the boy
Cuddle
Dual-Play
It’s fantastic when a single toy entertains both.
Wigilia 2014
Our last Christmas in Poland was ten years ago. I could probably dig through some pictures and find shots from that day. There would be a lot that’s the same. K of course would be there, as would the compote, fish dish and some sort of soup — likely the same soup we served this evening.
There would have been similar pictures of preparation: of ironing, of setting the table, of getting kids ready.
There would possibly have been pictures of someone — K’s father? her mother? — reading the gospel passage about the nativity before dinner.
There would have been pictures of a grandchild (K’s nephew W) cuddling with babcia.
The changes, of course, would be in the people involved. Some present this evening would be absent from pictures of our last wigilia in Poland; some present then are absent from pictures of this evening. Some of the pictures could be recreated with older versions of the photo’s subjects while others can’t occur again in this world.
Certainly that is the draw of traditions: while the world is changing around us, while we ourselves are changing, there are a few things that remain constant, a few things we can count on.
There’s probably some psychological term for this need we have to organize our lives around traditions. Perhaps more than one because it seems that’s what obsessive-compulsive disorder is: taking “traditions” to the extreme. Maybe that’s what people mean when they say we’re all a little OCD in our own special ways.
Wigilia could certainly provide plenty of material for someone excessively obsessed with order as he sees it to get bent out of shape about. K and I used to be a little like that. Perhaps K more, since she did almost all the work and always had this image in her head of what it was all supposed to be like, sort of a Platonic form of the perfect wigilia dinner.
There was a time when, perhaps, our lack of authentic opłatki (how did that happen?!) might have been more emotionally problematic for one of us, or both. Perhaps, or maybe not. It’s hard to tell looking back. But yesterday, looking in the cookie and cracker section of the local grocery story, I found it amusing that I was looking for a substitute for something I could have easily found ten years ago at any number of stores.
Tonight, though, it wasn’t about the food, or the opłatki, or the compote, or the perfectly ironed table cloth, or the piles of baked goods, or even the gifts.
Tonight, it was about the little flashes of joy that the children experienced. L was thrilled, as always, with barszcz. (Not entirely — she prefers the Ukranian variety, made without the fermented beets that give wigilia barszcz its slight kick) The Boy was overjoyed that Santa had brought, as E had expressed countless times, a police car for him.
And everyone was happy about the deserts — that’s a tradition worth being OCD about.
Previous Years
https://matchingtracksuits.com/2010/12/25/wigilia-2010/
The Actual Party
The Girl turned eight last week. Of course we had a party for her, but Nana and Papa, the Boy, Mama, and Tata -- well, it's an alright party, but most of the responsibility for screaming and hyperactivity falls on the head of the birthday girl herself. It's a big responsibility, and L made a valiant effort, with some help from the Boy, to roust everyone out of their chairs, but mainly it was the Girl's work.
What she needed was, say, three other girls, roughly her age, a load of sugar, some presents, and a sleepover party.
It is only then that the full silliness can blossom, for adults don't really appreciate a little girl's efforts to blow out her candles with a fully-open mouth like kids would.
Afterward, it was time to organize the gifts. Since the Girl got her ears pierced, all the presents had a common theme, and one cannot just toss dozens of earrings together into a chaotic pile.
Once the sun went down, though, we had only one option: the best lights in town, according to some. Over 350,000 lights, three months to set up, three more to take down -- an impressive show.
The adults wandered about, wondering about the motive behind the lights, which surely cost thousands of dollars a year; the kids wandered about, wondering about the free hot chocolate.
Out of the Silence
After more or less two years or so of daily-posting (nearly daily -- fell off these last few months, but the 20+ before that make up for the slack), it was time for a beak. A week without is not the same as a week without writing: I've returned to my journal, finding the privacy freeing. I can harp about kids in my class by name; I can write put details about our home adventures that would never make it here. But of course that doesn't mean that the pictures haven't accumulated, that the list of things to include in our online scrapbook hasn't been filling up mental list after mental list.
Without the daily writing after examining the pictures snapped through the afternoon, though the evening, the lists add up to nothing: I can't remember the thoughts this situation prompted, the connections with this or that.
Writing daily for something available to more eyes than my own turns every instant into a potential paragraph, and I think I'd just had enough of that for a while.
And so last Sunday when we went to Nana's and Papa's to help decorate their tree, it was relaxing just to be, not to think about what I might write about this or that.
I was still a shutterfly, though. When I asked L if she'd like to have our older DSLR when she geets a little bigger, she replied tellingly: "No, Daddy, I'm not going to be a shutter bug like you."
On the one hand, I see that as highly likely. She's too hyper, too busy, too up to take the time to take photo after photo.
But on the other hand, she is terribly creative, always excited about what's she's doing in art class or looking to create something new at home. Perhaps the idea of making photo collages might -- well, we'll see.
