the girl | matching tracksuits

Let’s Go Fly A Kite

Monday 15 March 2010

March is a month for kite flying. Though I rarely flew kites, it was always a favorite pastime for me as a kid. Perhaps it’s the indirect flying. We introduced kite flying to the Girl this weekend, much to her excitement.

When shopping for our kite, there was only one criterion: there must be a princess on it.

“I’m not a _____! I’m a princess!” L is fond of saying these days. In the blank can be just about anything, even “little girl” (or “big girl” for that matter). Once the princess kite was assembled

and launched, L was fascinated.

For about three minutes.

Much more inviting were the rocks and twigs scattered about.

Farm Party

Monday 22 February 2010

Almost all children adore animals. Kids are attracted to the novel, and what could be more novel than another living creature?

L’s love of animals borders on obsessive, and like many obsessions, hers leads to behaviors that seem counterproductive: she loves are cat almost literally to death (at least that’s certainly the cat’s point of view). And so a visit to a farm is simply perfect for L: she gets to experience animals up close, yet the familiarity that leads L to take so many liberties with our cat is missing.

Over the weekend, we went to a birthday party held at a local stable and farm — brilliant idea. We petted chickens and fed goats.

The highlight, of course, was in the barn.

Like all good riders, the children got a chance to do a little horse grooming, learning how to brush the horses with the various brushes then applying their new knowledge.

L is a curious mix of excitement and conscientiousness. She was eager to try the various brushes and wanted to use them correctly, but she never really took the time to try to remember — to allow others to remind her — how to the various brushes.

She’s a little like me, I guess: she dives in, fairly confident that she’ll get it right soon enough that any mistakes made along the way won’t be significantly problematic.

Fortunately, theÂ conscientious side of her took control when she was on the horse. She listened carefully and didn’t deviate from instructions even slightly.

Once it was all over, the swings outside the barn beckoned. L had had fun the entire day, but she seem a little relieved to be doing something she knew how to do. Novel is good, in small doses.

Symmetry

Tuesday 16 February 2010

The Girl enjoys playing with the chess set I brought back from Poland. (If I remember correctly, a gift from Nana and Papa, when they came for our wedding.) She has invented her own little version that involves us using single pieces to push our opponent’s single piece around the board for a few moments. She loves the game, but I’ve yet to discern the sublime objective.

Occasionally she just gets all the pieces out and puts them on the board. There’s usually a pattern: black pieces on black squares; white pieces on white squares.

A perfectly impossible position, but notice: the white king is in check, forking the queen.

It’s another example of the similarities between toddlers and older children with autism: pattern, pattern, pattern. Everything has its place, and to disturb that order is to invite chaos, in more ways that one.

We’re more like that than we’d like to admit. A colleague once commented that we’re all on the autism spectrum; it’s just that some of us have very mild cases. Mine manifests itself in my obsession with seeing patterns in floor tiles and then feeling a compulsion to walk in accordance with said patterns.

That’s probably why I looked at L’s work, smiled, and said proudly, “Very symmetrical. Well done.”

Teaching to Share

Wednesday 10 February 2010

We’ve been teaching the Girl to share. With no siblings, she’s fairly accustomed to having all her toys all to herself. Yet sharing is not something you can force or even teach like tying a shoe. It’s something in which she needs to see the intrinsic value herself. And the only way to convey that — the joy of sharing, you could call it — is to model it.

“Here, Mama. Would you like some of my cake?” I ask K. She has a slice herself, but she gladly accepts. We smile, but they’re genuine smiles: it’s amusing, the whole process, and it’s difficult to do it with a straight face.

L is beginning to catch on. The other day, she brought me a bit of candy she’d tried, saying, “Tata, I’m sharing this with you. I don’t like it.”

Hat

Sunday 7 February 2010

There’s a particular hat that is positively ubiquitous in southern Poland. Farmers, loggers, town drunks — any and all men can wear them, especially once they reach age forty.

I received one before I left Poland. Though I could never bring myself to wear it there, I wore it occasionally in the States.

The Girl recently discovered it.

It seems it’s no longer mine.

Ice

Saturday 30 January 2010

We’ve lived here long enough to learn through firsthand experience that the Greenville area doesn’t get snow; it gets ice. Still, the ground becomes white, and it’s inviting to a little girl.

The driveway became a skating rink. Or, more accurately, a slipping-and-sliding rink.

But L’s great dream was to make a snowball and throw it. She made a valiant effort, scraping the ice from the ground, forming it into a little ball

and giving it a toss.

