Apples and Pairs
the girl
Chores
Evening Walk
After a few administrative matters were taken care of -- moving the car, taking the trash out to the street -- we headed out this evening for a brief walk. As we headed up the street, K playfully commented on how dirty L was.
"Well, if I had to choose between a child who is filthy," I said, "and a child who is obsessed about being clean, I'd have to go with the filthy child. At least it's a sign that she's outgrown her princess phase."
The Boy, of course, has still not outgrown his machine obsession.
Jumping Redux
Out With the Old
If there is one thing I hate more than going to shop for a new cell phone, I don’t know what it is. I hate shopping for just about anything (with a few unhealthy exceptions), but cell phone purchases are at the very bottom of my list. You go into an electronics store and everyone is so excited about the new XYZ and the incredible DEF and the improved KLW — and it just leaves me baffled. It’s a tool, nothing more, nothing less, but I suppose in the age of iPhones and Galaxies, it’s more than that to most people.
K and I don’t upgrade our phones often. Indeed, we don’t upgrade them ever. Until recently, I was happy to hobble along with my half-broken piece of junk. Then, coming home on the bike, I got caught in a downpour and the phone got soaked in my bike bag, putting it out of its misery.
In a way, I was thrilled. No more phone, period. I don’t have to remember to pick it up in the morning; I don’t have to remember charge it; I don’t have to think about it — heaven. But there are times when even a phone curmudgeon like me has to admit that a phone can be fairly useful. Emergencies, for example. So despite my hesitations and protestations, we upgraded.
The upshot of that was I could finally do what I always wanted to do to my phone. L enjoyed getting in on it, too.
Yet the Boy was a little upset about it. “Why are you breaking your phone?” he asked, genuinely concerned. I explained that it was already broken and that L and I were just being silly, and so soon he was stomping away too, chirping, “I love breaking phones!” It was at that point that K and I thought a little addendum might be in order…
Balance
Since we've added a trampoline (free from friends in our Polish community whose boys, now in high school and college, have no interest in it) to our entertainment possibilities, I've come to see the whole potentially injurious toy in a whole new way. Sure, there's the possibility broken bones, I guess, snapped spines, but in truth, I don't think there's the kind of jumping going on down there that could lead to such tragedies. And the advantages are overwhelming at times. There is of course the simple fact that it's an enclosed space that allows the adults to relax while the kids go crazy.
But what I've noticed most is the incredible improvement in both the kids' balance and, to borrow an eduspeak term, their kinesthetic intelligence. When we first began the jumping and bouncing, the Boy fell quite frequently. All you had to do is jump somewhat near him and the jolt of the trampoline below him would be enough to send him tumbling -- laughing often but frustrated just as often. Now, we hop all around him, and he seems simply to absorb it all with a bit of knee action. He's gone from little timid hops to being able to bound across the whole trampoline with only four or so jumps.
The Girl seems to enjoy it the most, though. We've lately been taking the whole popcorn idea to an absurd -- and dangerous, K insists -- level. Basically I launch her: she sits near the middle, I take a giant leap and land right beside her, and Newton's third takes care of the rest -- she pops up three, four feet into the air and lands on her feet. And if I get the timing just right, I launch her again at that moment, sending her flying yet again, making her laugh even harder. Which gets me to laughing. Which amuses the Boy. Which is why I ultimately have come to love our trampoline.
First Day 2015
“Goodnight, couch potato!”
I stopped on my way out the door just long enough to turn and give a smirk smeared with a grin. “Couch potato indeed,” I thought. Just because I’d almost fallen asleep while playing cars with the kids earlier this evening doesn’t make me a couch potato. I biked to work, wrestled with all the first-day problems that consume a teacher’s initial planning periods, taught five lessons straight, and biked home in a fairly substantial rain — couch potato indeed. Still, I just gave L a smile mixed with a slight smirk, wished her goodnight again, and headed out.
L had a rough first day in a lot of ways. Now in third grade, she heads upstairs to the classrooms that house the third, fourth, and fifth grades. Assigned a teacher known for being strict, she fretted throughout the evening about the news that they will have assigned lunch seats starting tomorrow. “Last year, we only got assigned seats when we were bad!” she sniffled, and I think I know at least part of what’s going on: L tries very hard to be a good student, and when she hears that they’re getting assigned seats, which she usually associates with misbehavior, she begins doubting her own goodness in class. It’s a fairly natural reaction, I would think, but L chews and chews on things like this until she wears it down or it wears her down.
We talked about it a bit tonight, and in the course of that conversation, one of the real concerns became evident, a concern that I myself remember having when I was in elementary school. “We don’t have a bathroom in the class.” Instead, they must share the facilities with fourth and fifth graders. Who knows what that might lead to, she reasons. And while I certainly think there’s little to worry about, I do recall how we’re seeing more and more news reports that show children younger and younger growing more and more brutal. It’s unlikely, though, that anything worse than a sideways glance from a fifth grader might happen. But I too remember that fear that comes with being thrown in among older kids who are completely unknown.
