Stop It. And Some Wonderful Things (After Some Not So Wonderful).

An assortment, from years gone by. It doesn't get much better than that feather turkey wreath from Leo's (I think) first grade.


This weekend, down came the Halloween decor and up went theThanksgiving paraphernalia.

Then Amy pointed out to me that if it was time to decorate for Thanksgiving, then it was also time to acknowledge Hanukkah (which, for the first time in our lifetime happens to fall on the same day).

Hannuskiving?

Thanksgivingmacka?

I don't know what to call it or what to say except Stop This Year. Just Stop It. You are going by too fast. And Stop My Favorite Season From Rolling By.

I know that time is one of the most boring subjects but it's all so true, every single word of what "they" say about it. This is all just whizzing right by. This weekend I sat in the backyard with the twins while they burned off some late afternoon/time change crabbiness and we watched the planes fly overhead from the Newark airport. Harry flapped his little arms and ran around the driveway like a miniature 747, because really there is nothing more interesting than watching the planes fly overhead and then pretending to be a plane. These little people. Two years ago they were sitting on the deck strapped in infant seats and buried in little winter suits. And now?

Now I manage to get Harry to sleep a full hour later than Lucy (Hello, 5:15 a.m. on time change Sunday!). Lucy and I have a rare hour to ourselves as the house remains quiet with everyone else still asleep. And when I hear Harry stirring, go upstairs to get him and present him to Lucy, Look who I found! I joke to Lucy, who is drinking her morning milk and grazing on cheerios and pumpkin bread.

Oh thank you! I like Harry! Hi Harry! Lucy says, her face, an explosion of happiness and glee.

Of course, the irony is not lost on me that "Stop It" is also a phrase that has been coming out of my mouth quite a lot these days (and yes, it's pretty much always directed at the twins). Stop It! Stop stealing Harry's toys! Stop it! Stop screaming! Stop it! Stop throwing open the refrigerator doors and stealing apples and packages of string cheese and then running, celebratory through the house (Yes, this is my life).


I found this oldie but goodie this weekend. From last year: "A Turkey, in the Rain," by Leo.

***

A few weeks ago Leo had to get a tooth pulled. It was his first time (thank goodness!) and it was also a baby tooth (another thank goodness!). It was just a rotten little tooth that the dentist said hadn't been worth filling but it was finally in bad enough shape to pull. We all know Leo has finally overcome his dental issues, which is why it was perhaps even more traumatic to have to hold him down while he had that little tooth pulled (a parenting first that I hope to never repeat).

Oh he was medicated and numbed and even nitroused up. But he saw the tools and even without pain, I guess there is no mistaking the "force" of having a tooth extracted. Bless our dear Dr. F who was cool as a cucumber as he had to do some serious acrobatics during the procedure, practically turning himself upside to accomplish the task. But he could not have been more patient with Leo (or me). Did I mention his daughter has Down syndrome? He gets it.

And when it was all over, I felt teary, for Leo and for the fact that we are so fortunate to have some wonderful people in our little village, including our dentist.

As he always does, Leo recovered very quickly. There were no hard feelings toward Dr. F, only fist bumps and high fives. A hug may have been attempted too.


After the trauma (for both of us), I did what any guilt-ridden mother would do. I took Leo out for the biggest donut I could find.* And I bought myself the largest pumpkin flavored coffee available (I also may or may not have quickly eaten ten pumpkin Munchkins in the car).

I ran into Dr. F at Ellie's school Halloween parade (his kids go to the same school). There he was, in his Stay Puft Marshmallow Man costume. It was two weeks after the tooth pulling ordeal but all he could ask me was "How's Leo?"

It doesn't get much better than that.

*Don't worry. Leo brushed his teeth when we got home. :)

31 for 21: Here's the Thing

Warning: It's not all about Down syndrome around here. In fact, it's hardly about Down syndrome at all. (If anyone had told me, eight years ago, that I would someday write that as a caption for a photograph of two of my four children (Wait, WHAT?) I would not have ever believed them). This just goes to show you: You truly never know what will happen in your life.