Waterfront

Tuesday 19 January 2010

There are two parts of downtown Charleston, according to tour guides. It’s not a question of “The Haves” and “The Have-Nots” but rather “The Haves” and “The Have-a-Hell-of-a-Lot-Mores.” That’s where the houses along the battery lie.

After all, who else could pay the property taxes of such houses? The annual rate for most of these houses equals a solidly middle-class salary.

If driving a $100k Mercedes is a conspicuous sign of wealth, these houses make tourists scratch their heads in wonder. “Who could afford such a house?” we ask. Apparently, plenty of people.

Just a few blocks away is the prison. It closed in the 1940s, never having had electricity or running water. The last execution was in the 1930s: the state had changed its method of execution to the electric chair, and having no power, the Charleston prison was unable to continue executing criminals.

The Girl was impressed, but more so with the birds that were flying around her

and the waves splashing below us. We weaved among the tourists, and on one occasion became an object of tourist fascination: an Asian couple saw L marching down the street, giggled, and took a quick picture. A local, out walking his dog, observed that L was “all wrapped up” and thus “cute as a button.”

We continued on our way, though it was difficult not to look up. It’s not quite like being in a Gothic cathedral or Manhattan, but the impulse too look upward is undeniable.

And look back: I noticed a placard announcing that we were in “Rainbow Row” and it struck me: “All the houses we’ve passed have been different colors.” It made me wonder if there is a similar tract in San Francisco.

The rest of Charleston went about its usual business. Cadets from the Citadel were out, walking in packs, strolling with their girlfriends, or harassing random girls (at least that’s what some of my captures look like).

Locals stood talking.

And everyone made their way here and there on a lazy Sunday.

New Games

Tuesday 29 December 2009

I never really liked card games as a kid. I guess Uno was alright once in a while, but that doesn’t really count as a real card game. Since Windows hadn’t yet come out when I was a kid, I never learned to play Hearts. Spades was popular among some friends, as was — oddly enough — euchre, but I just didn’t get it. What was the point? (Bridge, of course, was out of the question then; now, it’s the only card game I truly enjoy.)

L learned a new game today — “learn” being used in a most generous way. She didn’t quite get the point; she couldn’t quite understand why Babcia took the upturned cards for herself sometimes and sometimes gave them to her.

I can’t remember what this particular game is called in English. In Polish, it’s “wojna” — war. Perhaps it’s the same in English. I can’t really recall. (Another one of those odd circumstances in which I know the Polish but am unsure of the English.)

Most importantly: the Girl enjoyed it (for a few minutes).

“Let’s play it again!” she chimed again and again.

Still in English, though…

A Walk Downtown

Sunday 27 December 2009

A cloudy day. We’d been in the house all weekend, with the sole exception being a trip to the church on Christmas day. So after L woke up, we headed downtown.

Cloudy days are good for photographing moving water: slow shutter speeds.

One step over-exposure combined with a closed down lens meant I was able to get the shutter speeds I’d always wanted.

But L wasn’t interested in shutter speeds or f-stop values: we’d promised her chocolate milk once we got downtown, and that was her only interest.

Latte for K and me; hot chocolate for Babcia; and fruit juice for the Girl (unfortunately, no chocolate milk to be found) — we were ready for a walk down main street.

There were a few of us out for a walk. Most everyone else seemed to be huddled in the bars and restaurants that line Main Street. I guess with the bowl games and the southern love affair with football it’s logical.

Still, there were a few families out. A grandmother and granddaughter posed for pictures against a backdrop of traffic as we crossed the street to head back to our car. Just a few blocks down the street the view is much more striking, with the waterfall and bridge and lights. As we walked by, I idly wondered about their choice of location.

Being downtown always makes me a little frustrated that we don’t head there more often.

The winter answer to that question is obvious. After a couple of shots in front of the large city Christmas tree, we headed back to the car.

We parked within view of some of the most expensive condos in the area. Location, location, location. Their owners probably don’t complain about not going downtown often enough.

Wigilia 2009

Thursday 24 December 2009

Everyone began preparing in the morning. Truth be told, K started weeks ago: making pierogi and uszki (two different types of dumplings) and freezing them. Still, with two soups, dumplings, kraut with wild mushrooms, and a main course (accompanying salads and such not counted) on the menu, we had to get a quick start.

There was a salad to make, beginning with boiling veggies and eggs — lots of this. And sauteing onions on a cosmic scale.

There was chopping galore: before and after the boiling; during this; before that. “Click, click, click,” was the soundtrack of the morning.

And there was ironing and setting of places.

