As the days continue to grow warmer, the memories of winter gradually fade away. And yet one memory from the winter stands out...
The day Peter kicked two of Sam's teeth out.
What seemed like an interminable period of cold, grey weather was actually just a few short months. As many parents in the States may now be experiencing, as wind, snow, and ice descend upon both coasts, the principal challenge of this or any winter is what to do with the kids when the great outdoors refuses to cooperate. Not every weekend day was wet and grey. But enough of them were to wear down even the most engaged parent. Elise and I refuse to bend to the will of screen demons. By not doing so, however, we subjected ourselves to days when every couch cushion and pillow were on the floor serving as wrestling mats.
One winter Friday afternoon, all three kids were a tangled mess of limbs. Like a rubber band ball, you couldn't tell where one kid's arm began and the next kid's leg ended. There was laughing, crying, giggling, screaming. I dared not try to break them apart. I left them alone. Deciding instead to retreat to the bathroom where Elise had just gotten out of the shower.
We could sit them down in front of an iPad and turn them into zombie's for a little peace and quiet, but at what cost? Isn't this exactly what kids are supposed to do on cold, rainy days? we asked ourselves. For certain, it is what both she and I remember doing when we were kids.
Content in our decision to leave well enough alone, I heard Sam scream from the TV room. I found him in the bathroom, clutching his mouth, blood running down his chin.
Elise had gotten there first and was splashing water into his mouth and washed one of the two teeth that had come out right down the drain. That seemed to distress Sam more than the two gaping holes in his gums. In his mind, she had just washed away 5 Jordanian dinars. Fortunately, they were both baby teeth, baby teeth that had been hanging from his mouth like the crooked shutters on a haunted house. They needed to come out, but no matter how much we tried to get Sam to wiggle them he refused to help them along. Peter took care of that for him with a swift roundhouse to the chin.
In his defense, it was an accident, but he was visibly upset. Though neither Elise or I knew whether he was worried that he had hurt Sam or he was worried because he thought he was going to get into trouble.
We turned the TV on after that and let them watch a cartoon.
This past weekend, we headed back to Wadi Attun with another group of friends. I took Peter and Sam a little further into the canyon than we had gone before, finding an actual hot spring springing from the canyon wall, the rocks around it dyed a dark orange from the minerals in the spring water.
After the hike, we drove to Fuhais, a small Christian town on the outskirts of Amman and the home of the Carakale Brewery. Elise had packed a picnic of bread and cheese. We wound along the narrow roads from the Dead Sea to Fuhais. On Fridays, many families flee the city to picnic outside of town. They pull over beside the highway, under a tree, and set up a picnic and, sometimes, a shisha pipe. It may seem odd to picnic beside a busy highway under the shade of one lone tree, but I think, perhaps, green space is at such a premium in the city, any spot of green and shade is welcome.
As we drove away from the Dead Sea, the hills grew greener. I am impressed with spring in Jordan. These same hills when we first arrived in July were brown under the endless sun, but the recent winter rains had brought green and flowers and a new sense of life to what had seemed dead and lifeless. We even discovered there are cherry blossoms in Jordan, and they were near their peak over this past weekend. Now that we are able to open the windows in the morning, we hear birds, and we even have a few, very tiny blooms on our own peach tree.
Though I have never been to Ireland, the green hills reminded me of what it might be like there. Overlooking the valley from Fuhais, you can even see rows of low man-made rock walls, now crumbling ruins, much as you might see striating the countryside of Cornwall or Kent.
Though when we pulled up to the Carakale Brewery, the gate was closed. A small sign on the gate read, "Closed for Maintenance".
Surprisingly, the kids were as disappointed as we were. The day had been long, and though we had brought egg salad sandwiches to eat on the hike, they seemed to have forgotten we had eaten lunch at all and now that it was almost 5:00 they wanted to know what was for lunch. We drove back through Fuhais, and happened upon a place called Burgers and Brews with a red, English-style telephone booth out front. It seemed to fit the bill.
One tower of Amstel Lite later, several very good burgers, soccer on the big screen, foosball upstairs, we had found a consolation prize. The brewery would have to wait until next time.
