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the girl

Hat Trick

Saturday 8 September 2012

When Pele was just over seventeen years old, he became the youngest player to achieve a hat trick — three goals in a match — in a World Cup match. In 1930, Guillermo Stabile scored a hat trick during his debut World Cup game.

What happens if you combine the two?

All I was hoping for was a successful first game, and I defined success simply enough: enough enjoyment to encourage the Girl to continue with her soccer adventure. Certainly, I wanted her team to win — winning always feels good. But more than that, I wanted the Girl to leave with an eagerness to return. And so among my great fears was the shut-out. “If L’s team doesn’t score a single goal, it might be frustrating to her,” I thought.

There were other concerns as well. L is not always the most aggressive person, especially in novel situations, and a first-time soccer game is about as novel as one can imagine.

Yet right from the start, the Girl is aggressive. Really aggressive. She charges the ball without concerning herself about the number of kids kicking wildly at the ball, and she often emerges from the pack with the ball.

And then she scores.

We’ve all seen the typical reactions among the pros — the wild celebrations, the leaping, the shirt front over the head. L seems completely oblivious to the significance of what has just happened. Countless games have finished one-nil, and the sole scorer is automatically the hero.

L, ignorant of all this, simply walks away from the goal calmly, a bit confused even. But my reaction and the coach’s reaction tell her something big has happened.

“It can’t be a more perfect first game,” I think. No matter what happens now, we have something to celebrate. Even if her team loses 5-1, we have that single moment to smile about. “Wasn’t that a great feeling to score?” I’ll be able to ask.

But the Girl has other things on her mind. She continues charging. She continues heading straight for the goal. She continues shooting.

And she misses. Once. Twice. And then more lightning: another goal.

And then a third. A hat trick, on her first time out. As she walks away from the goal the third time, her teammates celebrating, a small smile appears on her face. She knows what she’s done. She’s gotten a taste of athletic greatness. And she likes it.

Not content with having scored the only goals for either team, she proclaims with calm assurance as we walk back to the car, “Next game, I’m going to score five goals.”

Watch out Messi, here comes the Girl.

Flying and Dancing

Monday 3 September 2012

They’re not sisters, but they often act like they are, and occasionally they look like it, as well.

Of the three of them, L and T are certainly the most similar. Full of energy, always on the move, ever chattering, constantly seeking some kind of little bit of excitement.

L is a little weary to try something new until she sees someone else do it — like leaping from someone’s shoulders as they explode (as much as my tired legs can make them explode)Â from the water. She leaps prematurely at first.

Then, after watching T do it a few more times, she gets the hang of it. Timing the jump is critical, and she flies into the air so high that I suddenly worry that perhaps it’s too high. Sure enough, it’s a touch too high once, and she lands on her belly — her first belly flop, and she comes up howling.

Soon enough, though, it’s all giggles and laughs again.

And as suddenly as it started, it stops, as a heavy, sudden shower chases from the pool. But why? There’s no thunder, no threat. The youngest girls, realizing this, understand the implication.

“We can play in the rain!”

Why not? They’ll learn to see the rain as inconvenient soon enough.

A Nearly-Perfect Saturday

Saturday 1 September 2012

The Boy was merciful to us — kind, even — this morning, willing to trade another hour’s or so sleep for a spot in our bed. L, too, enjoyed a pleasantly late morning, so the sun was bright by the time I was grinding coffee and K giving the Boy his breakfast.

With a start like that, what else is left to do to make the perfect morning but go for a walk. The Girl picked out a dress –Â always a dress — and the three of us took off, leaving K behind to have some ever-rare alone time. “She’ll probably just spend it doing chores,” I thought as we strolled down the driveway and onto our quiet street, but then I recalled how some chores give K a certain domestic peace. It must be the Polish blood.

Our route took us by the once-proud, neglected home in our neighborhood that once set itself as the envy of all. The brick work around the place alone cost a fortune, and the addition brought the square footage probably over 4k mark. Now its brick privacy walls, overgrown with everything imaginable, are crumbling and yellow “Condemned” stickers decorate the doors like sad wreaths.

