Tuesday Play
the girl
Saturday Ritual
Humans love rituals, and we're no exception. You could just about tell the time of day on an average Saturday by what we're doing. The first activity naturally is one that can't be photographed: sleeping past six in the morning. Since K has become a stay-at-home mother, we don't have as frantic weekday mornings as we used to, but they're still weekday mornings, with all the unavoidable stress included, just lessened. Lunches to make, hair to brush, mouths to feed. But Saturday mornings, the only alarm clock is the Boy, which can sometimes sleep mercifully until almost eight sometimes.
Babcia always follows sleep. Put the coffee on, get the kids eating, then call Babcia on Skype. In the past, that involved the big computer. Then the laptop. Now we even sometimes use the little seven-inch Nexus, which means E can eat breakfast and show Babcia his new toys simultaneously. Yet within that little slice of Saturday we have mini-rituals, like standing with E at the refrigerator as he decides which yogurt he wants for breakfast.
Then there's play. The Boy, still thrilled with his new toys, plays with Mater and Lightning McQueen on a daily basis, and Saturdays are no different. Even in his play, though, his polite personality shines: his toys always ask "please" of each other and respond with "thank you" and "you're welcome." The Boy hasn't yet figured out how to do Mater's southern accent, but give him time.
Mid-morning brings Polish lessons. Babcia has sent the Boy some coloring books, so he joins in the Polish lessons as well. He's much more enthusiastic, but that probably has a lot to do with the difficult of his lessons compared to the Girl's. She's learning to read in Polish, and that's a struggle for her. It's not so much that the reading is difficult. She's an excellent reader in English, and I think her frustration comes from that contrast. She often complains about doing "baby work" when K asks her to sound out a new long word.
The newest Saturday morning ritual: bread. "It's a good hobby to have," a friend commented, and indeed it is. But like L's view of Polish, it's a little harder than it looks.
"It's a real art," K says every time she bakes a loaf.
Hiding Place
Afternoon Exploring
The pictures are from yesterday, but today was the same. We wander about the backyard, cross over to our neighbors' yard, all the while pretending we're exploring the Amazon rainforest. We've discovered snakes that can look like trees, leaves that can come alive, rocks that can attack. And a swing.
Maybe head to the smooth, newly-paved road that T-intersects ours right across from our house. Maybe ride on into the grass.
Two afternoons, almost identical. Yet different in every way.
Henry Goes to Time Out
One day, Henry was feeling playful. He met Emily as she chugged along, but he was going in the opposite direction on the same track. Emily braked hard and managed to stop just in time.
"Henry, what are you doing?!" she cried.
Instead of answering, Henry began pushing Emily.
"You've heard of Tug of War, haven't you?" laughed Henry. "This is Chug of War!" He pushed with all his steam as Emily, who was not laughing, chugged just as hard against him.
"Henry, will you stop it? We're going to get carried away and derail ourselves!"
But Henry was having too much fun. He chugged, and chugged, and chugged until there was a great clatter of and screech as Emily and all her cars crashed to the side of the tracks.
"Now you've done it!" shouted Emily as she struggled to right herself. "You're going to be in so much trouble!"
Henry, trying the help, suddenly jerked backwards only to find himself off the tracks as well.
Henry felt bad. He never meant to hurt Emily. He really liked Emily. They'd always had good times together, but this time, he'd just gone too far.
He knew he was going to be in trouble. He could just imagine Sir Topham Hatt's face, but he didn't have to imagine. Sir Topham Hatt came down as soon as he heard about the terrible accident.
"Oh, Sir Topham Hatt, I didn't mean to. I mean. It's just that..."
"Well, Henry, you've gone too far this time," Sir Topham Hatt interrupted. "You'll see just how serious this is in just a moment."
Sure enough, Henry saw just how serious it was when Sheriff from Cars showed up.
"Well," said Sheriff, "the first thing we need to do is get these trains back on the tracks."
Sir Topham Hatt called Kevin and Harvey to put the trains both back on the tracks.
Just as Henry was about to chug away, the Sheriff called after him. "Henry, you will be coming with me, I'm afraid.
"I really didn't mean to hurt anyone," Henry said as he chugged beside Sheriff. "I just wanted to have a bit of fun. Emily likes to have fun."
"Henry, did she say to stop?" Sheriff asked.
"Well," began Henry.
"When trains ask you not to do something, you should stop. That means it's not fun for them," Sheriff explained.
"I know you didn't mean it, but there still are consequences for our actions," Sheriff explained.
"What?"
"Time out."
Just after Sheriff left, Toby and James chugged past.
"Oh, Henry, what happened? Why are you in time out?" asked Toby.
"I did something... something..." Henry stammered.
"Not useful?" Toby suggested.
