What I Wish I Knew. Again.

End of year teacher gifts: (Erin's) homemade pepper jelly transformed (by my last minute aka the night before attempt at craftiness) into "Leo's Famous Red Pepper Jelly". Met with great enthusiasm by one of Leo's teachers, whose thank you card read: "Leo's gorgeous self on a jar of red pepper jelly? Must keep forever! He was so happy to give me this and I am so tickled by it...Leo is one in a million!"

As of last Tuesday, Leo is officially finished with third grade. Not sure how that happened. By all accounts, it's been a wonderful school year for Leo. This year marked his move to a new "placement" that has challenged him and enriched him. I don't think there is any question that he rose to the occasion, as we all hoped he would. He had a busy schedule, moving from a self-contained class for learning disabilities (he's the only student with Down syndrome in the class, a first for him) to general ed, and across the hall to yet another classroom for math. For the most part he was in charge of tracking his own schedule, knowing that, for example, at 10 a.m. he had music, at 11:30, P.E., and so on.

Hard to believe that when he started at this school back in kindergarten, this is the kid I feared would bolt from the school.

Last week, Ellie, Harry, Lucy and I were lucky enough to catch Leo in the school talent show where he was part of a dance routine, performed to Shakira's "Waka Waka," and yes, you heard that right. On my end, it was a bit of a disaster in that it happened to be in the middle of the twins' nap time, in other words: Babies Meltdown Central. And did I mention there was a thunder and lightening storm as I unloaded everyone from the car and I managed to temporarily lose my car keys when it was time to leave?. All in a day's work, my friends. Well, Leo could have cared less about all of this. What mattered to him is that we were there, in the front row, squirmy, whiney Harry and all, to see him in all his Shakira glory. 


"Leo had a wonderful year," Mrs. F, Leo's third grade teacher, wrote to me in an email early  last week. "Please keep in touch. I have been going to high school and college graduation parties of my former students-Invite me and I will come to Leo's!" 



How Leo keeps busy when I'm putting Ellie to bed: "Planets."



I am so grateful for Leo's cheerleaders, like Ms. F. For the teachers and therapists and "team members" who have always had faith in him, who have held my hand and reassured me when his route changed course. I get so attached to these teachers, I actually cry as I sit down to write the year end thank you cards. 

While I'm relieved and reassured by how well Leo is doing at school, at home, lately, things have been a little more complicated. OF COURSE if there is going to be any problem with Leo's behavior I want to have the "problem" that we have, which is that he seems to reserve all of his antics for home and for me, rather than school. Better of course, that he's the pride of Mrs. F's class (Yes, his teachers still look at me like I've lost the plot when I describe some of Leo's behavior at home. They see NONE of it). Wonderful! But it sure doesn't make life at home unchallenging lot of the time.

Lately and all too often I feel like I have absolutely no control over him. He never used to have a temper and he suddenly does. He frequently shows little regard to house rules and I find myself muttering to myself (out of his earshot, of course) "You just do whatever you want, don't you?" He wants to watch TV? He turns it on, even though he knows TV time is over. He knows the twins are not allowed in his room unless I'm in there with them and yet, he opens the door and in they scamper. He refuses to close the door and in a moment of frustration I hold it closed. He's so strong that I think in a moment of frustration he could break it down. 




A few times over the last couple of months, Leo has demonstrated a behavior unseen in him for years: refusal to leave a place. About a month ago it was the park, where he was having fun (which sort of made sense). A few weeks ago it was the community center where Ellie takes swimming lessons. He shut himself in a locker and wouldn't leave. That...made no sense. At age five, I could throw him (though not easily) into a stroller and call it a day. Now? He's almost nine years old and close to seventy pounds and his stroller days are long gone.

