More bike riding with some learning: the Boy got a little more comfortable coasting while the Girl learned how to mount her bike while going uphill.
Coasting
the girl
Bubbles
The Boy wakes up just when K and L both fall asleep in the afternoon for a nap. He's cranky, fussy, and high maintenance. What to do? Take him down to our swing/hammock area and blow bubbles. And when everyone wakes back up, what else are we doing to do but show them our tricks: I create the bubbles; he chases them down and destroys them.
It's another one of those moments when I marvel at the simplicity of what it takes to entertain a three-year-old. He can do the same thing over and over continuously, like most all kids his age. "I'm bored" has become an occasional refrain we hear from the Girl; never do we hear it from the Boy, unless he's just copying her. The Boy can simply do the same thing over and over and over and over once he's decided it's entertaining, and what he finds entertaining can be the most simplistic action. Look at what it takes to entertain adults: vast stadiums with grown men (almost always men) being paid multi-million dollar contracts to play a sport so everyone else can vicariously participate, when all they need, all they really need, is a bottle of bubbles.
Recital 2015: Video
Recital 2015
Back to Normal
What is normal in a house with kids? In the late spring, it's hard to determine what might be "normal." School, winding down, is in flux. The yard is in constant need of attention, with a thousand and one things calling out -- berry bushes need covering, hedges need trimming, tomatoes need staking, peas need something to climb on.
So what is "normal"?
Ironically, with a now-three-year-old, it's a first around every corner. A first time bouncing the ball repeatedly and catching it. Not a first time watching it roll down the hill. But a first time walking down alone, with Tata standing watch at the edge of the driveway.
And it's a day of not-firsts leading to firsts. The Girl cleaning her room, alone in the house, semi-fine with it, semi-fussing about it as everyone else works outside.
"You'll hear everyone outside from the window," I reassured. Well, not everyone. I was back working on the car -- another "normal" when you own a Volkswagen is that there's always something going wrong -- but everyone else was in the front yard. Eventually the fussing subsided, the room got cleaned, quite well, and the Girl joined us. Them.
Afternoon: washing the cars. The Girl didn't want to "help" until she found out she could get wet. And so she came bounding out of the house in her old swimsuit and helped wash the car. Sort of. A bit more playing.
Well, total playing. I wanted to do it all myself because my normal hasn't been so normal until recently. But that's normal.
The Boy joined us. Again, normal. He squealed -- literally -- every single time he got a shot of water.
"Daddy, squirt me again!"
Finally, normal again.
Catching Up
The last few weeks have been bad for our scrapbook. Surgery, work load, and general apathy have all combined to shut things down creatively speaking. Photos have remained on the camera for days, weeks even. Day after day has passed without writing a single word. And so there's a backlog that creates an odd mosaic of the last couple of weeks.
The Last Few Days
I made it through forty-two years or so before the integrity of the bag of skin and muscle that holds everything else in place was compromised. Intentionally compromised, to be sure. Systematically compromised. But compromised nonetheless: a small incision just below the navel, just wide enough to slide in a cable and a few instruments, but wide enough to lay you out for a week. A week of realizing anew all the various activities that require the now-incapacitated abdominal muscles. A week of wondering when things will return to normal, thinking that perhaps they won't, knowing of course that they will. A week of feeling silly for being so thoroughly knocked off one's feet by a procedure so relatively-minor.
And in that time, everything else goes on as normal. The Boy discovers new things, the Girl goes to school, our youngest cat transforms into a full-blooded hunter.
Of course one thing that does change: the interest in a silly online scrapbook. But with the return of mobility and the disappearance of pain, perhaps that will return as well.
Congratulations
To our sweet L on the occasion of her First Holy Communion. Hope you enjoyed your party afterward -- seems like you did, and everyone else did as well.
New Swing, Redux
Guests and the Evening
We have two birds’ nests in the downspout of our gutters. One is at the back of the house, in a very safe location. We just leave them alone every year, and we get a good view of the hatchlings as a result.
The other nest is in the downspout next to our raspberry and blackberry canes. We have to put up netting to keep the birds out, and so the last thing I really want is to enclose them in the netting. With the blackberries blooming, it’s only a matter of time before we start putting the nets back up.
My first effort to evict them was a failure: I put nails in a board, much like anti-pigeon devices one might find in cities, and set the board in the downspout. They build around it. So I’ve been going out and knocking the nest down, hoping they’ll get the hint. But they’re stubborn and rebuild. I took some bleach water while they were out and soaked the nest, thinking the odor would repel them. It did, for a while.
I’ve got another solution in mind, but in the meantime, I just go out and knock the nest down before they really settle in. “Just leave them alone,” K says, but it’s a battle I will win.
So the day begins with an eviction, and then another battle: thick, long, heavy grass. The Boy comes running up, walking beside me as I struggle with the tall grass before deciding to raise the mower deck to its highest level for an initial trim.
“I’m going to help you!” cries E, squeezing his way between me and the mower.
It slows the process considerably, but it’s worth it. We work out a deal: he helps one direction, then races me back to the other end. We’re both happy with the compromise.
After dinner, it’s time for a little exploring.
The azaleas are in full bloom now, and the kids love picking up the fallen blossoms (and picking them from the bush if I don’t keep a close watch), so between the swing, the creek, and the blooms, it’s paradise.
