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the girl

Scat Cat

Tuesday 10 November 2009

It’s still a cliche love-hate relationship: L still loves, the cat still hates. Or perhaps “the cat fears” would be more accurate.

In my pre-parenthood thoughts of what fatherhood would be like, I never realized that literally everything must be taught — even how to show love. It’s a given when we look at the dysfunctional relationships that are everywhere (most commonly on the covers of magazines in the checkout line). Still, I thought that if we taught by example, L would learn how to express affection.

We teach by example; we illustrate by experience (“See? We’re gentle with the cat and she comes to us.”); we instruct directly (“Hitting the cat is not a good way to show affection.”). Sometimes it works. Generally, Bida continues to head the other way whenever L enters the room.

Guard Duty

Monday 9 November 2009

Alligator is after L. She tells me that he starts lurking about around bath time. When we’re getting her out of the bath, Alligator starts looking for her in earnest. I tell him he should look in the backyard. It buys us a little time. We get the Girl dressed, brush her teeth, and to her room, but by then, L is worried. It doesn’t take that long to search the backyard, and Alligator might come back any moment.

Fortunately, Crocodile is available to stand watch.

Fall Sunday

Sunday 8 November 2009

Living this far south has its advantages: we’re still getting tomatoes from our backyard vines. More importantly, it makes getting out as a family easier, and the usual field trips continue.

Today, it is a trip to the zoo. L has been so many times that she has the sequence of animals memorized. The elephants get everything started — appropriate, because “they’re my favorite,” L declares.

The monkeys are next, followed by the reptiles. Usually L breezes through, barely glancing at the cold-blooded, slow-moving creatures. Today, though, they were unusually active, especially the rattlesnakes.

Once we get to the giraffes (who are right after the reptiles), though, L decides she’s had enough. “I want to go to the big playground,” she says, and we rush to the playground, stopping only long enough to get a picture with Bear.

The playground also has its routine. Swings are always first. Afterward, perhaps the slides, or maybe the huge jungle gym complete with music stations.

With the bright sun and warmth, we’re hardly the only ones out today. Everyone seems to realize that this could be the last truly warm weekend.

Then again, who would any of us be kidding?

Christmas could be almost this warm.

The problem is that the warmth is unpredictable. Planning birthday parties at the park — we’d love to have L’s at the park — becomes impractical because it might just turn cold that weekend. For this birthday group, though, the weather was on their side.

As we’re leaving, L surprises us by wanting to try a few new stations. This park has some truly innovated toys, though the first one L wants is a new twist on an old torture.

Nearby, though, is a track-based activity that is almost always broken: it seems to attract everyone, even teenagers who are much too heavy for it. Luckily, L’s interest coincides with a period of functionality. Next week it will almost certainly be broken again.

We return home and finish the day with a game of Candy Land. L quickly grasps the idea behind the game, but the multiple colors combined with the element of chance are too much for her. The fact that she might not get her favorite color — blue — is overwhelming, and so we make a new rule: L gets a blue card to begin with. Period.

With blue in hand, L happily goes along with just about anything.

Around the World

Saturday 7 November 2009

Some daycare centers seem to attract a certain international clientele. Every year, the school sponsors an International Day when families can show off their heritage and learn a little about the world at the same time. The kids receive passports; each country receives a stamp. The kids arrive and it’s an endless cycle of visitors and visits.

This year, at Mexico’s booth, seasoned grasshoppers were available. I’m not certain they were a hit with the kids, but I took a handful to try. Salty, crunchy, proteiny, Israelitish. “We use as snacks, for tacos — that kind of thing,” says the host. “Not quite what you find in the typical Mexican restaurant,” K comments later.

While I was munching salty grasshopper, L was visiting her friend. Actually, since I tend to refer to L as “the Girl,” I suppose I could call this young lady, J, the Friend. “We hear L’s name all the time at home all the time,” J’s father tells me.