And yet. This is the boy that throws his arms around Erin and me when Erin returns home after working late and exclaims "Group Huz!" (Group Hug.) A few nights ago after an ugly altercation between Leo and me about his refusal to leave the twins' room at their bedtime, Leo took a particularly long time selecting a book for me to read. "Just pick one!" I pleaded, weary and beaten down by the power struggle and so eager to be finished with the seemingly never ending bedtime routine.

He handed me a picture book version of Charlotte's Web. 

"Just like you read when you were a little girl," he announced. Leo knows I'm a sucker for Charlotte's Web. While it didn't occur to me at the time,  I really think that was his peace offering to me (in all the commotion of bedtime we had not resolved the argument he and I had in the twins' room). Leo has his own unique way of apologizing and he always does when he knows he's done something wrong.

The guilt gnaws away at me. If our house were less busy, if things were calmer, if there wasn't always a toddler whining in the background or Ellie needing something, would I have more patience? More time to stop and discipline Leo properly, to pay attention to his needs at that moment?

I think so much of his behavior, his anger and frustration at home, is attention seeking. We make every effort to give him as much as one on time as possible on the weekends. And as guilty as I feel? I firmly believe that in terms of Leo coming from a big family, the advantages (social, language, the list goes on...) far outweigh the disadvantages. Not to mention, this IS our life now. This is his life-he is one of four.

Enroute to visit Grandma Jerry in New Orleans last week.

Refusing to turn off the TV, not leaving a room or a place when asked, it's clear to me that it's all about power. I can only speculate that he feels he has none, or very little (I know the feeling, buddy). 

I know what my sweet boy is capable of. I see it on the mornings that he gets dressed without being asked and proudly waits for me at the bottom of the stairs in his favorite tshirt: Super Grover, declaring: "The World Is Mine." I see Leo's overwhelming capacity for empathy when he races to get Lucy's beloved stuffed Barney after she falls and skins her knee on the driveway. 

Only Leo would throw his sturdy arms around me after I place a steaming plate of scrambled eggs in front of him at dinner time, declaring me, "Best Mommy EVER!" 

When I consider how far Leo has come...how far I have come, well, I can only hope that someday I'll look back on all of this with a lot more wisdom than I have now. I know the answers will arrive. They always seem to. I still think of those early, befuddled, grief-filled days with newborn Leo, where I, still numb with the surprise diagnosis would stare at him with so many questions: What do  I do? Why did this happen?

All I can think is, if only I'd known then, that someday a teacher would write me a note declaring Leo, "One in a million." 

Because he certainly is.

Life Amidst Royalty and Other Weekend Notes

"Lucy and I are playing queens," Ellie announced, bright and early on Saturday morning (note the tiny paint brush scepter in Ellie's hand) .

Oh! I answered. What will you do now that you're queens?

"Just, you know, rule," said Ellie.



A few hours later, the little queen pictured above awoke from a too short nap, positvely furious and inconsolable (don't be fooled by her angelic looks and the heavenly sunlight pouring down on her). This little queen can show quite a little tempter.

Ellie's response: "She's just a big piece of work!"

You have to give Ellie credit for trying. She really is so good with Harry and Lucy. She has an endless amount of patience (way more than I) and is so creative and constantly thinking of ways to amuse and distract the babies when they're out of sorts.

For example, when neither lunch nor milk would cheer Lucy up after her little post-nap tantrum, Ellie dug deep, knowing I'd promised we'd go outside to play and swim in the baby pool after lunch: "Hey Lucy,"said Ellie, "Want to go be ladies in the pool?"

Eventually, Lucy came around.


And later, there was the requisite post-swimming, group ice cream meeting.

I scored a great find at a garage sale this weekend. Of course as I was buying it ($5!) I thought to myself, Lucy and Harry are totally going to fight over this. I even said as much to the woman I bought it from who, coincidentally also had twins (and two older ones-yikes, what a nut!). She just smiled and waved me on.

You know what I think I love most about Harry and Lucy? How well they share. 

