Silly string, rock climbing, swinging, and general six-year-old chaos. Bethel Bash!
End of Year Bash
the girl
Big Sister
There's a certain point, I think, when an older sister becomes a big sister. It might be soon after the birth of little brother; it might take a few years. Really, it all depends on the age of the sister, I think.
But at some point, sooner or later, older sisters begin taking on themselves some of the responsibilities of looking after little brother. It might begin with playtime: "L, keep E in your room for a while as I start getting dinner ready" might be a first step.
That's a relatively easy step. Big sister can half do her own thing, half entertain the Boy. The fact that they're in her room adds a degree of security: she certainly won't let E get into all that much because he has a tendency to mess things up.
The real transition comes when big sister begins fulfilling some of the lower needs on Maslow's hierarchy.
These are the responsibilities that aren't just fun. They're not low-engagement responsibilities.
And when the older sister begins taking on those kinds of little jobs, we say, "Welcome, Big Sister! We've been waiting for you!"
Movie Star
Feeding
It can be a joyful experience, with smiles and giggles and obvious relief on the face of the starving Boy. He opens his mouth wide; he waits patiently for the spoon; he closes his mouth slowly and seems to relish and inhale the food at the same time.
It can be a tragedy, with fussing and battling, with a head jerking back and forth in an almost desperate attempt to say "No!," with hands flailing and pushing away the spoon to make sure the message gets through.
Whatever the case, the cleaning that follows can be Herculean. Food smeared here, there and everywhere. Dried caked food on the chin, the cheeks, the forehead.
But it always ends the same.
Food is joy for the little man. All food. Any food. He tries it all, rejects almost nothing, and seems to relish even the most exotic offering.
Truth be told, that's a bit of a relief compared to the Girl, who still squawks and squeals whenever we try to get something new in her.
Change is good.
Maria
"How do you find a word that means 'Maria'?" the nuns ask early in Sound of Music. Showing that she might understand it a little better than I initially would have thought, the Girl calls her own name in response.
Photos by the Girl
The Girl took a few shots during our afternoon walk.
Whispers of Summer
A rough few months: someone always missing. Papa, K and the Boy -- the family always seems divided.
Now, having them all together again, it's a lovely way to welcome the coming summer.
In a way, it's a whisper of what's coming for L and me: the cool evening today, the local libation, the soft sunset all are similar to summer in Poland, where L and I will be spending several weeks once school releases. We won't all be there: there will be someone missing from both sides, and that will cast a hue of hollowness at times. But only at times, for when we let it, joy can almost always overcome sadness.
Reunited
"Tomorrow, we go to pick up Mama and E from the airport," the Girl virtually squealed last night as she got ready for bed. It was one of a long line of such excited proclamations: as we made breakfast; before lunch; when we finished watching a movie together; before brushing teeth; while brushing teeth; after brushing teeth. It was, in short, L's mantra.
Of course that meant a day of waiting. A day of "How long" questions. How long until we leave? How long until we get there? How long until Mama's plane lands? How long until Mama comes? How long until we get home?
How long until you realize that how long doesn't help things go any faster?
The last time K returned from Poland, by the time we walked back upstairs at the airport to double check the arrival time at the Lufthansa desk and made our way back to the international arrival hall, K was standing, waiting. Today, we arrived when the plan was scheduled to land only to discover it was to land now a half an hour later. Add to it that K's baggage was the last to make a circuit around the luggage carousel and that customs picked her for a "open your baggage and take everything out" inspection (I guess travelling with an exhausted toddler is a fairly common scheme among international smugglers), and it was past five, almost two hours after our arrival, when K and the Boy appeared at the far end of the arrival hall. Disregarding all "No Entry!" signs, L and I virtually sprinted to her. Hugs. Tears. An emotional return to the States after an emotional time in Poland.
On arriving, K disappeared and we soon heard the sound of water running. She came out of the bathroom with wet hair and in pajamas, smiling at me exhaustedly and explaining sweetly that the children were all my responsibility.
A quick bath, a quick bit of fruit and cereal for the Boy, and before we know it, everyone is asleep.
If only.
The Boy, not used to falling asleep with me, was soon fussing, then crying, then outright panicking. It was not the right shoulder, not the right voice, not the right pulse, not the right surroundings. It will take some time for us all to get back to the right everything.
Clean, Clean, Clean
“I wish today was Monday!” It’s rare for a six-year-old to say something like that on a Saturday afternoon, I would assume, but this Monday is not just an ordinary, begin-the-week blues Monday. Sure, we have the day off of school — a snow-make-up day that the county works into the schedule in case we have that rarest of rare snow days, which we didn’t this year. No, it’s not that we have the day off. Indeed, L is so fascinated with early dismissal that she was complaining Friday that we have Monday off. “I wish we had school Monday so I could get early dismissal!”
What would get a little girl more excited about a Monday, school or no school, than anything else? Mama returns, with little E, after three very difficult weeks in Poland.
K is coming back, so that can only mean one thing for a family with a Polish mother. Even without this post’s title, one could probably guess what we did today. L was in charge of her room while I did the rest of the house. Piles of art materials on her work table disappeared. Books returned too shelves. Some old art work got tossed out. In short, a miracle occurred in the corner bedroom.
Developing Spring
“Daddy! Daddy!” come the cries of excitement from the front of the house. “Daddy, you have to see this!”
The zinnias are sprouting. “Unless they’re weeds,” she says stoically as we head back to the front yard.
“It’s entirely possible,” I mumble to myself. But they’re coming up just in the center of the pot, almost certainly zinnias. How would I know? I couldn’t recognize them in full bloom let alone when they’re just sprouting.
More squeals from the backyard moments later: “You have to see this!” The snap dragons’ blooms are opening.
“Are they everything you expected?” I ask as I head up the stairs to inspect them.
“Well, no,” she says with her sly grin. “I was hoping they would snap!”