I know you are all waiting in rapt suspense to see whether or not I will participate in  this year's "31 for 21" (blogging every day for the month of October in honor Down syndrome Awareness).

I'm torn. Part of me likes it as an exercise in writing (and sticking to something for an entire month is kind of fun). Selfishly, it's nice for me to have one good chunk of writing to look back on, since I don't post here nearly as much as I like to. But then there is the little matter of what to write? I know everyone says "you don't have to write about Down syndrome" but I do feel added pressure to somehow tie in the old extra chromosome, at least in some posts. I've written so much about Down syndrome that there is some level of performance anxiety involved now. Mostly, I don't want to repeat myself and bore you all to tears (any more than I already do-ha!).

And here's a funny thing: I started this blog in 2008 when my oldest son Leo was four, thinking I'd write mostly about Down syndrome, and that's indeed mostly what I wrote about. I started it as a way to process this Big Thing that had happened in my life and also with the hope that I would find a larger Down syndrome community beyond the one I'd found locally (which was fine, wonderful even, but for some things, more is more). I found that wonderful community, in spades.

I feel like I have beaten the Down syndrome horse. I wrote about our struggles with Leo's sleep and his behavior, about the hand wringing surrounding his school placement, about his eyes and ears and his adenoids and his teeth. I wrote about the grief surrounding his diagnosis and the eventual acceptance.

And then Leo graduated from preschool. Then kindergarten. Suddenly the language delayed little boy would Not Stop Talking.

And then his baby sister grew into a little girl.

And then two more little people came along, and then we were six. Then twin babies became toddlers. Life got even busier and more ridiculous (mostly in a good way).

And Leo still (obviously) has Down syndrome, but I think with every year that goes by, the Down syndrome has receded into something that just is. It's no longer at the forefront. All the questions are gradually being answered. Will he walk and talk? Of course.  Will he read and write? Oh yes. Will he stop running off in public places? Yes, thank goodness. Will his speech improve? Gradually, yes. Of course, knock on wood, we've been very fortunate have none of the major health problems that can be associated with Down syndrome. We've had the privilege of relative normalcy. At least, it's what's normal for us.

All of this to say, I think that mundane, not all Down syndrome, all the time can also be a contribution in this whole "31 for 21." Because to this day I remember the feeling of waking up in the mornings that followed Leo's birth, rolling over and looking at the light coming through the window of our little garden apartment in Park Slope Brooklyn, thinking: "My baby has Down syndrome. My baby has Down syndrome. And that's all I will ever think about again."

Because of course that's the farthest thing from the truth.

But in the early days, when Down syndrome loomed as The Worst Thing That Ever Happened To Me? I would have given anything to stumble onto a blog that talked about "American Horror Story" (I've decided I'm absolutely too scared to watch season two), the best Thai food in Portland, Oregon, the paper dolls I scored on eBay and Oh My Goodness You Won't Believe The Cute Thing The Babies Did Today. And did I mention my oldest son has Down syndrome? And that it's honestly (most days) no big deal?


If that's the kind of blog you're looking for? Then you've come to the right place.


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Trifecta of Sensory Troubles: Overcome

Leo, age 8: First successful dental cleaning.

Longtime readers know that for years, Leo has struggled with three tasks: haircuts, doctor visits (specifically ear, nose and throat--basically anything that involves the use of an instrument to peer into anything) and going to the dentist.

Well, check, check and check!

In case there was any question, Leo is most assuredly, growing up. Tuesday I took him to the dentist (he was loooooong overdue). I'll admit I rescheduled this appointment a few times. Every time I've taken Leo to the dentist in the past, the most the dentist has been able to do is peer into Leo's mouth. He had yet to have an actual cleaning. And going has just felt like a huge waste of time, though of course I knew we had to keep persevering to help get him comfortable.

