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the girl

Columbia Zoo

Sunday 19 July 2009 | 1 Comment

Being at a zoo can teach one many things.

It can show you how close we are to the great apes. This great gorilla sat watching us as much as we watched him. His eyes darted from face to face, and occasionally he would furrow his brow. Proof of thought? Certainly not. It was humbling to look at him, though, thinking how closely related we are. Granted, we’re more closely related to chimps, genetically speaking, but I looked at the gorilla and saw shadows of us.

It was not so clear who was watching whom.

The elephants have better things to do. They’re more concerned with covering themselves with dust and looking old and wise.

The alligators were looking sly, as if they knew how long they’d survived. “We walked with the dinosaurs,” they seem to say. “We’ll wait you out.”

The goats, of course, were hungry. There’s not much to learn from goats, except how to deal with trolls under bridges.

Trains come without tracks — the definition of “train” has become very flexible in the twenty-first century, but a ride on one is just as fun.

“Helmets are for bicycles,” declares the Girl.

“And for pony rides,” K explains patiently.

And pony rides are for those who are big enough to venture out on their own, sort of.

In many ways, giraffe rides are more fun: they last longer, anyway. And they do a more thorough job of getting one dizzy.

Some birds, growing so accustomed to regular feeding from visitors, take matters into their own claws.

And it’s only with deliberate effort that visitors keep the greedy beasts from ripping the feeding cup out of one’s hand.

Feeding birds is a great way to make friends and giggle constantly.

Birds will hang upside down to get food.

Zookeepers can take the grizzly out of the wild but, well, you know the rest of the cliche.

A quick swim when we got back to the hotel and everyone was ready for bed.

Tomorrow: a trip to Angel Oak, the oldest living thing this side of the Rockies (reportedly a 1,600 year old tree), then the final destination: Edisto Island.

From here on out, internet access is a big question mark. And that’s a good thing — we’re on vacation!

Love Hate

Monday 13 July 2009 | 0 Comments

L and Bida, our cat, have an uneasy relationship. Or maybe it's a love-hate relationship: L loves, Bida hates.

That might be taking it a bit too far. When Bida is in the mood, a scratch under the neck will bring a quiet purr no matter who's doing the scratching. Yet sensing that mood is difficult for adults; it's all but impossible for L. And so, in the name of love, L simply tortures the cat most of the time.

The trouble is, her "love" often is not affectionate; her "help" doesn't assist in any way whatsoever. L's simply trying out language and ideas she hears and sees all around her without fully understanding what it means (in the case of "help") or how to show it (in the case of "love"). The result: a frustrated cat and a scratched little Girl.

At the same time, it's incredible the patience Bida can sometimes show our budding veterinarian. She has figured out, I think, that if she waits just a moment, K or I will come and rescue her. And if push comes to shove (and L, in her rambunctiousness, can push and shove sometimes), Bida knows how to use her claws. And one would think that two or three painful, deep scratches would teach L to keep her distance, but to date, it hasn't.

So K and I try to save the two smallest members of our household from each other on a regular basis.

Jazz at Furman

Friday 10 July 2009 | 2 Comments

Furman University, a private college just north of Greenville and home of the quasi-famous bell tower by the lake, has a summer concert series we’ve just discovered. It’s not Boston Pops on the Esplanade, but for a college of less than 3,000 undergrads, it’s an impressive schedule.

Last night, we went for the jazz program.

We’ve become increasingly fascinated with jazz over the last few years, so L hears quite a fair amount of it at home and in the car. It’s never among her requests — she’s particularly fascinated with Counting Crows’ music — but she does listen and bob her head about occasionally.

Last night, she simply danced. A little. Generally, she was having more fun throwing Baby down the little embankment where we’d spread our blanket, running to get it, and repeating.

She did calm down for the ballads.

Igor Stravinsky said, “My music is best understood by children and animals.” L seems to understand music on some very primal level: it makes her want either to jump about or to sit calmly. It’s rarely merely “there.” It almost always provokes some kind of reaction.

In an informal atmosphere such as this, that’s just about perfect. Space to dance, an informal mood that doesn’t require silence, well-performed music — what could could a two-and-a-half year old want?

Dry

Wednesday 08 July 2009 | 0 Comments

Six mornings in a row the Girl has had a completely dry diaper. We attribute this to four nights of waking up around midnight, hearing L crying out for the potty.