HAHAHAHAHAHA

Yes, that's Lucy falling backwards, feet first. Turns out Harry is toughening up a bit lately and working on his offense. He's apparently especially territorially when it comes to anything vehicle oriented.

That's better. Enjoying the new boat in PEACE.

On "Lasts:" Kindergarten Edition

Last soccer game of the season.

I am not good at lasts.

Last days, specifically.

I suspect that having four children, I will need to toughen up about this, as there will be a lot of "lasts."

Yesterday, after having to reschedule once (cue the working mommy guilt), I was finally able to go to Ellie's class mid-day to read a book in honor of her July 12 birthday, which takes place when school is out. They've banned cupcakes or treats of any kind for celebrations, offering up "come in to read a book to the class" as an alternative. So a few weeks ago we went book shopping (with plans to donate) the aptly titled A Year With Friends to Ms. M's kindergarten class.

As I sat in the teacher's chair, looking down at the sea of cross legged children on the faded "ABCs" carpet, pink cheeked and sweaty and hair rumpled from recess where they'd just emerged, I did my best to breathe in the moment. The last time I would see Ellie and her classmates in kindergarten. The last days of her ever being a kindergartener.


The eve of the last day.


Thank goodness the day before Ellie's last day of kindergarten also coincided with the greatly anticipated School Fair (rescheduled twice due to one of the rainiest Junes on record).

A great time was had by all, for sure. At the end of the day, when Erin asked her about the fair, Ellie's answer was, "I had one hundred percent fun!"

It was a festive distraction  from the melancholy that I assumed was only felt by me (and a welcome chance for Ellie and I to have some rare one-on-one time). Imagine my surprise, when thirty minutes after bedtime last night, I was greeted with a very teary (and most likely way overtired) Ellie.

What's wrong? I asked her, trying to stifle my own emotions. Seeing her so upset had me upset!

I'm never going to see see Ms. M. again! And I'm never going to kindergarten again (Ms. M. is taking a job as a librarian at another school in our town).

I was caught off guard by Ellie's emotions and probably to no one's surprise, found myself getting a little teary myself. We hugged and I rubbed her back and we talked about how she could visit Ms. M and send her a letter over the summer wishing her good luck on her new job. I rubbed Ellie's back for a few minutes longer.

Try to think about the summer, about all the fun you're going to have at camp, I suggested.

"I don't want to think about the summer!" Ellie wailed. More tears.

I paused a minute. Let her be sad, I said to myself. It's OK.



This week much of Ellie's art work and Very Important Papers from the school year came home, including this gem, which I am still swooning over. I believe it to be frame worthy. Oh, what I wouldn't give to have the self-confidence of an almost six year old.

I know I'm a sentimental person by nature, but there is something very precious and bittersweet about kindergarten. They are, after all, still SO little. Most of them start school as five year olds, some of them have never even been to school before (though that's admittedly less common these days). There is still a bit of baby in them, I think. A lot of baby, really. I know they have to grow up. Of course I want Ellie to grow up. But I see those big tough first grade girls at drop off every morning. And I know what's looming: complicated girl friendships, hurt feelings, cliques. Good things too, of course: sleepovers where they stay up talking all night, greater independence, deeper friendships.


Last day of soccer, June 16, 2013

I know, I know. In the fall she's going to first grade one floor away from where she went to kindergarten, she's not going to military school. I'm so proud of this girl, who learned to read (learned to read!), embraced her new school, made a sweet little group of friends and by all accounts, had a fabulous year of kindergarten. In the last year I have seen such a change in her awareness, her empathy, her willingness to help around the house. Much of this is in relation to her younger siblings, whom she adores (two years later I am still waiting for jealousy and I've yet to see it). Her new favorite thing to do is read books to them (they usually toddle off before the first page, but she gets credit for trying).

And if I didn't know that I get to do kindergarten all over again with Harry and Lucy, well, let's just say I'd probably be a much bigger mess than I am today.