You may be appalled, thinking, eight years old and still no cleaning? But our dentist (who has a daughter with Down syndrome, himself) assured me that Leo would be fine, that his own daughter didn't allow him to give her a real cleaning until she was eight (apparently eight is the magic number?). Did I mention what a relief it is to have a doctor who "gets" it? The uninitiated might assume the medical community is compassionate to special needs and understanding of kids who might be more a little more afraid or uncomfortable and who in turn, make the appointments take a little longer. For the most part this is the case, but it isn't always.

And our dentist? Oh boy, does he get it. He asked Leo about his stuffed dragon. He tickled him with the toothbrush and the dental floss. He understood every word Leo said (this was extra awesome--to not have to play translator to every five words is liberating for all involved). And he wasn't even offended when he offered Leo water (he was dying to spit in the little rinse bowl next to the dental chair) and Leo asked instead, for orange juice.

Leo was definitely hesitant. But he never got hysterical and he was reasonable. I would say that's one of the biggest changes I've seen with him in the last year or so: he listens to reason. He can still be impulsive but you can get to his level and talk to him and say "This is what we're doing and this is why" and he might not love it or necessarily want to do it but he eventually says "OK."

I never quite figured out why Leo was so terrified of the haircut, ENT, dental trifecta. I just know that every time we left a hairdresser (usually with both of us in tears) or a doctor's appointment without a proper exam (remember how we had to have Leo sedated to just see if his tubes were intact?), it was like a punch in the gut. You're different. This is hard. Not to mention, all the undue stress it put on Leo, the poor guy.

So I'm relieved to say that I think we are finally closing the door on these struggles. Sensory? I guess. It doesn't really matter. All I know is that Leo finally has consistently, closely cropped hair, twenty-two teeth and I don't break into hives when I have to take him to the ENT (or even the regular old pediatrician).

As you can see, Leo is ready for Halloween, already. His dentist will be happy to know he doesn't even like candy.

I know! What's wrong with him?

Today in Tooth History

Ellie had her first dentist appointment today.

Look at that focus and concentration (not to mention those cheeks!). The hygienist gave Ellie an instrument to "hold" so Ellie could "help" her. Brilliant.

We’ve been talking about it for several weeks. She’s a big fan of the doctor (don’t ask me why) so a doctor for her teeth was apparently even more intriguing. The whole ride there, every time I stopped at a light Ellie would ask, is this the dentist? Is this the dentist Mommy?

The Dentist Barbie Ellie got to hold, along with the Princess toothbrush they sent her home with didn’t hurt the cause.

She did great. Nothing against Leo, but it is just so incredible to take a child to the doctor who is not terrified or uncooperative. She slid into the giant dentist chair like it was a daily event. She held her mouth open willingly and happily.

It was no surprise when both the hygienist and the dentist noted Ellie’s, um, pacifier “influenced” mouth. I quickly told them she only uses “Bobby” to sleep. It’s fine, the dentist said, but it would be good to quit by the time she’s four (so as not to risk damaging her jaw and permanent teeth but let’s face it, my whole family needed braces—the kids are both doomed, paci or not). Maybe I should be more proactive about this but honestly, she adores those stupid Bobbys and they are firmly only allowed in bed/for sleeping. They bring her such comfort and pleasure. My feeling is, if it's not hurting her or anyone else, what's the point in freaking out? Life is too short, you know?

In other news, I just got word from Leo’s teacher that Leo lost another tooth this morning (really folks, does it get more exciting than this?).

You have to love a teacher that emails you this kind of information: “It happened during physical therapy. The nurse had him put it in a small treasure chest that she gives the students for that purpose. I taped it into his communication book so it wouldn't get lost. He has been telling everyone all about it!”

So this brings Leo’s lost tooth total to three consecutive missing bottom teeth. I'm just going to have to start calling him Gummy. He lost his first tooth last July or August and it’s just now coming in. And to say that it's coming in is pretty generous. It's barely visible.

That’s it. For dinner: Caramel apples!

And if you'll excuse me, I have a Tooth Fairy to notify.