In the end, it was the common lament: all the time spent cooking, and the food disappeared so relatively quickly. There’s the eternal entertaining conflict: one wants them to savor everything, yet while everything is warm and the fish is still moist, one wants everyone just to hurry up and get to the next course.

It was a special wigilia for us because it was a special Christmas Eve for L: the first one she knew what was going on, possibly the first one in her memory for some time. She ate the barszcz; she devoured the mushroom soup; and she sat calmly as the rest of us ate. Afterward, Nana and Papa successfully spoiled her with their generosity (not to mention us: as I write, I’m listening to Madeline Peyroux’s excellent new album, Bare Bones, on a new iPod — the woman is incapable of making a bad album). With guests, gifts, and attention, the Girl danced, sang, smiled, laughed, and was the center of the evening. It’s likely to be that way for, well, the foreseeable future.

Previous Years

Wigilia 2003

Wigilia 2004

Wigilia 2005

Wigilia 2006

Wigilia 2007

You Have Five Minutes

Monday 21 December 2009

It’s amazing the number of confrontations and tantrums we’ve avoided by giving L a time frame. Simply establishing a temporal structure allows us all to avoid frustration. She knows what to expect and, more importantly, when; we know that we’ll have a much more compliant little girl.

It works for almost everything. When L is watching a movie, it’s referenced in terms of the film’s scenes: “When this scene is over, we’ll go for our bath.” The scene finishes; she toddles off to the bathroom when requested to do so. When L is reading a book before bedtime, a reminder that she’ll be going to be in five minutes elicits “Okay”; saying, out of the blue, “Okay, put the book up. It’s time for bed!” is likely to produce nothing but conflict.

It would if some parts of life had more pre-established time frames.

Party

Saturday 19 December 2009

Though her birthday was three days ago, L’s birthday party was today. Her first birthday was a much more adult-centered party. Her second birthday party was still dominated by adults. This year, it was all about the kids.

There was pizza and ice cream and candy and juice, but most importantly, there were games.

I believe we were seeing a little bit of L’s school side, As mentioned earlier, L’s teachers always comment on her mellow, compliant nature, something we don’t see too often here.

Whenever we try to play a game with her, there can be tense moments of an attitude that can be described as a typical toddler egoism: “It’s mine; I’ll do with it as I please.”

Today, there was none of that. L exhibited a simple graciousness that never demanded to be first, never begged to have it all, never stated that it must be this way and not that. She was the perfect host. It was her party, and she didn’t cry because apparently she didn’t ever want to.

And who could blame her? L’s two best friends from school were there, and what’s more, there was dancing.

The three candles were out in a flash, and the party seemed to wrap up even faster. I glanced at the clock and saw it was, in fact, two hours since the first guests arrived.

In a word, a success. “See you next year,” said one parent as a best friend was leaving.

We’re looking forward to it — especially the Girl.

Three

Wednesday 16 December 2009

Today, you turn three. You hold up your fingers, struggling to hold down the thumb and pinkie, and tell me — show me — that you’re three.

In the morning, we celebrate your threeness with activities arranged into trinities: three hugs, three kisses, three tickles. As we head to the kitchen, you decide you want three jumps, so I stand at the base of our small staircase and catch you three times as you leap, in complete trust, three times into my arms. We go back to your room and you want three pushes: I sit on your rug and you gradually, with steady pressure, push me over, landing on me with giggles.

For three years now, we’ve been three. While it’s hard to accept that it was three years ago that you rushed into the world after only an hour of your mother’s labor, it’s equally difficult to accept that it’s only been three years. It seems like so much longer. This is undoubtedly due, in large measure, to the simple fact that you’ve developed more — cognitively and physically — in these three years than you’ll ever develop in your life. You’ve learned to talk, walk, run, dance, tickle, fix chocolate milk, sort things by color, chose your own clothes, put on your jacket, and a million other things that you will take for granted in the future but are in fact life changing advances. you have, in short, become more independent.

In the beginning, there was dependence. You could do nothing for yourself except burp and mess in your shockingly small diaper.

Each year, you’ve grown more independent, and more stubborn.

You’ve gone from having things done for you to insisting on doing everything for yourself. Insisting to the point of utter frustration at times.

And now, we celebrate your completion of three years. You’re starting your fourth year with us.

We bring you a small cake — Babcia’s work — and clap as you blow out the candle. Your first year, we did it for you.

Your first birthday’s presents were of a simple kind: they made noise, or flashed, or rattled. We unwrapped the presents for you and showed you how they work.

Now, you unwrap your own presents and excitedly examine them.

We still help you, though. It will be that way for a very long time. Hopefully, a very, very long time. You’ll understand that desire when you have children of your own.