I walk by this house often. It gives me a bit of comfort. Something of a nemesis, something of an inspiration, something of a warning, it teaches me to be content with what I have by reminding me that more stuff only amounts eventually to moreÂ dilapidation.

Today, however, it just reminded me of the amount of yard work that awaited me at home. As fall approaches and the sun lowers, the yard work always becomes more pleasant. There’s a different feel to the air, even if the temperature reaches the low 90s like today.

After I’d mowed, trimmed, carted, raked, and disposed, there was only one logical conclusion to the day: the pool.

With Nana and Papa looking after the Boy — justÂ try to tell them that’s work — the three of us flopped about in the pool.

Sometimes more deeply than I would have ever expected from our once-terrified-to-get-her-face-wet daughter.

The Letter

Friday 31 August 2012

It’s been a little tough for the Girl to begin school. Going from the small environment and relative freedom of Montessori to the highly organized reality of public school kindergarten would have been enough, but the color-coded “positive behavior incentive program” has added an entirely new stress. All students begin on green, it was explained to us during orientation, and students update their color as their behavior changes. Blue and purple indicate great and superior behavior; yellow and red indicate problematic and bad behavior. “Finishing on green or higher is considered a successful day,” said the principal.

L’s goal from the beginning: straight purple. Her first day, she came home with purple; her second day, blue. A few days later, the unthinkable: green.

“I hate those colors,” K admitted shortly afterward. “Why do they even need that system?”

I understand the reasoning, though. Public school lumps together children from a variety of backgrounds, with parents who have more or less effective parenting skills. In short, there arrive at kindergarten children who aren’t very well behaved. They must learn the social skills necessary to make it through school successfully, and such a system is an attempt to foster a certain (edu-speak alert!) behavioral metacognition.

But for children who already have those skills? And for children like the Girl, who already have those skills plus a healthy dose of OCD perfectionism? It’s stress.

And then the email arrives from L’s teacher, Ms. B:

Good Afternoon! I just wanted to take a moment and let you know what a joy L is to have in class. She has such a sweet personality and is so much fun to teach. I can’t wait to get to know her better and let her show me how smart she is. Thank you for sharing her with me.

Thank you, Ms. B.

Stereo

Thursday 30 August 2012

The Girl was heading up to bed. Teeth were brushed, hair combed. But one thing remained.

“I’m going to bed,” she said.

“Oh, no, no, no! Not until you…” came the stereo response.

Practice

Sunday 26 August 2012

I learned to appreciate soccer sitting with friends at this or that bar in Lipnica Wielka or sitting with my in-laws, watching club play as well as Euro Cup and World Cup tournaments. It’s a deceptive game for the uninitiated, and since I’d never played or even really watched the game, I had no idea about much of it.

And so when it comes time to start helping the Girl with her new soccer skills, I have to rely on the basics, things I’ve inferred from watching but never actually been taught — like kicking with the inside-top of the foot for better control.

It soon becomes clear, though, that the Girl either kicks the ball with the side of her foot or the front of her foot — perhaps too much too quickly.

Other skills are simpler, like stopping the ball.

In the end, though, we deduce that the best option is simply to encourage the enjoyment of the game, The finer points will come later.

On the Field

Saturday 25 August 2012

It’s perhaps a cliche of parenting, the desire to give more to your children than you had as a child. Unfortunately, it seems our culture equates that “more” materialistically more often than not, but the question of experience seems more important. And to that end, we have to step out of our usual circle and involve others — for instance, ten others, to make a soccer team.

Providing the Girl with the opportunity to kick a ball back and forth is easy enough: we’ve done it in the backyard a time or two. Attention spans, though, tend to be short in such activities. There’s always a cat to chase, a trampoline to pull out of the basement, or something else — squirrel! Somehow, though, things change when kicking the ball in a controlled environment with virtual strangers. Perhaps it’s a desire to create a positive impression; maybe it’s the drive to conform and kick along with the others. Whatever the case, the Girl’s first experience with soccer provided her first and foremost with a concentrated dose of semi-organized sport.