The Boy, on the other hand, had a completely different experience. “But Mommy, I’m not ready to go,” he told K when she picked him up from his part-time K-3 (K-3? Is there any limit to this?!) program. The teacher commented on his manners, which consistently imzpress me, and he likely commented continually about the enormous Thomas the Train play station in his room.
And my day? First day back as an eighth-grade teacher is always a bit stressful. I’d already had my visit with the seventh-grade assistant principal to find out which students could be most challenging and therefore which students I need to focus on as I developed relationships with 100+ new thirteen-year-olds. But despite the schedule I feared would be brutal, I mounted my bike feeling I might not have had a better first day in my entire teaching career.
A Rainbow, Some Circuits, and Cars
We've had rain every afternoon for the past several days. After such a long streak of dry weather, it is certainly a welcome view, even if it does prevent the kids from going outside. But the rain really only lasts an hour or so in the late afternoon, so it's easy to work around. Today, though, we got an added bonus: our own personal rainbow.
"Do you think there's a pot of gold at the end?" L asked, and it occurred to me that we might actually be able to make our fortune if that were the case as both ends the rainbow seemed to be within our property lines. We wouldn't even have to worry about claims of the property owner once we tracked down the gold. Sadly, though, before we could go out and hunt it down (or perhaps both down -- who knows whether or not rainbows have treasure at both ends), the colors faded.
But the rain really wasn't even a problem for the kids: everyone had something to do. L was busy loading apps on the tablet she bought for herself with the money she's been collecting. I won't quite say "saving" because it's been burning a cliche hole in her pocket, and she got most of it in one go. Still, she managed to hold off on spending it in Poland, likely because Babcia kept her financed and all the friends who came to visit brought little knickknacks as well
As for the Boy, he was, as usual, content playing with his cars.
First, Last, Only — Tired
The real challenge in trying to live each day as if it were the one day you chose to return to and relive — in other words, to live each day as if it were your first, last, and only day on Earth — is how utterly tiring it is. If you wake up and say to yourself, “I’m going to live today like it’s the only day of my existence,” you’re going to want to try to squeeze every drop of life out of every single moment. You’re not going to want to waste time sitting around, doing nothing.
When you go to the pool with your family, for example, you’re not going to sit in a deck chair, slowly drifting into near-sleep, with the only thing really stopping you being the fact that you have contact lenses in. You’re not going to sit on the side of the pool watching your family have a good time.
You’re going to get in and swim, like E did today. Even though he was exhausted. Even though he’d had no nap and so was incredibly exhausted.
It’s not that you’d live that day always on the go, but it seems like quiet moments of the day would be at the very least contemplative and not sleepy.
And you certainly wouldn’t waste any part of precious final evening watching some silly show from the History Channel about the supposed evidence that ancient civilizations created all their glorious monuments with the aid of extraterrestrial assistance. Sure, you might have the thought when you see the show on Netflix, “Hum, I wonder if they’ve tightened up that little theory since von Daniken popularized the theory in the early seventies with books like Chariots of the Gods?,” and you might be tempted to watch it to see if von Daniken himself makes an appearance (he doesn’t). But you wouldn’t actually watch it
But since it’s not my first, last, and only day on Earth, I do get another shot at it tomorrow.
Plans, Rain, and Barszcz
It's usually not until the end of the day, when it's too late, that I realize I haven't been living my life that day as if I had chosen, out of all days, to relive that one day. It's not until I'm with L, working through our examen (which we have re-initiated with our reunion after a summer break) that I see that I've been going through the day relatively blindly. I look back on the day at that point and realize I wasted time and energy wallowing about in this or that negative emotion, letting this or that frustration take control. I look back, I see these things, I promise to do better the next day, and I promptly forget.
During tonight's, though, it occurred to me that I'd been constantly aware of how lovely the day was as it unfolded. I rode my bike to school and was pleasantly surprised at my average speed. I had a long productive meeting with the other teachers on our instructional team, planning a multi-disciplinary unit that might not only teach some academic skills but also affect change in the kids' lives. Despite the afternoon rain, I made it back to the house relatively dry. I had a lovely dinner with my family, marveling at how the kids both devour beet-root soup, which seems unimaginable given the pickiness of L. We had a pleasant walk after dinner, with the kids scooting ahead and returning on their various vehicles.
And then, during our examen, I looked down at our wiry, energetic (often frustratingly so), intelligent daughter, and I realized that simply being around all the wonderful people in my life should be enough to make me aware of the marvelously blessed life I have. I have incredible colleagues at work; I always work with a great group of students; I have children that make me beam; I married a woman that constantly astounds me; I have parents that give to our own family unconditionally. I am lacking nothing. We are lacking nothing. Nothing of any importance. Simply being aware of this is the trick to having a great day, day after day.