the girl
Sick at Home, Tired at Rehearsal
The Boy, in one form or another, stays sick lately. Or so it seems. Today was my turn to watch him, to take him to the doctor, to help him with his newly-prescribed breathing treatment. We started the morning playing with cars on the sofa. It ended quickly.
That was the morning. Afternoon and evening were spent in an auditorium as the Girl prepared for her two (count them: two) dance recitals coming up, jazz and ballet. I took my little laptop along with the intention of returning to a recent writing idea that seems promising but got off to a wrong-footed start that I only really realized how wrong-footed 25,000 words into it. While writing, though, two random thoughts:
Random Thought One
The girls running across the stage, somewhat stumbling occasionally, reveal the irony of grace: in learning to be graceful, we're often anything but. We watch a professional company's performance of the Nutcracker, and the dancers seem positively to float across the stage. The lifts look more like the man his keeping the ballerina from soaring of into space rather than supporting her. These little girls look more like kids in the playground playing cowboys and Indians, galloping about like mad, than like ballerinas–when judged against that standard of near-perfection that professionals seem to achieve. But grace and elegance comes in many forms and is in itself somewhat relative. After seeing how spastic L can be, in the completely natural, seven-year-old way, it's an act of supreme grace just for her to tiptoe onto the stage, hands on her hips, and slide gently into first position.
Random Thought Two
I once made the analogy with a professor that for me, faith was like watching people dance from a sound-proof chamber. “I see the unity, the ritual, the sequence, but not hearing the music myself, I only suspect what is choreographing it all.” Dr. R said that was a very positive view, and perhaps he thought then what it took me almost twenty years to figure out for myself: my professed atheism might give way to something more musical.
During the last few months, I've experienced the opposite: while sitting in the Greenville Ballet and Jazz waiting room as L took her weekly lesson on Monday afternoons, I heard the same song over and over. A few moments here, then stop; a few more snippets of the song, then silence again. Muffed voices as the instructor presumably corrected this or that dancer, perhaps the group as a whole. I had no idea what the whole might look like. While waiting for L's group's performance, it finally all came together: an older group of girls, probably just a bit older than my students.
Back home, I check on the song, apparently a band called Capital Cities:
The Girl got a little snack while the Boy got a final breathing treatment.
Busy, random, odd day.
Monday Afternoon
We take the Girl to jazz dance and return to play with the Boy's new toys.
Pre-Party Saturday
Tomorrow is the Boy's birthday party. His actual birthday isn't until Wednesday, but who really throws a birthday party on Wednesday when we can do a double-duty birthday/Mother's-Day party on the preceding Sunday?
The upshot of this plan was simple: K kicked everyone out of the house in the early afternoon to work on the cake. It was one of those moments really to make me realize just how ineffably wonderful K is: how many would make a Black Forest cake as opposed to simply buying a cake at this or that bakery? In the end, it's not important how many would bake versus buy, it only matters that E and K are lucky enough to have a mother who bakes.
So the Boy and I headed to a park while the Girl went to a neighborhood friend who recently got a puppy. Everyone was happy. K had a quiet house in which to bake and clean; E had a playground to overwhelm him; the Girl got to play with both a friend and a puppy.
We all returned afterward for cake decoration, which doesn't go quite as planned, and fresh fruit with whipped cream -- as in heavy whipping cream that's been whipped -- and some last-minute playing in the yard.
The whole time, the Boy was thrilled.
"Who has 'happy birthday' tomorrow?" we all asked in turn.
The Boy points to himself and shouts, squeals, or barks, "Happy birthday!"
After School
The Boy goes for his farm set.
The Girl plays with her kitten.
On the Bed, on the Couch
Spring Planting
Another unbelievably sunny morning. Perfect for what we'd planned for the day: spring planting, which the weather and our schedule has put off for two weeks.
First task: purchases. We drove across town to our favorite nursery to pick up veggies and flowers, but the Boy decided that he must -- simply must -- run like a maniac.
"E, if you don't stay with me," I explained, wondering how much he understands. At what point can a child understand cause and effect? Certainly not his age, but we must begin at some point. "If you don't stay with me, we'll go to the car."
He ran off; we headed to the car.
The Boy spent the rest of the visit fussing in his car seat; I spent the rest of the visit listening to the Magliozzi brothers on Car Talk with accompanying screams, cries, and general tantrum-related noises from the back seat.
In the meantime, the Girl picked out flowers with K, always drawn to the most expensive flowers: six, seven bucks for one. In the end, K bought her one expensive flower -- a lovely blue and white blossom that is completely unknown to me and will be for all time, as inept with flowers as I am -- and several less expensive but equally lovely varieties.
The rest of the day was a furry of preparing the raised beds (which took most of the rest of the morning), and planting, planting, planting. Then came the grilling, grilling, grilling. And more time with the grandparents.
And finally, after the bathing, bathing, bathing, some relaxing for K and me.We finished up a Coen brothers' film (Inside Llewyn Davis -- how can a protagonist be so utterly unlikable?) and then just sat on the couch, TV off, the sounds of the evening pulling us to bed, though for me, not so directly.
A good day.
Science Test
Story Time!
The Girl had an idea: record herself reading a story. Unfortunately, her little Leap Frog system wasn’t the highest quality, and she had no way to support the camera while she filmed.
Tata, of course, saved the day.
Spring Break 2014, Day 1
The day started in L's room. The Boy loves being with his big sister, and she's matured to the point that we know she's not going to do anything crazy -- too crazy -- with the Boy, so I left them upstairs to their own devices while I finished some grading, but the laughter and sounds of an impending mess drew me up the stairs.
Of course the kitten had her own entertainment. The Girl talked the family into a cat tower: that term doesn't do it any justice at all. What we have, in fact, is a sort of feline Burj Khalifa. But she likes it, and the Girl likes that fact, and today, they were both thoroughly entertained,
though for different reasons.
We ended the morning, the Boy down for his nap, with the Girl recording a story. For whom? For you, of course.
But I never took the time today to transfer it from camera, so perhaps tomorrow?