fun in threes, sometimes fours
the boy
A little bit of tickling: the Girl loves to be tickled (within reason, for she is very ticklish), but she’s only recently learned the difference between tickling and gouging. As far as the ticklishness goes, though, she clearly gets it from her mother.
A little bit of chess: the Girl is learning how to play, and the Boy is fascinated with the pieces.
And a little growing: another moment where we can see just a glimpse of what L might look like in five or so years.
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The first time L saw fireworks, she was terrified. At least that’s what K told her as we were walking down Main Street this evening on our way to watch Greenville’s surprisingly modest fireworks display. It’s been a while since we’ve seen fireworks. For a while, the Girl was terrified of them. Then the Boy came along, and it was just not a good idea, we thought (though I saw some awfully small babies out tonight). And one year, K was sick. Or perhaps we were in Poland. Or maybe all three.
Tonight, though, we were determined to head downtown to watch the fireworks. We made it with time to spare, found a surprisingly quiet spot to sit and wait, and did just that.
The Boy sat calmly through the short show, the Girl was thrilled, and I was just happy we got in and out of such a crowd so relatively easily.
The Girl has recently become obsessed with knock-knock jokes. Her favorite:
Knock knock.
Who’s there?
Interrupting pirate.
Interrup–
Argh! I interrupted you!
Amusing the first time.
She tried to tell the banana one — you know:
Banana.
Banana who?
Knock knock.
Ad nauseum until the end:
Orange.
Orange who?
Orange you glad I didn’t say “banana” again?.
In my naivete, I corrected her telling, and now it’s an endless cycle of those two jokes.
An aside: the Boy has grown to love — and I mean adore — peanut butter spread on banana slices.
Another aside: the Boy doesn’t say “and.” It’s rather like the name “Anna.”
The other day, on the way somewhere, the Boy tries his first joke from the back of the van:
Knock knock.
Who’s there?
Banana.
Banana who?
Anna peanut butter!
The kid has a future in comedy, I tell you.
Go round and round.
The driver of the car says, “Sing a little more quietly, please.”
The Boy in the back says, “Hi there, Tata!”
The kids in the car listen to Frozen together.
Well, not quite metrically accurate, but you could probably make it fit.
It’s been going on for almost a week now, this bi-yearly deck project. It’s taken a bit longer each time around, and while I try to tell myself that this is because of unforeseen rain, lack of materials, or something similar, I suspect that the speed with which I do it contributes. The cleaning and staining of the the deck is something that works best during hot, clear days, and these days, I work about forty minutes to an hour, and I feel compelled to go back inside and cool off.
Getting a helper today was really an unexpected treat. First, there’s the help. Sure, there was the learning curve. And yes, yes, I did have to go back and correct some runs — it’s the poor girl’s first time, for heaven’s sake. What do you expect?
But for a beginner, she certainly showed she was a quick student with a good eye for detail.
The second reason, of course, is the simple fact of who my helper was: to have your daughter be willing to help without any cajoling or bribery is a precious thing. Okay, there was a reward, but that was after the fact, after the agreement to help, after the work was done, but she didn’t know about it when she agreed to help out.
The proof: disappointment when I told her she was done.
“Well, can I paint this?” she asked. “What about that?” I finally found some work for her, but not enough to fill the time I had left rolling stain onto the floor, so she just sat and chatted with me.
The Boy loves to help as well. His independent streak is a bit more developed than his skills are, and he often insists, in Polish, that he do something alone (“Sam!” he says), but that desire is there, and we can easily channel it.
Some days it’s as easy as channeling water; other days, not so much. But that’s what being two is all about.
Of our two, the Boy is always the first to wake up; indeed he’s often the first of the four of us. But these summer days, there’s a definite order: K, E, I, and then L. And it’s E that wakes up L. He toddles down the hallway, calling, “L, get up!” He climbs up on her bed, rolls around a bit, and then proclaims, “Time to get up!”
By this time, I’ve walked into the room, and E, worried that L is still asleep, suggests a more direct method of waking the Girl.
“Jump on L?” he asks, head cocked, as if he were simply asking if I would like him to bring a dirty plate from the table for washing.
“No, no, don’t jump on sissy.”
He turns to the window.
And by the way, the pickles turned out perfectly.
With one child, it was easier to make sure that we spread our time evenly. L had a monopoly. We played games with her, talked to her, cuddled with her. With her and only her.
When E came along, we warned her that things would change, that she’d have to share: time, attention, resources. Not love. Somehow that spread effortlessly, but the signs of love, the signs of love for a seven-year-old, anyway.
But with the Boy deep in his afternoon nap on a Wednesday afternoon, it’s time for a bit of that old monopoly.
The Boy is fearless on his four-wheel scoot-along (what the heck is that thing?). He comes barreling down our driveway at dizzying speeds, velocities that can stop a parent’s heart, if only briefly until he begins braking by dragging his shoes.
The Girl roars down the driveway even faster on her scooter, but that’s less worrisome: she’s seven, after all. More coordination, more understanding of the risks (though that only seems theoretical at times).
This evening we decided to take them both to a local favorite park for a little workout of these skills.
The Boy, though, had other interests.
Still, we managed to get them both together for just a moment for a picture from the newest observation deck.
And then the Boy showed just how sweet he can be.