The rest of the week went by in a fairly typical fashion: hectic mornings, long days at school that drag because we're all --Â all -- looking to the coming Christmas break with such longing that it's difficult for anyone to focus, evenings that slip by before we know it.
But with K home now, the overall pace of life seems to have slowed just enough for everyone to catch their breaths before the chaos of the holiday season turns it all upside down again.
December is just a rush, no matter who's where. With a birthday, Christmas concerts, a major holiday, the near-end of a semester, parties, and surprise drop-ins from Santa, it's just a never-ending sprint from the first to the twenty-fifth.
But as in most families, it's become something like a yardstick to measure the growth of the year. The Boy, for example, has begun looking beneath the surface of things, to question what he sees. When Mr. F and Mrs. P come over as they do every year dressed as the Clauses, there's no fooling the Boy. He recognizes the voice, the face, and declares, "That's Mr. F!"
But it's not all surprises and new adventures. Every weekday night still winds down similarly, with someone up in the Boy's room as he plays with this or that, playing with him, doing one's own thing, shifting between the two.
One's on thing: read, "Take pictures."
Soon the Boy will start complaining about the shutterflies in the house, but for now, he's able mostly to ignore it if it has nothing to do with what he's playing at the moment.
Yet with it Advent, there are a few differences during the week. Ladders come out, lights go up,
carols play on repeat.
Forwarding Address
We're a 3/4 Polish family, and so we have to be a little difficult and do things differently. Like celebrate Saint Nicholas's day, which is on the sixth of December. Which means our kids get two Christmases. Which means the Girl, with her mid-month birthday, get three gift days. Which makes the other kids at school jealous. Hence the difficulty.
L has become more of a critical thinker regarding the whole process, though. She no longer blindly accepts the seeming omnipotence and omniscience of Santa. Clearly, there are things he might not know. Like the fact that she has changed rooms since last year. Or that her bed is different now, more narrow, with less room for presents. (Mikołaj doesn't have a Christmas tree yet to put presents under, so I guess he improvises.)
"I'm sure he can figure it out," K explained last night, calming L's worries. But later in the night, I suggested that we that perhaps we ought to put L's gift in the Boy's room, just to see if she figured out what happened. It was when K and I were downstairs, K wrapping newly-arrived presents and I cleaning up what will certainly be the only artifact of humanity a hundred thousand years from now -- dried Play-doh. And doing something likely less useful. Like thinking of further Christmas jokes to play on our children.
Build and Destroy
She built patiently, planning each move, checking, pulling apart, rebuilding. She had a vision — at least an evolving one — and she worked to fulfill it. In her typical fashion, she took a break from building to organize all available components, presumably because she was tired of the try-and-search method. She made the structure as symmetrical as the available components would allow.
And it was another example of what amazes me about our daughter: she can be so incredibly hyper that you’d think she couldn’t focus on anything for more than two seconds. Yet she brings home perfect grades from school, can sit and read for hours, loves to lose herself in painting, and has developed a recent fascination with building (more Legos are high on her Christmas wish list).
The Boy, on the other hand, had only one thing in mind: knocking it all down. In fact, he joyfully did just that to the Girl’s first attempt, causing much consternation on her part (read: a minor breakdown) and much laughter on his part, until, the sensitive soul that he is, he realized that he’d hurt L.
Yet he did it again. It’s what being two is all about. But it cost him: his newest car went into time out, causing him much consternation (read: complete breakdown).
Finally, he got the car back, L had the structure rebuilt, and after a quick photo session — that the Girl herself requested — it was time.
Before E came alone, we warned L that, although she would certainly love him to death, there would be times that little brother would be positively infuriating. “You’ll make something,” we explained as an example, “and he’ll come along and destroy it.” Occasionally, though, it’s just what they both want.
Rainy Sunday
It's supposed to rain all day today, and it doesn't disappoint: from the morning, we know that there'll be no scooters, no jumping rope, no swinging.
It's just a day to stay inside, perhaps stay in our PJs for as long as possible.
We watch cartoons, make wish lists for Santa,
drink lots of tea and coffee,
and I grade a mountain of papers before tomorrow's mid-term grading deadline.
And so now it's almost eleven, and the only thing I really want to do is sleep.
Autumn Portraits
This time of year, we always get everyone together for a full family portrait. We go to a park or just pile up some leaves and get a few shots of the four of us, the six of us, the two of them. This year, with a carpet of yellow in the backyard, there was only one option.
First, the Girl and I went out for some test shots while the Boy took his nap. The light was just right, but Nana and Papa weren't due for another two hours, so I went in and arranged an earlier arrival.
In fact, though, the light had been absolutely sublime in the morning.
But who wants to head out at eight in the morning in sub-freezing weather for portraits?
But light is light: unless you're shooting in the middle of the day without any shade, a little creativity can produce good results no matter the angle of the light.
Besides, there are always props and post-processing. On second thought, perhaps the clothes are a bit off. Oh well.
It's the idea that counts in art, isn't it?