The new ritual is well established now. I stumble to the guest bathroom for the potty chair as quickly as I can while half asleep: I don’t want L to wake up any more than she has to. The real adventure begins in her room, for she’s often still partially or completely asleep. And she can fall back asleep at several points in the process. She has dozed off while

I take her out of the crib;
I lean her against me to take off her diaper;
she sits on the potty;
I put her diaper back on; and,
I put her back in the crib.

One night last week, she drifted off during four out of those five times.

“It’s time to start planning the final step of potty training,” I say to K over breakfast. There are the obvious things: a switch to training pants; a re-make of the crib; several nights of helping L get out of the bed and trundle off to the potty. There is an enormous potential pitfall, too, and a very literal one at that: our guest bathroom is just at the top of a short flight of stairs down to the kitchen.

Now that all the gates and barriers in the house are long gone, it’s time to start thinking about putting up new ones, which is sort of what parenting is all about: creating boundaries that (ideally) keep little hands safe but not restricted. Those gates will soon be much less literal, though.

The Wisdom of Seuss

Monday 06 July 2009 | 0 Comments

An occasional selection for my nightly bedtime reading with L is One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish. She sits on my lap, commenting on pictures, asking with every pause, “Turn the page?” We make our way slowly through the book — it’s not one we read often and she can’t recite any passages from rote as I read, like she can with Fox in Socks or Green Eggs and Ham.

I’m always taken aback at the appropriateness of the ending:

Today is done.
Today was fun.
Tomorrow is another one. …

If we could only keep that in mind daily.

Swimming III

Sunday 05 July 2009 | 0 Comments

We took L for her first swimming lessons when she was six months old. She loved it. Then through some kind of osmosis, she began taking on the fear of the kids around her, I think, and by the end of the series of lessons, she wasn't wild about swimming.

Last summer, she still clung to her anxieties: we really didn't go often as a result.

This summer, it's a different girl with us in the pool.

This makes for different parents in the water, as well.

It has, in short, become a family affair. L floats; L slashes; L jumps -- and we have to be there for it all. And that's not just the parental pride; it's L's request.

"Hey guys!" she likes to call out, "Watch me!"

The clearest indicator of how her attitude toward the water has changed is her willingness to jump excitement about jumping.

Again, and again, and again, only occasionally losing her nerve.

Nothing deters her, not even a face full of water. Not even a face entirely under water.

All of this is both gratifying (it's great to see her overcoming her fear) and terrifying (it's sometimes heart-stopping to watch her overcoming her fear). During a visit last week, she was being silly at the water's edge and fell in. I was ten to fifteen feet away, so I swam there in a matter of moments. But those moments seemed eternal as she bobbed about in the water, unable to get her head out of the water, clearly terrified.

Another object lesson in the obvious: parenting isn't about holding tight, but it is about being close by when those tight embraces are necessary.

First Parade

Saturday 04 July 2009 | 1 Comment

I don’t know if I’ve ever been in a parade. If I have, I don’t remember it. That might be the case with L thirty-plus years from now, but we’ll remember it, K and I: L’s school had a parade yesterday.

There was a pre-parade performance/cheer,

with a Cycling Corps actually leading the parade in (with one or two very wise little girls in helmets),

followed by some marchers complete with banners,

followed by the youngest toddlers’ escort.

L’s group was the very last, with L marching as something of a walking Statue of Liberty.

“Don’t let her see you,” K suggested before the parade began. “She’ll want to leave her group and come over to us.” Perhaps it was an unnecessary concern, for she marched past us with a big smile and obvious pride, and continued marching.

She was somewhat intrigued by her own shadow, though.

A photographer was there with a rather substantial collection of equipment, obviously a pro or a rich amateur: anyone with two Nikon D3 bodies…

Finally, everyone gathered at the base of the flag to sing “You’re a Grand Old Flag,” I guess to the flag. It seemed strangely idolatrous and sweet at the same time.

A picnic followed, with L continuing her usual aversion to meat. No hot dog for her, thank you — just a bun.

What’s in a name?

Monday 29 June 2009 | 3 Comments

I’m not sure how I got into the habit of referring to those closest to me by their initials: “L” for “Lena,” “K” for “Kinga.” Perhaps it was a sense of anonymity for those who don’t know us personally, but we don’t get many of those kind of visitors. Still, it’s a stylistic choice, one which I will continue.

Except for this post.