Babcia’s Arrival

Sunday 13 December 2009

Going to the airport for an international arrival is a game of waiting.

We stood at the end of a long corridor and wait as the passengers trickle out, one by one, two by two, a group here and a group there. With three simultaneous international arrivals, it makes for a long process.

We saw several lovely reunions as we anticipate our own. An uncle arrived from Italy to a niece and nephew running to him full speed. A father returned to a mother and smiling baby. A sister came from German for a visit.

Finally, it was our turn. L ran to meet Babcia, who scooped her up and gave her a long hug.

K joined them for a three-generation, all-mother-daughter group hug. It caught the attention of others, just as earlier reunions brought smiles to our face,

More hugs followed.

Now L just has to start speaking Polish…

Balance

Saturday 12 December 2009

“Shhh! There’s a monster in there!” says L as we walk toward her room. She’s at that age where she sees monsters, tigers, and bears everywhere. A “smoky, smoky dragon” is a common visitor at night, and right after a bath, an alligator — simply named Alligator — comes looking for her as she hides under her big bath towel. Saturday mornings she likes to jump in our bed (even if it’s made up — she’ll willingly unmake it) and hide under the covers.

“Shhh, shhh, shhh!” she’ll proclaim. “Monster’s coming!”

I play along sometimes, but it creates a problem: she gets genuinely scared sometimes, and it’s because there’s an alligator under her bed or a dragon right over there, in the corner. I reassure here that there’s no such thing is monsters, but it’s difficult to do if I’ve just been playing along with her imagination earlier in the evening.

It’s difficult to balance her developing imagination with her developing fear.

Will she learn there’s no such thing as dragons before she learns Santa doesn’t exist? I’m helping create both illusions, feeling slight pangs of guilt about it, and wondering if it’s all avoidable.

Memorex

Saturday 5 December 2009

L has an absolutely astounding memory. She can “read” many, many books — at least fifteen, I would say — from memory. She turns the page and quotes almost verbatim the text on the page.

And she corrects me.

“‘That’s what you said yesterday,’ shouted elephant,” I read from one of L’s favorite books, Goose Goofs Off.

“No, Tata! Elephant snorted!” comes the reply.

Fairy Tale

Thursday 3 December 2009

Emptiness

Wednesday 2 December 2009

Emptiness inspires dancing — the echo of footsteps is always impressive.

With the sofa and love seat sold and the remaining furniture stowed throughout the house, we now have a ballroom.

Conversely, the acoustics inspired music making, with L taking the lead.

Fourth Thursday

Friday 27 November 2009

With a three-year old and no travel plans for Thanksgiving, we planned dinner around her nap. That gave us the whole morning to work around the house. As L grows, she’s increasingly eager to help.

It’s impossible to put beans into the coffee grinder or tea into the infuser without L calling, “I want to do it! I want to help!” When I stir something in the sauce pan, when K sweeps the kitchen, L is there, ready to help.

Indeed, if we don’t let her help (either intentionally or accidentally), it sometimes leads to a mini-meltdown.

When we arrived at Nana and Papa’s for turkey and the fixings, they had a surprise for L.

“We’re tired of making a tent for her,” Nana explained earlier in the week when I dropped by. It was, I would imagine, a well-established ritual: ottomans pushed together, with a blanket spread over it to create a small space for L to wallow in.

As planned, it kept the Girl busy while everyone helped out with the final stages of dinner.

Turkey with dressing and giblet gravy, with sides of rice, casserole, and cranberry sauce. What could be more American? Indeed, as I ate dinner, I remembered when, living with a host family in Poland, I was asked to create a typical American meal. I mentioned the Thanksgiving feast; I was relieved when told (this was 1996) that getting a whole turkey would be, at best, difficult.

After dinner was play time (until the turkey overwhelmed Papa and he began his post-dinner, in-seat nap).

It was the first Thanksgiving without any extended family at all. No traveling; no sleeping in strange beds; no absolute dread if it was a rainy day in South Carolina, requiring us all to stay inside with four generations of smokers. It was Thanksgiving without any of the negatives. It also lacked some of the positives that certainly accompany large family gatherings.

Yet, for one of the first Thanksgivings L will probably remember (at least for a few years), it was perfect. Especially the Mlenmorangie Papa brought out after dinner.

Little Drummer Girl

Sunday 22 November 2009

Happy accidents are part of growing up. Today, L discovered that my old Lincoln Log set makes a fairly good drum.

Add an old chocolate tin and a tub for totting Play Doe and you have an entire kit.

Matching Tracksuits