"That's it exactly. And Sheriff traveled back in time, crossed the Atlantic ocean, and left his movie to come into our story just to take me to time out!"
"Oh no!"
"And that's not what's the worst part of it! The worst part is that I didn't mean to do any of it!"
Toby and James felt bad for Henry. They knew what it was like to get in trouble for something you don't really mean to do. They were afraid all the other trains would be angry at Henry so they chugged off to the Tidmouth Sheds to explain to the other the other engines what happened. As they were explaining, Sheriff rolled up.
"Did you talk to Henry?" he asked.
"Yes, we. I mean, no. I mean," stammered Toby.
"Yes, we talked to Henry," James said sadly.
"While he was in time out?"
James and Toby exchanged guilty glances before admitting the truth.
"We knew we weren't supposed to, but..."
Sheriff didn't even wait.
"Off you go to time out as well!"
Such was our morning play.
Running in the Front, Exploring in the Back
Dancing in the Kitchen
After dinner, we dance.
Sort of.
Begin and End in the Kitchen
The day obviously starts in the kitchen. But it’s more than food and preparation for the day. The Boy has a favorite book lately — Hot Rod Hamster — and on a whim, the Girl decides to read it to him. I read it to him last night; K read it to him the night before. But that’s not enough: he could listen to that book every single day, most likely because of the basic interactivity of it. Hot Rod Hamster, you see, has to choose the parts of his car, and the author often asks the reader, “Which would you choose?” By now everyone in the family knows which one he would choose, but that’s not the point.
The day also ends in the kitchen, with play. The office chair in which I now sit is a favorite toy, for it swivels in endless circles.
To the delight of both kids.
Hiding
We played hide and seek for a bit this evening -- historically a simple game with the Girl. Always so easily frightened, she would hide in the same places, places that felt safe and relatively near people, again and again, and it was never really all that difficult to find her. It was even easier when she was a toddler and would reply to the standard "Ready or not, here I come!" with a confirmation: "I'm ready!"
Today, playing with the Boy, we couldn't find her. I directed the Boy to look in all the usual places, but she was in none of the usual places.
"Could she have dared to go downstairs?" I asked the Boy rhetorically, for his standard answer these days is "Yep."
But we kept looking, adding a few new places. In her closet. Under K's and my bed. Under the Boy's bed. Finally, it was time for dinner, and we gave up. But I knew one trick to get her out: turn off all the upstairs lights.
And as I headed downstairs, there she was, in the hall closet, where she'd never hidden before. Where I would have never thought to look because imagining her closing herself in a tight dark space was simply unimaginable.
An eight-year-old is braver than a seven-year-old, it seems. A second-grader is able to keep quiet for a lot longer than a first-grader, it seems.
Examen
Though I don't do it daily, I should. It's probably one of the best things converting to Catholicism has done for me -- the daily examen. The form I use comes from St. Ignatius's Spiritual Exercises and has some simple steps:
- Become aware of God’s presence.
- Review the day with gratitude.
- Pay attention to your emotions.
- Choose one feature of the day and pray from it.
- Look toward tomorrow.
As part of L's widening spiritual education, she and I have begun doing this together. We've been using a podcast to help us out, and we sit in her room and reflect on our day using the podcast labeled "examen for children." It could really work for anyone, though. It boils everything down to a few ideas.
- What did you do that made you happy today? Give God thanks for it.
- What did you do that made you sad today? Apologize to God for it (and it adds that you might need to apologize to a person as well).
- What do you think you might need help with tomorrow? Ask God for that help.
Tonight, we shared with each other our joyful moments. It was fairly simple, and we had the same moment: when she and I with E played with Legos.
What an impressive array of equipment we now have, using the old Legos Nana saved from my childhood combined with the new sets the Girl has been collecting. We have a camper, a log cabin, a yacht, a space craft, an alien ship, an alien prison. We had fierce space battles in the morning and attacks on humans in the evening, with our brave defenders battling the Borg -- though I didn't explain the whole concept of "we will assimilate you!" as I attacked -- as they tried to snatch innocent campers from their weekend getaways. The Boy teamed up with me and we launched a fearsome, dual-pronged attack that resulted in the kidnapping of both astronauts and campers. But alas, L and her space cadets were too clever for us and managed to free everyone just in time for bed.
What joy, I thought as I did my own examen this evening. And what a shame that I don't do it more often. I let other things get in the way. I become selfish. I too often have different priorities. Not to say I neglect my children, but I think perhaps some days I don't do enough. And so I resolve to do better the next day, and some days I do, and some days I don't.
K, on the other hand, has always impressed me with her selflessness with the kids. That's a mother's gift, I suppose. No, it's not a gift. That takes it out of my control. It's a mother's choice. And that is another simple experience -- seeing such a wonderful mother in action -- to be thankful for during my examen.