Still, kicking and even throwing a soccer ball, even in concentrated doses, only provides so much, and it’s all physical.

There’s more to sport than the physical. In fact, the physical, at a certain level of competition, is only incidental. World-class athletes have practiced so much that the maneuvering and contorting involved in a given sport is almost a matter of muscle memory. Watch a gymnast doing a routine on theÂ pommel horse and it’s hard to imagine he’s thinking through every single move, every single flex of the muscle. By that time, the game is mental. He knows he can do his routine perfectly: he’s done it flawlessly in practice countless times. It’s now a question of doing it when there’s something — everything — at stake. It’s now a question of confidence and mental strength.

A gymnast can’t really take his pommel horse skills into the business world and do much with them. He can, however, take his self-confidence and his ability to perform well under stress into non-sporting life and achieve just about anything he wants. So it’s not so much the physical I’m worried about as I watch the Girl run about the soccer field.

I’m grateful, of course, for the improvement in coordination and strength such an activity brings, but more important is the mental development.

I’m more pleased when she calmly chases down a ball that’s gotten out of her control, maintaining her cool the whole time, than I am when it becomes clear that she’s one of the fastest kids on the field.

I’m more pleased when I see her calmly go get a ball that a teammate has kicked away from her out of childish spite

than I am when I see a good, strong kick.

But I’d be lying to deny that the kick makes me feel good, too.

First Day 2012

Wednesday 22 August 2012

Who knows how many times I’ve done it. If I had to count, I probably could count how many “first days” at school I’ve experienced. With time on both sides of the desk, I suppose I’d have to be now nearing thirty first days.

But I still remember my first first day. Some degree of nervousness, some level of excitement, some small amount of disappointment mixed with a great deal of joy.

I would like to think the Girl will remember her first first day. That she will remember how the night before her worries and fears melted in the morning to a smile and a paradoxically calm excitement.

That she will remember her idea to have a desert picnic after dinner. That she will recall her planning and packing for the picnic.

That she will linger over the memory of cuddling up to her mother, snuggling with her baby brother.

And that she’ll think of that first day every time she sees an ice cream truck.

Face Off

Sunday 19 August 2012

The Girl loves our cat, Bida. Loves. Too much. It borders on obsessive, and she traditionally has shown it in ways that are far from gentle. This probably explains why the Bida loves the basement hideaway we set up for her.

It also might explain her trepidation with our newest family member.

Fortunately for her, there’s really only one thing he wants to do.

Orientation

Tuesday 14 August 2012

Exactly eight years ago today, to the minute, K and I were in the midst of our wedding party. One might suggest that I’ve made a mistake. “It’s six hours later in Poland,” one might protest. “That would make it almost five in the morning there.” Obviously, such a protester has never been to a Polish wedding.

At five in the morning, we were still going — perhaps not going strong, and certainly not all of the guests still with us, but going all the same.

Eight years later, we’re still going, but there’s four now, which makes the going a bit more ponderous at times. Yet we still share the same future- and present-orientation that brought us together in the first place: family.

And we’re still going ever-new places. Like kindergarten orientation.

Kindergarten? Already?

Yes, and someone’s already set to be in the teacher’s seat at that.

Final Day

Thursday 9 August 2012

The final day at Lake Tillery also included a boat ride, with the girls sitting in the back singing Polish Christmas carols as the Boy slept.

The destination: “Big Bridge,” a name that sounds just like something a three- or four-year-old would name a bridge that is rather large. Sort of like Big Wolf. (He still sleeps with the Girl every night. “He keeps me calm,” she once explained.)

Of course, there was one last swim…

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First

Wednesday 8 August 2012

Nana and Papa certainly have the picture somewhere: I stand by my uncle’s pond, rod and reel in hand, with a small fish on the line. I must have been four, maybe five. The rod and reel seemed impossibly heavy, and I thought the photographer — my uncle? mother? — would never snap the picture.

So I think I can understand the Girl’s frustration with me as I maneuvered for picture after picture of her first fish.

