matching tracksuits

We thought about going to the beach today. None of us really wanted to -- well, none of us who would have been doing the driving and paying. We ended up going to the park for some bike riding:

And then to McDonald's for shakes and a televised softball game:

We all felt thoroughly red, white, and blue.

When I was around six, I was obsessed with Star Wars (especially the action figures), and my father was obsessed with running. I shared my obsession with him (naturally), and he came up with a way to join our interests: incentivized running. For every mile, as memory serves, that I ran, I got a new Star Wars figure. Most often, I managed to make a lap around the quarter-mile track before heading to the long-jump pit to play in the sand. It took me a long time to get a figure. (Then I discovered that holding my father's hand as I ran made all the pain disappear: I got figures more quickly soon after).

The Girl is starting even earlier than I, through her own choice. L's school has established a running club. For the children L's age, this means stretching out and running some laps around the parking lot every Thursday. At first, she wasn't keen on the idea. Then, as she saw her friends heading out every Thursday, she became curious. Finally, she asked, "Mommy, can I join the running club?"

Today, we had our first run. It was probably less than a quarter of a mile, but for three-, four-, and five-year-olds (and the occasional older child), it was quite something.

It was not entirely surprising that said older children -- especially the boys -- took off at full speed.

The rest, accompanied by parents, took a more leisurely approach.

"Way to pace yourselves!" I called out as they passed.

I was particularly proud to see the Girl's fine running form: relaxed, pumping the arms, taking good, long strides. She was running with a purpose: not to win any race (indeed, the adults constantly urged the kids not to think of it as a race but as a test of endurance), but merely to finish strong.

And she did, with a brief walking break.

Afterward, the celebration began, as did the rain. Rather than decrease excitement, however, the rain was merely an added bonus: what three-year-old doesn't love stomping in puddles?

And more.

Toward the end, the water balloons appeared, and the morning's DJ was a favored target -- not without some encouragement from the DJ himself.

So many enjoyable things require so little effort or money. Thinking of what to do this afternoon, K suggested we go strawberry picking. The Girl was soon excited, then disappointed when it began raining, then thrilled when it stopped.

"Can we go? Can we go?"

Half an hour later, L had her first fruit.

Within less than fifteen minutes, we had two buckets of berries.

We probably would have filled the buckets even sooner if we weren't snacking so frequently. L used the 1-2 method: pick one, eat two.

It is a favored method...

We've measured the Girl with her beds all her life.

From the strange, transparent bassinet of the hospital to her latest upgrade, L's bed has served as a constant against which to measure her growth.

For most of her life, she's had the same crib, though. In the early days, the mattress was high: she couldn't move about, so there was no danger, and it put her within easy reach. She soon outgrew it, though: as soon as she began rolling around and pulling herself up, we had to lower the springs that suspended the mattress.

But it seemed like she was able to crawl out of it almost instantly. We began thinking about changing it to a day bed, but we never quite made it. Instead, we jumped straight to the full.

"You'll have a new bed when you get home," K told the Girl as she took her to Nana and Papa's house today. We were eager to see her reaction: would she be frightened (L doesn't like changes) or thrilled?

The response:

squeals and shrieks.

The next test: would she like the bedding selections? After all, there was not a single princess to be seen.

But there were flowers -- almost as good.

There was little left to do but practice snoring in the big bed.

When we got our tax return, K and I decided to invest a small amount into a piano. We considered a Steinway Concert Grand, but at close to a thousand pounds, we thought the floor might not agree. We settled for a digital, and the three of us have been playing away.

I've managed to pick up where I left off twenty-some years ago: the second movement to Beethoven's Pathetique sonata.

I've been looking for different versions on YouTube.

Gould, in typical Gouldian fashion, turns it into something up-tempo. "Look how fast I can play this!"

The result is not adagio cantabile; it's a march.

Daniel Barenboim gives a very thoughtful performance, but he leans a little too much on the sustain pedal.

For L's part, she's content just to bang. For now. We hope...