The Circus Act Visits the Farm

"The early summer days on a farm are the happiest and fairest days of the year," wrote E. B. White in Charlotte's Web.










Harry, up close and personal with one of his idols.

Yes Harry! It's a REAL truck!




Always on the move. In this case, headed toward a Real! Live! Tractor! (Harry's mind=again, blown by all this real life machinery).

Mr. White, about those happy and fair days? I couldn't agree more.

Oh Yes, We Partied Like Two Year Olds

Morning of the birthday.































The big, bad two year olds, themselves.









































Did I mention the grandparents from Oregon came to help celebrate Harry and Lucy's birthday? All nineteen of us took the train (thirty minutes) into New York for brunch on birthday morning to see if we could blow Harry's (aka Train Lover) mind (not pictured, photographer Erin).


As you can see we made it to the Big City intact (not pictured: my glass of white wine).


Lucy had the worst time of anyone, as usual.

Mutual Admiration Society.

After brunch we returned home for outdoor water play (it was over ninety degrees and fairly humid).

And of course, cake.


 Lucy's reaction to her first ice cream cake: "WOW!"


My reaction: I cannot believe I forgot the matches and have to go back inside the house again (it's a running joke that when there are 6+ of us, no one is ever outside at the same time and something is always forgotten in the kitchen).

But matches were found and candles were blown (of course, no pictures of the actual moment, are you crazy?). I make everyone sing "Happy Birthday" twice even though Harry and Lucy are too little to care yet (as far as we know).

I'd say the presents were a hit.



Test driving the new vehicles.



A little unsure.


That's more like it.

And now, they are two! In other words, we've survived another year! And I have to say, it just keeps getting better.

Sun-Kissed, Forehead Smacked Days

"Summer afternoon-summer afternoon; to me those have always been the most beautiful words in the English language."
-Henry James



You can say what you want about what it's like having All These Children. But any day that ends with ice cream in the pool? Is a good one.



I love Lucy's expression here. It's as if she's saying: Don't even think about messing with my ice cream. Me? I look crabby but I'm honestly not. I'm sitting down and everyone is momentarily happy and not fighting (see: ice cream). Sure I'm tired after a busy weekend, but I'm thinking about the fact that bedtime is in an hour and the Tony Awards are on later. Weeeeee!

This morning when Erin woke me up at 6:50 a.m. (an hour otherwise known as Sleeping In at our house) and informed me that Leo was the only kid awake? Let's just say we high-fived each other and whispered "We broke them!" Ah, summer. Long days outside with water, the great equalizer. Another bonus: water tables and pools mean no pre-bed bath required (I say this as though we bathe them daily. I assure you, we do not. Not even close).

"Look at Lucy," said Ellie.


"She looks so old-like a first grader. But not as tall."

In entomology news, you may have heard about our region's little cicada situation.


Yup. Leo can confirm it.

And Then Ellie Finished Kindergarten (But Not Really)

I have a bajillion (at least) pictures of Harry and Lucy's intimate, casual birthday soiree that I have yet to edit, so stay tuned for that.

It's been a hectic few days, between the double birthday, a whirlwind visit by the Oregon grandparents and multiple trips to the vet to manage a bit of a health crisis had by our eleven year old golden retriever, Ruby (because, you know, never a dull moment!). Let's just say that involved opening a vet credit card (a first for us-woo-hoo!), a hefty bag of medication and a large box of rubber gloves. In other news, Erin is the best vet technician out there as she gamely agreed to administer all medications (bless her, truly).


In the midst of all of this? Ellie graduated from kindergarten. And of course, wore a crown for the occasion. Because, why not?

Technically, school isn't over yet and won't be for a few more weeks, so she's still a kindergartener. But last Friday morning, we all gathered in the ten thousand degree "multi-purpose room" (see my shiniest forehead ever, above) at her school to watch about sixty, five and six year olds sing such favorites as "Bye, Bye Baby Tooth" and "The ABC Song."

