the girl

Wigilia 2020

My first wigilia was in 1996. I’d been in Poland for only five months at that point, and I celebrated it with the family in Radom with whom I stayed when we Peace Corps volunteers first arrived in Poland. The fact that I first went to Poland in the Peace Corps says a lot about how much the country has changed. We were there to teach English and help NGOs catch their balance, and we spent twelve weeks in Radom beginning to learn Polish and starting to get an understanding of Polish culture. A few months later, my host family invited me back to Radom to spend Christmas with them. That it was the last time I ever saw them is evidence of how close we were. I don’t remember much about that first wigilia other than the fact that I was always a little uncomfortable. My host-brother and I never quite got along (I believe he questioned my intelligence, for he often behaved that way), so that first wigilia would certainly not be the standard by which to judge the tradition.

My second wigilia celebration was with the family that lived across the river from me in Lipnica, the family that became so much like family that I found myself thinking, “So this would have been what it was like to have a relationship with my host family like others had with theirs.” It was everything wigilia should have been the year before. Afterward, we all walked down to babcia’s house had continued the celebration with the extended family.

My third wigilia, in 1999, I was in Berlin with a friend. We didn’t have much of a wigilia.

Wigilias four and five really didn’t happen. I was back in America and not really close to anyone who celebrated it. Besides, it’s a time for family: one doesn’t invite mere close friends.

Since 2001, though, I’ve been involved in wigilia celebrations yearly. I spent 2001 with the family from wigilia two. I was at that time renting a room from them, and it just seemed logical. And there was no one else I would or could have celebrated it with.

It was much like wigilia two: warm and friendly, like with family.

It was with my fourth real wigilia, in 2002, that wigilia became a true wigilia. K and I were by then dating. Our future seemed to be coming into focus as a future together. L and E weren’t even thoughts in our minds but we were starting to feel like a family.

Wigilia 2003 was much the same as 2002 but with one difference: K and I were engaged. L and E were thoughts in our minds, inevitable joys that we had not yet named or met but were certainties in some sense.

Since then, wigilia has been the same wigilia that everyone else has celebrated: a time with family. Our last wigilia in Poland, in 2004, was our first as a married couple. K’s brother came with his wife and son — now eighteen — and we celebrated as all Polish families celebrate.

Moving to America, we celebrated every wigilia with one constant: Nana and Papa. Other friends joined from time to time. Some friends in the passing of years become more than just friends. Then we added L. Then E. And things went along like that for several years, until we lost Nana. So while there’s always been a certain continuity from wigilia to wigilia, from year to year, we have made adjustments along the way.

K has made adjustments in how she makes the zakwas for the barszcz. This year, instead of the ceramic container with a slice of bread on top, she left the beets and garlic in water and garlic alone, only much longer than the normal four days. It was a recipe she found online, I believe. The result: zakwas so good that she said she could drink it by itself. It was good, I thought, but not so good that I’d consume it as a refreshing beverage.

We’ve made adjustments in the gifts we arrange for Santa to give the kids. This year, we made sure Santa brought mainly art supplies for the Boy and money for the Girl.

So we’ve made adjustments significant and less so, but the constants threaded through it all are simple enough.

Previous Years

Wigilia 2001

Wigilia 2002

Wigilia 2003

Wigilia 2004

Wigilia 2005

Wigilia 2006

Wigilia 2007

Wigilia 2008

Wigilia 2009

https://matchingtracksuits.com/2010/12/25/wigilia-2010/

Wigilia 2011

Wigilia 2012

Wigilia 2013

Wigilia 2014

Wigilia 2015

Wigilia 2016

Wigilia 2017

Wigilia 2018

Wigilia 2019

Friday Afternoon and Evening

In the afternoon, after school and a little break, we had some trampoline time as well as some exhaust-the-dog-kicking-her-ball-for-her-to-chase time.

Later in the afternoon, the Boy and I headed out to do some adventuring. We haven’t done that in quite some time. I think we overdid it a bit and both got a little burned out. Today, though, we did our full adventuring circle, complete with cameras. The Boy hasn’t edited his pictures yet, so I won’t include theme here

In the evening, a walk. A great way to usher in winter break 2020.

14

Today is L’s birthday. She’s fourteen, which means there’s enough adult in her now to imagine what she’s going to look like in her twenties. When she was born she looked like just about every other newborn: squinting and wrinkly, she looked like the most helpless and pure being in existence. Her skin was softer than anything I’ve ever touched, and she smelled like nothing else in the world, a creamy, buttery odor with musky notes of sourness and a base of sweet, freshly baked bread. I held her in my arms for the first time and realized at an elemental though conscious level that we would never be the same again. We were three, with our latest addition being the most helpless member of our new family.