Boat Ride Bookends, Part One

Monday 6 August 2012

Day two at Lake Tillery began and ended with a boat ride. “I’ve never been on a boat,” L announced in excitement, obviously having forgotten earlier rides in Slovakia.

Yet it was certainly the Boy’s first boat ride, the first time we bundled him up in a life jacket.

“L would not have put up with this for a moment,” K laughed as we pulled out of the channel into the lake. The Boy, though, simply snuggled into the jacket and fell asleep.

Had he known who was driving, he might not have been quite so calm. L’s best friend from Montessori, E, was at the wheel, his father at his side, doing a fine job despite the jokes.

Pulling into the dock of E’s aunt, K immediately loosened the Boy’s life jacket and found a place for him to continue his apparently eternal nap.

The Girl took a quick break, and upon waking, the Boy joined his mother in the lake with his newest friends.

Afternoon at the Lake

Sunday 5 August 2012

L has fallen in love with water this summer. Among her favorite sports to watch in London are swimming and diving; she asks daily to go to the pool; she flops about in the tub in her best imitation of Rebecca Soni. Despite her consistent love of water, though, she wasn’t that wild about the beach when we first went. Or when we went the second time. So when we headed to North Carolina with friends for a weekend at the lake, I was a but curious how she would take swimming in the open water.

As might be expected, she was a bit cautions at first. Thought she’d given up her arm floats earlier in the summer, she learned that one of the rules of the pier was that children must always wearÂ flotationÂ devices — and since there were no more swim belts, the Girl was stuck wearing her arm floats again.

There was also initial concern regarding what else might be swimming with her — or under her. Talk of an enormous catfish that broke a line earlier in the day had her worried and sitting on the edge for a while.

But only for a while.

Thus began a weekend of firsts. Fishing, for example — something that requires more patience than I thought the Girl had ever shown in her whole life. Something that involves touching things the Girl might not like to touch, like hooks and worms and fish. Something that can pass hours with only one reward: the peace of the wait.

Yet the girl is growing, and she’s always surprising us with what she can do, what she’s willing to try, what we can force her to eat. (Some humor intended there.) Fishing became the big hit for the Girl.

Yet there were the old stand-bys — what kid in history has been able to turn down an invitation to watch a film while sitting in an old water heater box?

Cramped, stuffy, view-blocking — it didn’t matter. What mattered was to beÂ in the box. The movie was only secondary entertainment.

With a full moon that night, though, adults had other forms of less-cramped, more serene entertainment.

Mixing

Friday 3 August 2012

The Girl has fallen in love with the Olympics. “Can I watch gymnastics tonight instead of reading before bed?” she asked last night. This morning, it’s the same. She has her favorites, but she’ll watch just about anything. Gymnastics, though, sends her into a hypnotic trance — at least as much as a hyper five-year-old slide into motionlessness.

After breakfast, she, K, and the Boy curl up to watch beach volleyball — not the Girl’s favorite, but she still chants “U-S-A!” endlessly.

It’s been an inspiring week for her. A week of growth. Rarely does she list “princess” as the first thing she wants to do with her life. Now the list includes gymnast, swimmer, dancer, and artist. Occasionally she adds “princess” to the mix,” but so many other things seem so much more interesting.

But I’m not really worried about that kind of mixing. She’ll have enough goal mixing as she grows up. I anticipate at least three different majors during her freshman year, now only thirteen years away. No, it’s the little things that thrill me more.

Things like stabbing a green bean and a piece of chicken onto the lunchtime fork in an effort to kill the bean taste. Or mixing rice and leftover chicken.

Children’s Museum

Sunday 29 July 2012

Our trips to Rock Hill are almost always the same: we go to visit family. It’s a rhythm, as predictable as the beat of a Sousa march. That’s not meant to be a complaint: there’s comfort in ritual.

Yet sometimes, it’s good to change the beat a little. K, with her adventuring spirit, is always a catalyst for those changes.

“Did you know there’s a children’s museum in Rock Hill?” she asked earlier this week. “Maybe we could go on Sunday, after we meet with family.” I did not know, but after a lazy morning, we head out for Main Street in downtown Rock Hill.