Unlike Leo's kindergarten graduation three years ago, there was no cap wearing or "Pomp and Circumstance" playing (Thank goodness because, A) Seems a bit much for five year olds and B) My delicate, emotional constitution simply can't take it). As it was, there were tears.

But I was pretty good.  I only cried a little.

Two At Two

Today, Harry and Lucy turn two.



I can't believe it. But of course, I also can.

For all the early, blurry, sleep deprived days and months of having two babies, when I walked around in an absolutely overwhelmed fog, stretched thinner than tracing paper, muttering This Can't Be Done, well, I'm here to tell you it can.

Because here they are.

Full fledged little people.

Walking and talking. Pushing, shoving, giggling, crying, whining. Rolling off couches and crouching over inch worms and sneaking up ladders and barreling down drive ways and swinging in unison, shrieking with glee.

Sure, it can be messy. Sometimes our house gets a little loud (shocking!) and people may have to wait longer than they'd prefer to before they get something. But have we talked about the full-time playmate they have in each other (yes, I know, ad nauseam)! Of course, they are each other's punching bags, but they are also each other's partners in crime (the crime spree list is long and includes tag team refrigerator raiding, synchronized bed jumping and of course the infamous Two Toddlers Standing on the Kitchen Table Act, which is not to be missed).



Harry (Hare-Man, Hare-Bear, Harrison, Bear-Bear, Bearison) your love of vehicles and machinery knows no bounds. Only you can spot a school bus or garbage truck from blocks away and by sound alone. Your mischievous grin and quarter mile long eye lashes could charm a Grinch.Most days you are content to line up Thomas trains and dump trucks but will pause for a good book or three. You are calm and content ninety percent of the time but wake most mornings and after most naps down right furious. Luckily it passes quickly.



You still let your little sister push you around and often come running to us after an altercation with her, but you're starting to stick up for yourself more.  Usually all you need are some cuddles. You come at us head first and you snuggle hard and you throw back your little brown head and you just laugh and laugh and then it's back to the trucks and the trains. You have work to do.

You are still the messiest eater. Perhaps, ever.





Lucy, (Lu, Louie, Louis, Lucifier, Louachinsky, Lulu) you truly are the happiest baby I've ever met (and yes, one of these days I promise to stop referring to you and your brother as babies but today is not that day). From the giant grin you greet us with in the morning, to the waves you give everyone when they enter the room, or when you pass them on the street, you love people. Technically, you are the youngest, but you seem to be a born leader. Several times a day you take my hand: "Come, come," you tell me, wrapping my hand in your tiny, soft, pink fingers. Aaaand...often our journey ends at the refrigerator. Because you want cheese.



In the last week you suddenly have so many preferences! "I like that!, I don't like that!, I don't like that game" (and you're so specific!). You also have no problem being contrary: ("I don't think so"). You prefer people over most toys though you are a slave to shoes (preferably red sequined flats belonging to a certain big sister) and dress-up clothes (hats are another favorite).

So far you are the only one who takes after me with the curly hair.


Keep up the good work, my girl.

Even though many days I find myself singing "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger" under my breath (no joke: we have dubbed this our official family theme song), we love and adore you two, the little bookends to our family we didn't know we were missing.


I couldn't believe the news when I heard you were coming (and I mean COULD NOT), and now? I can't imagine a life without you.

Thank you for making me laugh every single day.





Thank you for making Leo and Ellie amazing older siblings and role models to you (most of the time).

The gift of seeing you all together is one I still sometimes can't believe is true.


Thank you for bringing your mama and me even closer together.

Thank you for helping me find patience and strength that I never knew I had.

Thank you for introducing me to more happy tears (because everyone knows I cry when I'm happy) than I ever thought possible.

The double snuggles aren't bad either.

Happy birthday, dear Harry.

Happy birthday, dear Lucy.

Love, Mommy