I was so nervous holding her, worried that I might hold her the wrong way, might grip too hard for fear of dropping her, might not support this or that appendage properly and thus allow grave damage. I spent the first several weeks worried that I was doing something wrong. Those weeks of “is this right?” worry stretched to months, then grew into years, and while the end of that worry is in sight, I know that I will worry for the rest of my life about whether or not I did it wrong.

I see pictures of her infancy now, and I find myself thinking that I’d give significant money to have one more opportunity to hold her as an infant, to have her head nestled into my neck and her feet not even touching my belt. Perhaps that’s the magic of grandchildren: it’s a return to a time of helplessness when we can appreciate it and not simply worry about it.

14th Celebrations

The Girl turns 14 tomorrow. She’s taller than her mother, faster than her father, and (some days thinks she’s) smarter than us both combined.

Some things have changed in 14 years; some things have not. She’s still very particular (some would say OCD) about arranging things, and so she places the candles on her cake herself.

She’s still very particular about mixing foods (she doesn’t) and sauces (she doesn’t) and vegetables (except for peppers and cucumbers, she doesn’t), but she’s increasingly open to new things. For her birthday dinner, though, there’s only one option: crab cakes. I think we’ve done them for her three years in a row now.

Some loves have come and gone (dance and gymnastic have run their course and are now only memories) while others have stuck around (we’re now into our third year of volleyball).

Tomorrow she officially turns 14, but I might need a little convincing.

Sunday

Though technically not all the pictures are from Sunday…

Cleaning

It’s that time of year — spring Christmas cleaning.

I’ve written before about K and the level of Christmas cleaning she requires:

The Dirty Stairs

The window is not dirty; it’s fogged from the gas in between the two panes doing something funky.

That required level of cleanliness now drives the Girl mad. “Why are madre’s standards so high?” (She’s been calling us madre and padre for about a year now. Why? Because.)

“Because they are.” We try to reassure her that it’s good practice for “real life.” “You might get a boss with impossibly high standards. You’ll be used to it.”

I don’t know if she buys it.

Advent 2020 Begins

Today is the first day for the Advent calendars K has kept under wraps in the basement. L made sure to label hers to ensure the integrity of her 24-treat treasure, only to find that the first treat had an almond in the center of it.

“I can’t eat almonds,” she sighed.

Don’t worry — someone took care of it.

Forbidden Island

Out of the blue this evening, the kids decided they wanted to play Forbidden Island. At least that’s how I understood it by the time they made it down to the livingroom with the game. I’d wager it was more L’s initiative than the Boy’s, but they were both excited about it when they came down.

I was less excited. About playing the game, that is. I don’t understand the game. It just seems to be a bunch of randomness pawned off as a prize-winning game. “How many drugs did they do before coming up with the arbitrary rules that make up that game?” I laughed with K once the Boy was in bed and the Girl had retreated to her friends on Facetime.

But none of that really mattered — here we were spending time together without any fussing, without any arguments. The kids are at a tough age: E is young enough to derive joy from irritating people and the Girl is not quite old enough to be patient with it all. These moments, while increasing in frequency as the kids grow up, still feel relatively rare some days. So we make the most of them when they are here.

Family Game

The Day After

“Friday, it’s going to be beautiful — warm, sunny, inviting,” K proclaimed earlier this week. “We are going on either a hike or a bike ride.” We headed to Dupont State Forest, which has 40 miles of cycling trails. Off-road trails. I currently have 25mm tires on my bike for commuting (ask me how many times I’ve ridden this year…), which can make any offroading a bit of a challenge, to say the least. What I’ve found is that it’s not a problem going uphill: I can power through most things, and the tires are not that slick (even though they would appear to be so), so keeping up is not a problem. Going downhill is a different story, though. Our nearly-fourteen-year-old leaves K and me behind; our eight-year-old does the same.

I blame it on the tires.

The Girl, 2010

Ten years later and games with balls still hold a central spot in her orbit.

I look at three-year-old L and remember thinking, “What’s she going to be like in ten years? How will this young face develop? How will her personality develop?” Now we know, and we see all the seeds were already sprouting in the three-year-old L.

Chatting

Living with a thirteen-year-old is a challenge. “I don’t know how I survived your eighth-grade year,” Nana told me when I got my job teaching eighth graders. Now that I’m teaching them and living with one, I see her point. Their astounding knowledge puts to shame everything I ever thought I knew, and often they realize it’s just not worth it talking to an idiot like me.

Until they do.

Until they sit at the dinner table and chatter on and on about their school day simply because I told a story about playing dodgeball as a kid with the hard, unforgiving kickball balls we used.

“Don’t worry,” I tell L when her behavior frustrates me. “You won’t always be thirteen.”

“You always tell me that!” she responds.

“I’m not saying it for you; I’m saying it for myself.”

