fun in threes, sometimes fours
the boy
Both the kids had tournaments this weekend. The Girl's tournament was outside Atlanta, and it was her first time in competitive sand volleyball.
"How'd it go?" I asked.
"I got sand in my mouth," was the first impression.
The Boy's tournament was local. They made it to the semifinals then lost.
"We should have won" was the sentiment. How to get him to accept "win some, lose some" and still have the fire in the belly?
I was out Friday so I could run all the errands and such K would normally run so she could try to rest some and get well. The kids at school took to heart the cliche about cats being away, but they did so in such a way as exceptionally clever kids with good senses of humor would do:
While at the book fair, they bought me a poster of a Korean boyband and hung it in my room. When I came back Friday, I asked them who was responsible. They admitted it with giggles immediately. “I’ll keep it up under one condition,” I said. “You all have to sign it.”
I love the fact that
It’s a silly, silly gesture, but a touching one nonetheless.
In the evening, when K, E, and I were walking to CVS to pick up a prescription (and L was at sand volleyball practice), it appeared that the Boy had had a bike wreck. He was some distance away, so it wasn’t really clear what was going on. But the bike was clearly down, and there was little to no movement.
I began jogging down the hill toward him. I wasn’t terribly worried because there were no sounds of wailing or pain. But there was no movement.
“I was just waiting for you guys,” he explained with complete nonchalance.
It rained all day yesterday, and that was probably for the best: we all stayed home and took care of K, who has been sick for several days now. Today, though, it was finally clear and sunny, so we went for a little walk while K took a nap.
We were likely trespassing, but since there's no sign posted and no one has lived on the property in ages...
And these days, what I get when I tell the kids, "Come here -- I want to take a picture" produces visual representations of the nature of their relationship.
We’re nearing the end-of-year testing that will measure students against a static, inflexible standard. Growth doesn’t matter as much as a set level of proficiency. It’s always been a frustration to me that the American education system fixates on proficiency instead of growth. If a student improves his reading level by three grades in one year but still is performing below the eighth-grade level, that is somehow counted as a failure when it’s anything but.
One of the hallmarks of the end of the year is the scramble we’re all making to cover last-minute items. For example, I’d neglected the active/passive distinction, so I’m hurriedly going over it with students, along with verb mood.
“Why are we learning this?” one might ask.
“Because it’s on the test,” is the tempting answer.
In the evening, soccer practice. E made the winning shot on a game the kids were playing and his teammates mob him. It’s a good way to end the day.
I sometimes feel guilty when E asks to spend some time with me, and all I end up doing is sitting and directing him. Today, for example, he wanted to work on a little project he devised some time ago. He’s got it in his head that he can dig a pool in our backyard like he has seen done on YouTube by those Filipinos who carve magnificent structures in the hard clay of their country. He settled on merely making it deep enough to soak one’s feet, and he decided that he wanted to line the sides and bottom with bamboo.
Yesterday in the time I had between coming home from school and heading back to school to photograph the girls’ soccer game, the boys’ soccer game, and the boys’ baseball game, almost all simultaneously, we went out to the woods behind our house cut down one cane of bamboo and brought it back.
Today, he wanted to split it down the middle. His first idea was to partially bury it in order to stabilize it and then use the saws-all to cut it in half. Knowing that wouldn’t work, I suggested that we use clamps to clamp it to something to stabilize it, and he readily agreed to that. Yet everything we tried initially failed. I say everything “we tried,” but the truth of the matter is he did all the work and I simply sat and directed him.
And this is where my dilemma comes in. I was giving him suggestions, photographing him occasionally as he worked. I could’ve just as easily worked with him. Apparently, I saw more value in him having a little practice following instructions and working things out for himself. Or was this just me making excuses for my laziness?