The museum is small — minuscule, in fact, compared to the Children’s Museum of the Upstate here in Greenville, which is three stories of adventure. Yet L doesn’t complain. She takes off exploring immediately.

Papa doesn’t complain either. He gets the Boy, who at eleven weeks looks and feels (he weighs over sixteen pounds already and is already wearing clothes for babies six to nine months old) much older than he is.

The Girl, though, has no time to sit for pictures with Papa, or anyone else for that matter. There is a pulley systems to explore.

And a scale with a barrel of bean bags beside it.

“Which do you think weighs more? A round one or a square one?” I ask. We perform an impromptu experiment to determine that square ones weigh a touch more.

But what happens if we put them all in? Every last bean bag?

And what happens if we put everything in sight into the sale?

Soon, she’s creating magnet art with K, exploring the dress up room (located inside a vault — the building used to house a bank), and returning to her favorite stations.

In the end, she finds perfection: a small kitchen with two buckets of bean bags. She spreads them all over the floor, then takes the broom and sweeps them into piles before collecting them in small wooden buckets she later dumps into the barrels.

“Daddy, I’m Cinderella,” she begins, and I know the rest: “And you’re the evil step-mother.” I tell her how awfully she’s cleaning, then kiss her and remind her, “We’re just playing, remember? I don’t really think you’re doing an awful job.”

“Oh, I know.”

Meet the Boy

Saturday 28 July 2012

“Everyone wants to meet the Boy,” Nana explained a few weeks ago, and so we take a trip to Rock Hill to see the aunts, uncles, and cousins.

A trip to Rock Hill means a trip to one of the best hosts we know — my aunt. She’ll suggest a get together, say she wants to cook as little as possible, then bring out half a dozen different dishes. We arrive early to help out a bit. I cut some squash; K makes herself busy with melons; and soon, we have too many cooks in the kitchen.

When the rest of the family arrives and adds their food, we we end up with a bar covered with salads alone. “If anyone leaves hungry,” Nana often laughs, “It’s his own fault.”

Yet tasty as it is, the food is not the reason for the visit. Family, family, family — and this is only the smallest portion of the smallest percent of our huge family. Had all the cousins and their children come, we would have easily had forty or fifty people in the house.

Yet enough cousins came to make a party for the kids as well.

I watch the kids — who can even count them all? — playing and screaming, and I think, “This must be what it’s like to be the Brady Bunch.”

Not a bad thought, indeed.

This was written on the 28th but not uploaded due to a lack of internet access. Plus, I have to keep my once-a-day record up for July, hence the cheating back-dating.

From Dawn to Dusk

Friday 27 July 2012

Breakfast should have been a hint of the day to come. While at Aldi yesterday, we found a real deal on small fillets, so we had steak (one fillet shared between the two of us) and eggs for breakfast.

The Girl entertained the Boy while we finished up breakfast, and I joked, “This is the kind of breakfast that sticks with you until dinner.”

Little did we know how busy we would be

Applying another coat of Thompson’s on the deck (it didn’t make sense to leave a touch in one can) while K took care of the kids and did laundry;
Mowing in 95 degree pure sun as K took care of the kids and cooked barszcz;
Cleaning the house while K took care of the kids and did more laundry (The Boy goes through so much laundry that it’s a miracle there’s still water left in the county);
Taking the Girl for a promised swim as K took care of the Boy;

It looks like such a short, innocuous list, but between steps three and four, K and I fell asleep while the Girl watched an episode ofÂ Martha Speaks and the Boy took a post-meal snooze.

And nature provided the first test of four mornings’ of waterproofing

Princess Camp

Tuesday 24 July 2012

Princess ballet camp every Tuesday. Can you imagine anything any better?

The final session today ended with a performance, which included a bit of insight into how the little ballerinas get ready — the stretching, the prep.

Cleaning

Monday 23 July 2012

It’s a time of recycling. All the infant toys that have sat in storage for literally years are now out, dumped in the bathroom sink for a good scrubbing before handing them off to the Boy.

The Girl’s constant refrain — “Can I help?” — receives an enthusiastic “Yes.”

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