Not surprisingly, we hear J’s name at home all the time. For a while, L declared that her baby doll — generally referred to as “Baby” — was “J”, but that lasted only a few days. Perhaps it was odd to have a best friend and a baby with the same name.

L sees an elephant — her favorite — at the India and hustles over for a quick visit. This particular elephant is not supporting the world on its back; indeed, it seems to be supported by a soccer ball. I’m sure there could be some kind of symbolic significance, but before I have a chance to think further, L is off, returning to K. As usual, I tag along behind.

Babcia’s Coming

Friday 6 November 2009

In a little over a month, Babcia will arrive for a several-week visit. It will be the first time in a year and a half that we’ve seen her; L has gone from being virtually an infant to being something more than a toddler.

L is excited about the arrival. She mentions it every now and then, and every time an airplane flies over our house, L points and asks, “Is that Babcia?”

It will be a time of linguistic development for L. She understands Polish perfectly, and she even mixes a few Polish words into her English vocabulary. She doesn’t speak more than these occasionally mixed up words. When Babcia arrives, though, it will be time to start speaking Polish.

Only recently it occurred to me that this might be almost as difficult as learning to speak English. Her initial instinct will be to speak English, and knowing L’s stubbornness, she is likely initially to refuse even to try. Babcia has a secret weapon, though: fluent Russian. She might turn the tables on L.

Riches

Tuesday 3 November 2009

With L’s newly found sweet wealth, a daily activity is the counting of the candy. We pour it all out at the kitchen table; we dump it on the coffee table; we spread it around the floor — we count it again and again. And again.

It’s a blessing and a curse, really: she is counting, but I’m not sure what she’s counting is actually worth counting.

We were hoping that L’s initial reaction to candy — a wrinkled up nose and immediate retreat — would last, but she’s developed a love for sweets that we absolutely have to monitor.

“That much candy will last you for two months,” I guessed the first time she dumped it out; with our one-a-day rule, I just about got it right.

Normal

Sunday 1 November 2009

A couple of weeks after our wedding, K and I went for a walk in the fields of Lipnica Wielka, the village in southern Poland that was my home for seven years, our home for one. We’d returned home from our honeymoon at Balaton, moved her stuff to our small apartment, and begun the process of settling down.

My Wife — Lipnica Wielka, Poland (August 29, 2004)

The day after I took this picture, I wrote in my journal,

Finally everything seems to have settled down a bit. [K] and I have moved into the apartment; we’ve done some decorating; we’ve had dinner here; we’ve gone to [K’s] folks’ house for Sunday lunch already. And here it is, just before seven, and I’m writing in my journal. Everything’s back to “normal” in other words, but that “normal” isn’t quite like it ever was before.

It’s odd how one’s sense of “normal” changes so easily. For several years, we had a “normal” newlywed life: traveling, having parties, meeting friends for dinner, staying up.

Then L came along, and for a while, getting no real sleep and always having an infant in our arms was “normal.” Getting up multiple times in one night became an expected routine, and it often had its own pleasantness: there is an unparalleled intimacy involved in helping an infant — getting a bottle, changing a diaper, calming a nightmare — when the rest of the city is asleep.

Now “normal” is “No!” and “No, no, no!” It’s “I want it!” and tantrums. It’s dealing with independence in a still-dependent little girl. It can be more frustrating than getting up for the fourth time with an infant.

Soon enough, I know “normal” will be something entirely different, and it occurs to me, as it has to many through the millenia, that perhaps a static normal is not normal.

Retrieving Apples

Sunday 25 October 2009

A trip to the orchard is supposed to involve stretching to pick the perfect apple that is just out of reach. It’s supposed to mean a delicate tug and twist to remove an apple without causing others to fall to the ground. It’s supposed to be about branches bending under the weight of apples. Last year it was about all those things. This year, it was a question of picking them off the ground.

It’s a little disheartening to be scavenging apples rather than picking them, but Pink Ladies — sweet with a tart edge and a crunch that is audible — are not apples one leaves to rot on the ground.