The day Peter kicked two of Sam's teeth out.
What seemed like an interminable period of cold, grey weather was actually just a few short months. As many parents in the States may now be experiencing, as wind, snow, and ice descend upon both coasts, the principal challenge of this or any winter is what to do with the kids when the great outdoors refuses to cooperate. Not every weekend day was wet and grey. But enough of them were to wear down even the most engaged parent. Elise and I refuse to bend to the will of screen demons. By not doing so, however, we subjected ourselves to days when every couch cushion and pillow were on the floor serving as wrestling mats.
One winter Friday afternoon, all three kids were a tangled mess of limbs. Like a rubber band ball, you couldn't tell where one kid's arm began and the next kid's leg ended. There was laughing, crying, giggling, screaming. I dared not try to break them apart. I left them alone. Deciding instead to retreat to the bathroom where Elise had just gotten out of the shower.
We could sit them down in front of an iPad and turn them into zombie's for a little peace and quiet, but at what cost? Isn't this exactly what kids are supposed to do on cold, rainy days? we asked ourselves. For certain, it is what both she and I remember doing when we were kids.
Content in our decision to leave well enough alone, I heard Sam scream from the TV room. I found him in the bathroom, clutching his mouth, blood running down his chin.
Elise had gotten there first and was splashing water into his mouth and washed one of the two teeth that had come out right down the drain. That seemed to distress Sam more than the two gaping holes in his gums. In his mind, she had just washed away 5 Jordanian dinars. Fortunately, they were both baby teeth, baby teeth that had been hanging from his mouth like the crooked shutters on a haunted house. They needed to come out, but no matter how much we tried to get Sam to wiggle them he refused to help them along. Peter took care of that for him with a swift roundhouse to the chin.
In his defense, it was an accident, but he was visibly upset. Though neither Elise or I knew whether he was worried that he had hurt Sam or he was worried because he thought he was going to get into trouble.
We turned the TV on after that and let them watch a cartoon.
This past weekend, we headed back to Wadi Attun with another group of friends. I took Peter and Sam a little further into the canyon than we had gone before, finding an actual hot spring springing from the canyon wall, the rocks around it dyed a dark orange from the minerals in the spring water.
After the hike, we drove to Fuhais, a small Christian town on the outskirts of Amman and the home of the Carakale Brewery. Elise had packed a picnic of bread and cheese. We wound along the narrow roads from the Dead Sea to Fuhais. On Fridays, many families flee the city to picnic outside of town. They pull over beside the highway, under a tree, and set up a picnic and, sometimes, a shisha pipe. It may seem odd to picnic beside a busy highway under the shade of one lone tree, but I think, perhaps, green space is at such a premium in the city, any spot of green and shade is welcome.
As we drove away from the Dead Sea, the hills grew greener. I am impressed with spring in Jordan. These same hills when we first arrived in July were brown under the endless sun, but the recent winter rains had brought green and flowers and a new sense of life to what had seemed dead and lifeless. We even discovered there are cherry blossoms in Jordan, and they were near their peak over this past weekend. Now that we are able to open the windows in the morning, we hear birds, and we even have a few, very tiny blooms on our own peach tree.
Though I have never been to Ireland, the green hills reminded me of what it might be like there. Overlooking the valley from Fuhais, you can even see rows of low man-made rock walls, now crumbling ruins, much as you might see striating the countryside of Cornwall or Kent.
Though when we pulled up to the Carakale Brewery, the gate was closed. A small sign on the gate read, "Closed for Maintenance".
Surprisingly, the kids were as disappointed as we were. The day had been long, and though we had brought egg salad sandwiches to eat on the hike, they seemed to have forgotten we had eaten lunch at all and now that it was almost 5:00 they wanted to know what was for lunch. We drove back through Fuhais, and happened upon a place called Burgers and Brews with a red, English-style telephone booth out front. It seemed to fit the bill.
One tower of Amstel Lite later, several very good burgers, soccer on the big screen, foosball upstairs, we had found a consolation prize. The brewery would have to wait until next time.
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