the boy
Tonight is our last night in the States for a little while. Four suitcases and four carry-ons are ready to go. The Boy is going around the house constantly saying, "We're leaving for Poland tomorrow!" K is going around the house saying, "I can't believe we're leaving for Poland tomorrow." I'm going around the house saying, "Does anyone know where the bladder for our backpack is?" And L -- she's been at work, so she hasn't been saying anything this evening.
The Girl got her restricted license today. This means that, once we have her covered on our insurance, she can drive alone during daylight hours.
It's not that big of a change, I guess. She's been driving for six months now. Ah, but it is a big change: she'll soon be doing it alone.
The Boy learned about the joys of putting together furniture.
When I got my current job teaching eighth graders, Nana said to me, "I don't know how I survived your eighth-grade year. I wanted to strangle you every other day." I can't say that I've been as upset and frustrated with teaching eighth graders as Nana might have suggested. Indeed, I've come to love it, and I don't really have any desire to teach any other grade.
My own child, though, was a different story. I began to understand Nana's hyperbole. I haven't written much about the Girl here because it's been a typical period of growth, which means frustration for parents. What are we doing wrong? Why is she pushing us away? What can we do differently? We knew the answers to those questions (Nothing; Because she's thirteen/fourteen; Nothing -- just be there unconditionally), but that didn't make it any easier.
In the last few weeks (or even months), though, since she's started driving, since she went back to work, since she's made it through her first year of high school, it's like she's taken a deep breath and made peace with us and herself.
I knew it was coming: the transformation eighth graders go through is amazing, and I know it continues through ninth grade (until they're sophomores and temporarily revert because they're sophomores and know everything -- or is that just a cliche?), but to experience it has been refreshing. To begin seeing what kind of an adult she will be: a valiant defender of anyone facing injustice, a friend who sometimes lets her love for her friend overshadow reason (not always a good thing, not always a bad thing), self-reflective and self-aware -- to see this change really start to kick in just makes me smile.
Tonight, we finished watching Schindler's List. The reason (other than it's a moving film that everyone should see) is that L and I are planning on visiting Auschwitz while we're in Poland, and I wanted her to have an idea of what the scale of the Holocaust in real, human terms. Tomorrow, we will watch Conspiracy, a film about the Wannsee conference so she can get an idea of the "logic" that drove the Nazis.
That I am comfortable letting her watch such a film is a testament to her maturity.
Aunt D is a national treasure. She is at least a treasure to everyone who knows her. Selfless and kind, she's helped the family more than anyone I know. When her own mother-in-law was ill, she took care of her for several years. When Nana was ill, she came and spent alternate weeks taking care of Nana.
For years she hosted the family Thanksgiving gathering, cooking for the whole family. Of course, everyone brought something, but she cooked enough herself to feed everyone.
She's generous almost to a fault.
She's always buying things for people: she sees something that she thinks someone would like, she buys it and gives it to them.
Now she's taking care of her own husband, Uncle M. He's facing his own health challenges, and he's stubborn: that would be more than a challenge for most, but Aunt D is sly and caring.
That's a combination to be reckoned with.
She always refers to the Girl and the Boy as "my babies."
"How are my babies doing?" she'll ask when we talk on the phone.
"Where are my babies?" she asks when she arrives at our house for a visit.
She's the kind of aunt everyone should be fortunate enough to have.
Some of E's friends came over for the day. They ended up playing Monopoly -- at last, someone to feed the Boy's addiction. I always feel a little guilty not being willing to play that game with him, but I swear we're all so sick of it that we'll be happy if we never play it again. All except for the Boy.
For whatever reason, the Boy has become interested in dice -- as in, the game. As in the gambling game. I'm not sure where this came from. He just came back from a trip to Target with K (or some other store) with a pack of six dice.
He learned how to play by watching a video after he bought the dice.
"How do you even play?" he'd asked.
"I've no idea," I admitted.
So he's learned and been playing betting with Monopoly money.
It's been entertaining watching him celebrate when he wins and get playfully frustrated when he loses. We're glad to see he's not really taking it too seriously -- that might be problematic for all kinds of reasons.
Today, I picked up where K left off in their game and promptly lost all my stash of $500 bills I'd inherited from K. "It's not real betting: why not just go crazy?" I thought.
And then I promptly won them all back. And then all his $100s. And his $50s. And his $20s. In short, all his money. His response: "Well, happy Father's Day!" with a smile.
E's best friend came over for the afternoon today. At first, they did what boys these days do: play video games. However, we have no gaming console in our house at all. No Xbox, no Play Station, no Nintendo Switch. In fact, I only know those things exist because I hear students and teachers talking about them at school. And of course, E brings them up occasionally.
And it's a little surprising, to be honest, how many adults with no children or with grown children still invest time and money into gaming systems. To each his own, I suppose, but I always thought there was a time when people outgrew video games.
Not having a gaming system has several advantages, not the least of which is the simple fact that since we don't buy games for our PC either, E's gaming options are severely curtailed. Which means he and his friend grow tired of them eventually and head outside to find other things to do.
Like catching minnows in the creek behind our house.
As for the Girl today, she was out of the house for most of the day: physical therapy, volleyball strength training, and driving instruction took almost all her day.
First, there's this -- always this. We're closing in on the two-weeks-to-go mark.
Oh, and this
Today was the final day of school for me. The kids didn't have school, but teachers have to go in for at least one more day to get things squared away for the summer: materials returned, documents completed, papers signed, report cards mailed. During my first year at Hughes, I was overwhelmed with the amount of stuff we had to do. Since then, teachers' "To Do" list has been drastically simplified. One whole task, which often took hours, has been assigned to others. I use the passive voice there because, quite honestly, I don't know who made that change, but I am grateful nonetheless.
Getting this last day out of the way is such a relief because I reach a point where I can finally stop thinking about school for a while -- I'm not even planning on doing any prep work this summer. For one thing, I have too much to do this summer:
Then there's all the travel:
Still, this is a fairly short list for the summer, but this is all in the next three weeks, for in just 23 days, we'll be heading to Poland as a family of four for the first time since 2017. Five years. Five years. It's the longest period of time I've not visited Poland since I first went in 1996. K and E went last summer; L went on her own in the summer of 2019. (Or was it 2018?) But it's been five long years since we all went.
That means L was E's age the last time we were there. And L has gone from being a pre-teen to an almost-licensed (driver-permitted?) employed teen with all that entails.
The Boy has one from a little five-year-old thrilled with everything new to an increasingly cynical (but still fascinated by many things) ten-year-old.
We'll probably take the same walk we always do on the day we arrive, and we'll definitely enjoy Babcia's rosรณล the day we arrive, but everything will be just a little different. And that's probably good.