So we picked them,

hauled them in baskets

as well as wagons,

and brushed them off and ate them.

Every now and then, we stopped for a group picture, which reminded me of the greatest features of digital photography: easy sharing. No more line of cameras at the photographer’s feet. No more “One more! Just one more!”

No more last minute re-groupings as someone realizes that he wants a group picture, too.

And that certainly was a possibility, given the number of photographers in the group.

Madeline at Boo in the Zoo

Tuesday 20 October 2009

In an old zoo in Greenville that was covered with vines
Weaved hundreds of children in one very long line;

The smartest, cutest, and funniest was Madeline.

She was not afraid of the candy-sharing workers of the zoo,

And to the snake behind the glass, she just said “Poo poo!”

“Poo poo” to the lion, too.

The animals in the cages had all gone to sleep,

And it almost made poor little Madeline weep,

But the thought of more treats made her pick up her feet.

She posed for pictures with pumpkins and hay,

But in the end, she was glad to call it a day.

In the parking lot, “Watch out for the cars” was almost all she could say.

The Bad Hat

Saturday 17 October 2009

That Brooke — she’s a bad influence. At school, she teaches L to disregard all safety, to live on the edge, to do somersaults.

There were a handful of less-than-perfect landings for each perfect one.

Outsourcing

Tuesday 13 October 2009

For the first several months of L’s life, K and I could be fairly sure that everything she knew was something we’d taught her, directly or indirectly. Sometimes she would imitate us with prompting, sometimes without. There were few moments that prompted comments of “Where’d she get that?” and the like.

When she started spending time with other kids and adults at daycare, the gradual shift began. Slowly she picked up as much at daycare as at home; then, daycare overtook us.

Now she comes home with songs we’ve never heard:

Twinkle, twinkle traffic light…
Red means stop
Green means go
Yellow means very, very slow

She comes home with skills we haven’t touched on: tracing numbers and letters is the most recent.

These things come from the teacher, who told K this morning during the first of many parent-teacher conferences, that L is a “good old-fashioned girl” with good manners and a strong sense of right and wrong.

Other things come from friends. Brooke taught her how to swing by herself.

She’s growing more and more independent.

Now, she knows she can get her information from other sources, that she’s not dependent on us mentally any more than she is physically.

Which, in reality, is still quite comforting: still many years to go. It comes in mercifully slow steps.

Rituals

Tuesday 6 October 2009

Having a child makes it obvious why there are yearly rituals in all cultures. They measure time and serve as a standard for growth and progress.

A year ago, L was small enough to hide behind a pumpkin.

She was considerably bigger this time around, and more independent. Getting her to go here or there and do this or that was much more difficult. She had her own session photos in mind and was not really thrilled to cooperate with photographer or assistant — even when we switched roles.

And her imagination has developed, not to mention linguistic skills.

“Tata! It’s a dragon!” she cried on finding a bright gourd.

Yet, she still can be surprised when the tables are turned and another gourd counterattacks.

We battled for a little, with each Dragon Gourd showing a propensity to tickling its victim.

The tractor was just as fascinating this year as last year, but this year, she could pedal. Then again, in the intervening months, the chain had broken, so L’s efforts didn’t result in much more than a bit of confusion.

There’s something about a field of pumpkins that inspire people to bring their children for pictures. The contrast? The obviously seasonal motif?

L came up with her own poses this year. The set involved as many small pumpkins as could possibly be gathered.

The session was not to be, though. L saw the scarecrow, and with a little gentle suggestion from K, we managed a shot that more accurately shows L’s personality: playful, silly, always looking for a surprise.

What will next year bring?

Perhaps a third photographer?

International Festival

Saturday 3 October 2009

Keeping kids in touch with their non-American heritage can be tough. The Girl hears Polish daily, but still rarely speaks it.

Even rarer is the opportunity to dress traditionally.

