cake.
After cake, we all headed outside, where E tried his new coaster on a variety of surfaces, deciding that the best was grass.
In the end, though, with a near fall, he decided that as amazing as the coaster might be, four weeks are much more secure feeling. After all, he's been riding this thing for over two years now: it's second nature to him.
"If you keep practicing," we all told him, "soon, you'll be able to ride the two-wheeler as fast and as well as your four-wheeler" we explained. E thought about it, then said simply, "Nah."
Back to Normal
What is normal in a house with kids? In the late spring, it's hard to determine what might be "normal." School, winding down, is in flux. The yard is in constant need of attention, with a thousand and one things calling out -- berry bushes need covering, hedges need trimming, tomatoes need staking, peas need something to climb on.
So what is "normal"?
Ironically, with a now-three-year-old, it's a first around every corner. A first time bouncing the ball repeatedly and catching it. Not a first time watching it roll down the hill. But a first time walking down alone, with Tata standing watch at the edge of the driveway.
And it's a day of not-firsts leading to firsts. The Girl cleaning her room, alone in the house, semi-fine with it, semi-fussing about it as everyone else works outside.
"You'll hear everyone outside from the window," I reassured. Well, not everyone. I was back working on the car -- another "normal" when you own a Volkswagen is that there's always something going wrong -- but everyone else was in the front yard. Eventually the fussing subsided, the room got cleaned, quite well, and the Girl joined us. Them.
Afternoon: washing the cars. The Girl didn't want to "help" until she found out she could get wet. And so she came bounding out of the house in her old swimsuit and helped wash the car. Sort of. A bit more playing.
Well, total playing. I wanted to do it all myself because my normal hasn't been so normal until recently. But that's normal.
The Boy joined us. Again, normal. He squealed -- literally -- every single time he got a shot of water.
"Daddy, squirt me again!"
Finally, normal again.
Catching Up
The last few weeks have been bad for our scrapbook. Surgery, work load, and general apathy have all combined to shut things down creatively speaking. Photos have remained on the camera for days, weeks even. Day after day has passed without writing a single word. And so there's a backlog that creates an odd mosaic of the last couple of weeks.
