Tag: Lydia

The Lydster, Part 95: Time

I was fascinated by cereal boxes, specifically the various B vitamins and how some of them, such as niacin and riboflavin, actually got their own names, rather than a mere alphanumeric designation.

Someone recently told me that children don’t really develop a strong sense of time until they are eight years old. If this is the case, then I really look forward to the Daughter’s next birthday.

As the person who gets her ready for school almost every morning, I can say that there is no correlation between what time she gets up and when she goes out the door for school. There have been mornings that I have to, almost literally, drag her out of bed, but then she becomes more alert and gets to school in plenty of time. There are other mornings she wakes early, yet we are rushing to get there before the late bell; in the latter case, it also imperils me catching my second bus of the morning and getting to work on time.

Some of the time issues involve play. But the vast bulk of it is her reading something. She reads everything – books, comic books, cereal boxes. And I realize that it is some sort of cosmic payback because I was THE SAME WAY.

When I was a child, I read the newspaper. I read the information on the back of my baseball cards. And I was fascinated by cereal boxes, specifically the various B vitamins and how some of them, such as niacin and riboflavin, actually got their own names, rather than a mere alphanumeric designation. So I was often late to things. I don’t think the Daughter’s quite at that point – YET – but I fear it’s coming because it’s probably genetic.
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Time – Pozo Seco Singers

The Lydster, Part 93: Line of Scrimmage

The thing that makes getting the Daughter dressed in the morning or evening take so long is her need to first throw her clothes past me. I believe this started innocently enough, with her teasing me by tossing her apparel for the day just out of my reach. But now it is codified, with all sorts of rules about where we each stand and what the goal is. I must say that the principles are fungible, but that the rules seemingly always favor her; of course, she SETS the rules, so there you are.

I have instituted the concept of punting the clothes, too. I’m really good at it, but she’s getting better.

Sometimes, when it’s taking too long, each of us catching the other’s tosses, I’ve been known to intentionally miss, not to soothe her ego, but because of lack of time. She always wins anyway, so it’s no big whoop.

In general, though we’re standing in the hallway. She holds the clothes and gets a point if she gets them past me. Neither one of us, though, can pass the line of scrimmage when we toss. “Line of scrimmage” is a phrase she learned playing football in gym class, not her sitting with me and watching football with me. Still, the fact that she knows the phrase, and the basic concepts, makes me happy, because, if/when she DOES want to watch a televised game with me, she’ll have a fundamental part down pat.

Somewhere I read that it is good for fathers and daughters to have games they can play with each other; this is ours. (Along with SORRY, UNO…)

The Lydster, Part 92: Homework

I had no idea how much HER schoolwork would impact on MY time.

When Lydia had homework in first grade, it was manageable. She would get a packet of eight sheets on Monday, and they were due on Friday. It became easy to pace the work. If Lydia had something going on one night, we could work around it.

But in second grade, she gets homework each of the first four weeknights of the week, PLUS a weekly spelling assignment. Monday night, in particular, is a real pain.

Lydia has to fit in dinner, her ballet class, her daily nebulizer, plus the usual ready-for-bed routine she goes through, in addition to the homework. Sometimes she and I were working on homework Tuesday morning, just before school. But with the new, earlier bus schedule for me, that is not feasible anymore.

The week of Halloween, she had no homework all week, because of some school testing. It felt almost like a vacation, not just for her, but also for me, who is the one generally helping and/or prodding her to finish her assignments. I had no idea how much HER schoolwork would impact on MY time. And it’s got to be tough for those students whose parents who DON’T participate in their children’s education.

I relish her school breaks more than she does, I do believe.
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Happy significant natal day, ZN.

The Lydster, Part 91: So Close

One could only get up to the loft by using a 10-foot ladder. And it wasn’t a straight ladder designed to get up to such a place; it was an A-framed ladder, the instructions – or more correctly, the WARNING – for which SPECIFICALLY states that it should NOT be used as a straight ladder.

I have very little recollection of being in hotels or motels with my parents growing up. When we weren’t at home, we either tended to stay at friends’ or relatives’ homes, or in a tent on our regular camping trips. Did I ever mention that I HATED our camping trips?

My wife and I, though, have been on a number of trips in hotels and motels with Lydia. When she was a baby or a toddler, it was easy enough to get her to go to bed, and we could stay up watching TV or reading. Not so with a seven-year-old, or at least our seven-year-old. She wouldn’t go to bed until we went to bed; it was partly the light bothering her, she said, but it was more her not wanting to be left out of anything.

So for 10 days – two in Niagara Falls, four in Toronto, two in Peterborough, and two in Canton – the three of us shared a room where the parents went to bed a little earlier than they might have been inclined to do so otherwise.

When we got to the cabin in the Adirondacks, Lydia, and eventually her cousins, got to sleep in a place of their own, up on this loft. You would think this would have made me happy, and it would have, but for one tiny detail: one could only get up there by using a 10- or 12-foot ladder. And it wasn’t a straight ladder designed to get up to such a place; it was an A-framed ladder, the instructions – or more correctly, the WARNING – for which SPECIFICALLY states that it should NOT be used as a straight ladder. Going up was fine, but I was afraid that she might fall if she had to climb down going to the loo in the middle of the night.

I went to bed in a room with my wife. But I woke up in the middle of the night, and half-slept in a cot just below the ladder. In the end, she was fine. Her cousins, who showed up a couple of nights later, were fine, though I was glad to be available to hold the ladder for them early in their first morning. And, finally, on the last night there, I actually slept the whole night through, quite possibly out of sheer exhaustion.

The Lydster, Part 90: Talking about Tragedy

There’s the broader question of explaining the news when there is so much distortion of the facts by some outlets.

It’s been relatively easy to talk to my daughter about individual deaths, such as my mother’s earlier this year. She understands that my father, and my wife’s older brother, died before she was born, and has only photos by which to identify them, and that was helpful in the discussion.

But how does one explain the assassination attempt of Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords, a shooting in which six people were killed, including the pictured nine-year-old girl – not that much older than she is – whose last name was Green, no less? The natural desire is to protect her from such news, and I don’t think she caught the initial story. But there have been plenty of follow-ups, and I know she’s heard at least bits and pieces of those. What does one say? That there are bad people out there? Crazy people out there?

Then there’s the 10th anniversary of 9/11. Of course, the event took place before she was born, but all of the recollections are hard to miss. And those guys are even more difficult to explain. Does this show up in the school curriculum yet? And if so, what does IT say about those events of a decade ago?

(And there’s the broader question of explaining the news when there is so much distortion of the facts by some outlets.)

I went to lunch with a friend of mine who’s around 30 who has decided not to have any children because the world’s just too scary. If the maternal instinct strikes, she’ll adopt, taking care of someone who’s already on the planet anyway. I must admit that I understand her wariness. The environmental and economic troubles alone are sources of concern.

Ultimately, as it turned out, we watched the evening news – the three of us – on September 11 this year. Not sure how much of it she got. Still, my girl is rather resilient; I’ll keep trying to figure out a way to explain the world to her, somehow. Even when the question is “Why”? Why did people fly planes into buildings? Why do we need to remember?

Ramblin' with Roger
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