“Lena,” I also learned after naming our daughter, is a famous picture: “The Lenna (or Lena) picture is one of the most widely used standard test images used for compression algorithms.” (Source)

When Lena was still an unimaginably large bump in Kinga’s belly, we weren’t sure what to name her. We’d thought about naming her after her Polish grandmother, Janina. Yet, knowing the difference in pronunciation of “j” in Polish and English (It’s “y” as in “yeah” in Polish, for the uninitiated), we opted out due to the tendency everyone would have to mistakenly mispronounce her name. (The irony is, they still do it with “Lena,” for most want to pronounce it with a long “ee.”)

Our next choice was Amelia, but we were hesitated.

It was at this point, I believe, that Kinga suggested Lena, and I liked the name immediately. We settled on “Lena” fairly quickly once Kinga suggested it.

It had all the qualities we were looking for in a name:

It was strong and feminine.
It could be easily pronounced by Americans (a criterion which quickly would have ruled out Wladyslawa, Malgorzata, and most definitely Zdzislawa, had they been in the running).
It was fairly uncommon but didn’t have that made-up feel. “I only know one ‘Lena,’ from college,” Kinga informed me.

The most uncommon name I’ve heard of is “La-a,” which is alternately spelled “Le’a.” It’s pronounced “Ladasha.” (The alternate spelling might also be pronounsed “Laapastrophea” or “Lainvertedcommaa.”) I’ve heard this is an urban legend, but Google “La-a” and you’ll get baby name site results for “La-a.”

Now, though, Lenas are popping up like mushrooms after a storm. Two of our friends have since named their daughters Lena; a friend who works in the hospital tells us that there are a lot of Lenas in the maternity ward.

And the same is true for Amelia. Very, very popular.

Part of me wants to say we were simply on the cutting edge of naming. By it also seems to hint at some kind of hidden current in societies that suggests things that bubble up slowly. After all, we only know two of the multitude of families who’ve opted for “Lena,” so the phenomenon can’t be attributed to our influence, as flattering as that might be.

K is frustrated. (The old habit returns…) “If we had another daughter, I’d want to name her ‘Amelia.'” And now we can’t.

Zdzislawa is looking better and better…

There’s also the LENA language system and a rock star in New York, not to mention the famous Polish/Czech Lenka pop star, and the Australian Lenka actress/pop singer.

A parallel thought to this is how children seem to grow into their names. Lena is a Lena. There’s no other name that seems to fit her, just like Madeline is Madeline. The name “Lena” is short and energetic, strong and joyful, single-minded; the girl Lena is short and energetic, strong and joyful, single-minded. “Amelia” would never fit Lena, and “Janina” is a worse match still.

When I was in college, I tried to go by my middle name, Lawrence. At the time, it somehow sounded more intellectual, more serious, than “Gary.” The trouble was, I could never remember that I was Lawrence. I gave up after one semester and took to heart how ingrained our names become.

Which makes me wonder about Bono, Eminem, Sting, Prince, Moby, Twiggy, Dido, Goldie, Cher, Lulu, Pink, and Seal. Do they so identify with their stage names that they prefer them to their real name? Do Sting’s closest friends call him “Sting” or “Gordon?” Does Bono go by “Paul” when the band is recording? And Prince — that’s a case all by itself.

So was Shakespeare right? Yes and no. Lena is not “Amelia,” though if we’d named her Amelia, I would be have reversed those names…

Good grief! That’s amazing and super cool!

Wednesday 24 June 2009 | 0 Comments

Madeline

Tuesday 23 June 2009 | 1 Comment

Classic opening lines:

In an old house in Paris that was covered with vines,
lived twelve little girls in two straight lines.
They left the house at half past nine [...]
The smallest one was Madeline.

Madeline is fast becoming one of L's favorites. We only own one book (Madeline's Christmas), but we've borrowed several from the library, all of them hits. And what's not to love about them? Lovely stories and a recurring theme: don't judge by appearances.

Lately, L's been fascinated with the Madeline cartoon. So far as adaptations go, these cartoons are wonderful. Christopher Plummer as the narrator has a warm, grandfatherly voice.

It seems to worm its way into your heart and stay there:

This show hasn't been popular since I was in kindergarten. I am almost thirteen now, and sometimes, when I am up late, I stumble across "Madeline" on the Disney channel. I loved this show when I was little and I wonder why they don't show it at times when little children can see it. It's a lot better than the junk they show on "Playhouse Disney" these days. (Koala Bros., Higglytown Heroes, etc.) If they could bring this show back, it would be just as popular, if not, more than it once was. I think that Madeline had a big influence on children between the ages of two to six. Heck, I would still watch it. I hope to see Madeline on Disney Channel really soon. (IMDb)

The best part: the theme song. We're all going around singing it.