Propriety

Monday 21 September 2009

Pre-teaching
Kupa is Polish for “poo-poo”, and it’s pronounced, “koo-pa.”Â Siusiu is Polish for “wee-wee”, and it’s pronounced “shoo-shoo.”

When you’re nearly three years old, everything has a proper method. There is no gray area; there are no acts or activities that don’t have strict rules, regulations, and expectations.

Rituals abound, and often, the adults don’t even realize there is a ritual for this or that, let alone what the various elements of a given ritual are.

L’s morning rituals are set. We wake Her Highness up, and the first stop is the kitchen bar. We get out the milk; she opens it. We bring her the cocoa mix; she opens it. We pour the milk; she adds the cocoa. She stirs and tastes; we stir and taste. She closes the sippy cup; we check that it’s tightly screwed on.

Any violation of theseÂ sacrosanct rituals is troubling. Try to open the milk and L cries, “I do it! I do it!” Try to screw on the sippy cup lid before she has a chance and she cries, “I do it! I do it!” It has become so problematic that we introduced a ritual of our own: “L’s Magnificent Mornings.” It’s a sticker-bribery system, basically. It works, but it has only added one more ritual to our ritualistic lives.

Most of the rituals appear without warning. A new ceremony concerns entering the bathtub. It is not to be done at one end or the other, but precisely in the middle. Galaxies collide and gravity dissipates otherwise.

Occasionally, we get to watch a ritual being born. Slowly, it develops and moves from the status of “occasional addition to an existing activity” to full-blown sacrament.

This afternoon, I might have witnessed it.

L came to me asking for help in the bathroom. This can only mean that baby wipes will be necessary. After L created her “awful smell” (as she once referred to it), I suggested that we flush it down.

“No, I need to siusiu,” she replied solemnly.

“Well, we can flush and then you can siusiu,” I suggested.

She shook her head. “No, no! Kupa needs to swim!”

I suggested that kupa might have more room in the big potty and she reluctantly agreed. If I were to place a wager on it, though, I suspect it won’t be the last time L tries to protect kupa‘s right toÂ exercise.

Artist

Sunday 20 September 2009

Occasionally, a picture can capture someone’s personality perfectly.

Manners

Saturday 19 September 2009

The room was dark; L and I were in the rocking chair, just moments before she went to bed. A time to calm down, this time of day often brings out stories about how L’s school day went.

L began telling me about the order they sit in during circle time. She’s in a new group, and most of the children in there are new friends, so there were lots of new names floating about. She hardly finished one name when she started another. Then a pause.

“And beside Alex…” her voice tapered off.

“Who’s beside Alex?”

“I don’t know.” We rocked for a few moments, then she amended it. “I don’t know her name.”

“Why don’t you ask her.”

“No,” said L in a quick, clipped voice: it’s how she’s shortened “I don’t know” for many months.

“You just have to introduce yourself. Walk up to her and say, ‘Hi. My name’s L. What’s your name?'” A few more rocks, then I suggested we practice.

Within a few moments, she began improvising — “What’s your name? My name’s L.” — and adding a handshake with, “Nice to meet you.”

The following night, I asked her how it went. “Did you meet that girl from your circle time?”

“No,” she replied, and then gave a meandering explanation that only a toddler could come up with. Still, we practiced again.

“We’re Sleeping in a Forest”

Monday 7 September 2009

When there’s a toddler in the family, life is a series of firsts: first time swimming; first time on an airplane; first time at the ocean.

This weekend, we added another one: first time camping, at Oconee State Park.

Oconee State Park was one of the many parks created during the thirties by the Civilian Conservation Corps. Given all the “socialism!” and “socialist!” and “socializing!” noise of the last days, it seemed oddly appropriate that we cut ourselves off from the civilized world by going to a New Deal project. I felt brainwashed when we left, but not indoctrinated.

Our “rustic site,” deep in the woods and far away from the hordes of RV-ers, was just that: very spartan. A semi-flat spot for a tent, a picnic table, and a fire circle were the only things non-native.