Those moments sometimes seem like the dominant moments in a family with a thirteen-year-old. And then, out of nowhere, a perfect dinner conversation that’s amusing and warm.

“They turn normal again,” one of my colleagues said to me today when she asked how school was going for our kids and was shocked to realize/learn that L is now in the eighth grade. But this is normal — for her age. And it is frustrating — sometimes. Yet we know we’ll miss this version of L, so we hold on while we can.

Sunday in the Fall

A perfect Sunday.

We had a lovely morning breakfast.

The Boy got a new bike.

A couple of friends came over for a bonfire.

All Saints’ Day 2020

We got a late start today, even with the time change. We weren’t home until so incredibly late that even K slept in a little

In the early afternoon, we went to Nana’s grave to clean a little and try to set some new candles. Of course, we didn’t have the proper candles that are ubiquitous in Polish florist shops this time of year, except for this year. The cemeteries were closed for three days, including today, in order to minimize the spread of the virus.

Which led to the circulation of an amusing joke: “For everyone planning on jumping the fence to the cemetery for All Saints’ Day, please remember that the hours of six to eight are reserved for seniors.” Translated as best as I can recall the original.

We had our own adventures at the site, though: we’d planned on giving the marker a good scrubbing, but then left all the supplies at the house. Sounds about right.

In the afternoon, a family meeting to help L make a big decision: she got accepted into two volleyball clubs, and in each of them, she’s being recruited into the highest-level teams. She tried out for Carolina One again this year, and she’s leaning away from their offer for a number of reasons. One of them: they didn’t choose her last year.

“Typical thirteen-year-old logic,” K and I laughed, acknowledging, though, that it’s ultimately her choice.

Covid-willing that is. There’s a high chance, I think, that everything will be canceled before it starts, with rising numbers everywhere but especially here in Greenville. The teams all have very strict covid protocols in place, but things might reach a point that even that is impossible or impractically dangerous.

Chicken Fingers

We’ve gotten into some lazy food habits, which means some unhealthy food habits. We’re in the process of turning them around.

One thing has to do with snacking. The Girl is often very hungry again later in the evening, even if she’s eaten a full dinner. Teens tend to be that way. She’s been eating a few chicken nuggets from Aldi as her evening snack a couple of times a week for some time now.

Today, she learned how to make her own chicken fingers from fresh chicken. Completely healthy? Probably not. Better than what she was eating? Definitely.

Tryouts

Today was the first of three days of tryouts for club teams. L will be trying out for two clubs: Excell Sports, where she played last year, and Carolina One, which gave her the cold shoulder last year.

Today was day one at Excell.

Her coach from last year was there. “L’s really improved,” he said.

Photo from February 1, 2020

The owner and head coach of Excell, Shane, talked to L and me after tryouts.

“Everyone was impressed with your hitting,” he said. “Last year, you were a baby giraffe: you had these long arms and legs and didn’t know what to do with them. You know what to do with them now.”

Perfection

The girls pulled it off: a perfect season. They lost not a single set. And L had the championship-winning kill tonight.

Close Call

The Girl’s volleyball team finished the regular season with a perfect record. Beyond perfect — not only did they win every match but the won them all in straight sets. Which is to say they lost not a single set. And most sets they won convincingly. Brutally.

Today was the semifinals of the year-end tournament.

Before the game, there was a special short recognition of the eighth-grade girls who would be leaving. “As you can see,” said the coach, “they’re the majority of the team.” Next year will likely not see as many in the win column as this year. But it’s still this year.

The girls made it straight to the semifinals due to their record, and they faced St. Mary’s today. They won convincingly earlier this year in the regular season. And the first set today they won easily: 25-9. That’s not just an easy win. That’s a brutal beat-down. But the St. Mary’s girls never let it get to them. They were enthusiastic and hard-working the entire set as the lead mounted and become the monster that it was.

In the second set, the Langston girls started getting sloppy, making some silly errors. Before we knew it, they were down by four, almost all the points coming from their own unforced errors. Still, I don’t want to take anything away from the St. Mary’s team: they were playing much better in the second set. Our girls cut the lead to one and then started slipping again. Cut the lead and then started slipping again. And then the unthinkable: set point.

Yet the girls rallied and kept their perfect record just that.

It would have been a great surprise for the St. Mary’s girls to bump the big dogs off their perch (I just intentionally mixed those metaphors so thoroughly that you could serve them to James Bond).

“Did you hear? The Langston girls finally got taken down!”

“Really? By whom?”

But it was not meant to be, I suppose.

One more game — the championship on Friday afternoon against Shannon Forest again. They almost took a set from the girls a couple of weeks ago, and in the 2019/2020 season, they took a set from the Langston girls each of the two matches they played. Including the championship.

In the evening, after dinner, the Boy and I worked on his scout project. We measured and cut all the boards, ready for assembly tomorrow.