L was immediately thrilled, particularly with the prospect of roasting marshmallows on the fire.

“And now we can,” began K, and L finished, “Marshmallows?”

“I’m going to bring that from the car, then we can,” I said, and L finished, “Marshmallows?”

When the time finally came, though, it turned out that marshmallow preference might be genetic: like me, she didn’t really care for the marshmallow but greatly enjoyed setting them on fire. K and I ate one each; L burned most of the remainder.

It being L’s first time out, we decided to make every effort to maintain our daily routine. L was more than happy to watch the fire rather than read a book as she readied herself for bed.

The next morning, another first: mini golf. L quickly developed her own style, and her own rules.

“I hear they’re going to count that as a legitimate stroke,” I said to a father of two one hole ahead of us as we both watched, laughing, L gently push her ball to the hole. “If the ball remains in contact with the club’s face, it’s one stroke.” Our neighboring golfer liked the rule.

She seemed to enjoy putting it into her pocket after every hole more than the actual game itself.

For others, it was all about the game.

In the afternoon, we did the logical thing: go swimming. The man-made lake was shallow but cold. L didn’t notice, though.

The water’s coolness was quite possibly a relief to some, considering their trajectories toward the water and the smack! of impact.

It was an afternoon of “again.”

“I want to jump!” cried L. “Again, and again, and again!”

No mini-vacation afternoon would be complete without ice cream. As a younger toddler, L took a while to appreciate the sweet chill of good ice cream. These days, there’s no question, no hesitation, and no doubt.

“Want some ice cream?” we asked, though only rhetorically.

And the question had to be well-timed. The swim in the lake would have lasted all but five minutes had she known we were planning on having ice cream afterward.

We headed to a playground, where we were surprised once again at how quickly L can pick up a new skill. All it took was seeing one little girl slide down the pole at the corner of the playground and L was begging to try.

The paddle boat was a slightly different story, though. It’s odd: L loves water, but she’s always very nervous doing something new around the water. The ocean terrified her, and the lake at the park initially didn’t calm her anxieties much.

Still, she was willing to try, provided we took a blue boat.

A walk around the park brought the weekend to a close, and the water fountain at the end of the trail was a thrilling surprise for L.

As always, the best part, though, was the return. Lumpy, slanted nights’ sleep left all of us feeling we hadn’t actually slept at all. “I woke up every single time I turned over,” K admitted as I mumbled about how badly I slept.

It left us all jealous of creatures who can curl up comfortably wherever they are, and happy at the thought of our own beds.

“Just think: it will be soft, even, and flat.”

Face to Face

Wednesday 2 September 2009

What is it about the great apes that simply draws us to them? Undoubtedly, it’s the similarity (both anatomic and genetic) that we share with them. The temptation is to point to our common ancestor, somewhere in the depths of prehistory, and suggest that we somehow know, on an instinctive level, that we’re related.

Miss Hyde

Tuesday 1 September 2009

“She’s so easy-going!” I’ve heard several people at L’s school mention this, and I’m certainly pleased about it. When I hear this, I’m also a little confounded about the Miss Hyde that appears on a daily basis at our house. “Easy-going” is not how I’d describe her distressingly often; “high-maintenance” and “tiring” are the words I’d choose.

Familiarity, in this case, truly leads to a sort of contempt (though that really is much too strong a word). She’s lately taken to behavior that, while I knew was possible irrespective of the quality of parenting, I never really believed would appear. Not being clairvoyants, we are unable to peer, or even peek, inside her head to find out what’s causing this. Exhaustion is certainly part of it, as she’s not getting enough sleep; stress is definitely a component, for she’s moved into a new group at her preschool and all that was known and comfortable has disappeared. But there must be more to it than that, and, as with the classroom, we’re left wondering whether we’re doing everything we can.

Nap

Saturday 29 August 2009

Occasionally, K and I are envious. Most often, we have too much to do at this time of day.

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