Student of the Week, Otherwise Known as Mommy Panics and Feels Guilty For No Reason

In January, a few days after school resumed following the winter break, Ellie came home with a hand-out about  a future assignment: "Student of the Week." Starting that month, each kindergartner would be assigned a week in which they would prepare a presentation (and design a poster board) about themselves and their family, depicting their likes and dislikes, and their family's customs and traditions.

I put the paper aside, relieved that Ellie was assigned a week in April. Nothing like good old procrastination.

Don't get me wrong: I think it's a wonderful project. It's a wonderful exercise for kindergarteners to write about their favorite topic (Themselves!). And what fun it will be to look back someday on a five year old Ellie and her favorite foods and places to travel and activities.

My concern was finding a chunk of time to help her. As much as I love the open floor plan of our downstairs, it doesn't provide a place we can go and close the door and work without the prying fingers of the fearsome twosome Harry and Lucy. Oh sure there's morning nap time, but Saturday Ellie has swimming and then Sunday morning is soccer and blah blah blah. Also, I didn't want to have to rush through this project with her. I wanted to really be present (I know, gag, but you know what I mean) with her while we did it.

I also know what you're thinking. Why did you wait until the day before to do it? Well, in a different world, or, more specifically for me, in a world pre-twins, I'm sure I would have not left it until the last minute. I was, after all, the college student who frequently wrote the essay the week it was assigned (even if I had three weeks to do it), so severe was my anxiety of impending deadlines. Yes, my name is Maya, and I'm a planner.

But those days, as we know, are loooong gone. At least for now.

So there we were yesterday afternoon, Ellie and I, sitting in our sunny kitchen during the twins' 4 p.m. nap(time). Their voices on the monitor started out innocuously enough with Lucy's adorable banter: "Herry! Herrrrry!" And there were Harry's mumblings and garbled babbling. Books were tossed and mattresses were jumped on.

As we worked, the sounds over the monitor became more urgent. Playful banter dissolved into whining. Then crying.

I did my best to block out the noise. They're fine, I told myself. They need the "quiet" time even if they don't rest and there's no way on god's green earth we can get this done if they're downstairs, what with Harry's prediliction for stealing pens and running crazily through the house, not to mention Lucy's insistence on sharing a chair with Ellie and scribbling on whatever her big sister is drawing/writing.

Then came the wailing. It was mostly Harry, who can cry so loud it's as if he himself is two babies. I can only liken him to an ambulance-and once he starts, he doesn't stop and only gets louder and louder.

Ugh, I thought to myself. This stinks. I wish I could do something, ANYTHING in my life right now wherein I didn't feel like I was rushing to finish it, where I felt like I could never do the best job possible since at any moment the babies would need something. Oh sure, it's no where near what it was like when they were newborns, the needs are less constant but still omnipresent and these days, involve safety: there is Harry climbing onto the window sill. There is Lucy, teetering off the edge of a chair. It's a constant challenge, trying to balance the big kids' needs with the needs of the babies. Ellie must be so annoyed. And frustrated. They always need something. So much of the time they take attention away from her and her older brother.

Ellie picked through the stack of pictures I'd presented her with, to illustrate her "All About Me" poster and paused on a picture of Harry and Lucy from our trip to Disney World, more than a year ago. The babies looked like different people, so squishy and little-they both had the telltale chunky thighs of babies who are not yet walking.

"This one," she said, a satisfied smile spreading across her face.  "This is my favorite part of my family," she said quietly, gazing at decidedly baby versions of Harry and Lucy, rosy-faced and flushed, hair poofy from the Florida humidity.

Ellie reached for the tape and started to make little tape donuts.

So much for annoyed and frustrated.


Ellie drew and wrote and cut and taped. I helped with some layout ideas and suggested we add some stickers to fill in the negative space. But Ellie basically did the whole thing herself.


My Family (pictured)
Favorite Place to Travel: Disney World
Favorite Food: Cake with chocolate frosting
Favorite activity: Bike riding
Favorite animal: Rabbit
Favorite television show: Ninja Turtles and Care Bears
Favorite color(s): pink and blue


(She also brought her favorite books to school, along with her favorite toy (Stuffed animal, a pink teddy bear from Build-a-Bear) and will instruct her class on how her family lights the menorah during Hanukkah).


And yes, she picked the color of the poster board (I'm sure you're simply shocked to learn this).

We bought it last weekend at Target on one of our excursions with the whole gang while Erin was away in London (Last weekend. See?! I am capable of some advanced planning!). I was so proud that I'd remembered it and of course we got it toward the end of our shopping trip and of course someone was fussing while we looked through the poster board options. I'd wished we'd had more time to ponder the selection but I felt hurried by babies, anticipating (and hoping to avoid) the proverbial cash register meltdown. Once again, Ellie rallied and seemed completely oblivious to my concerns.

As we lay in bed that night talking about our weekend (it was the second one with Erin away, so things were hectic, to say the least), I asked Ellie what her favorite part of the weekend had been.

"Buying my poster at the store!"

Kids can be remarkably, almost heartbreakingly easy.

And oh so very forgiving.

Do They Make Them Run Laps? Kindergarteners Are Tired, Cranky People

I promise to post the next chapter in the Great Trip to Oregon (I know all four of you are on the edge of your seats). But I wanted to jump in quickly and give a little kindergarten progress report.

Ellie brought this home on her first full day of kindergarten (week one was half days, Monday was the first "real" day).

So far, so good.

I wasn't really worried about kindergarten. Ellie is a very outgoing, social kid who seems to thrive on new situations.

One thing I am noticing though, is a new level of crankiness and exhaustion not seen before. Oh she's fine at pick-up and she's about the same in the morning (she's never been a morning person, ahem). It's later in the day that the tired, cranky little monster begins to rear her head. Ellie gave up her afternoon nap years (sob!) ago but there is rest time in kindergarten (it lasts maybe twenty minutes?). And Ellie actually speaks longingly of it. Seems to look forward to it.

By 6 p.m. Ellie is a puddle. A moaning, sighing, groaning shell of her former self. The best solution I've found is to throw her in the bath right after dinner while I'm dealing with the babies. Once they are out of the picture I can focus on her and her many maladies, which seem to go hand in hand with fatigue. A mosquito bite. Chapped lips. I channel my patience. I really do. I'm not always successful, I'll admit it.

We read a few chapters of Junie B. Jones and I rub her back and bite my lip as she moans a little more.

A few nights she complained about being "too tired to sleep" which, I get. I feel that way too sometimes. It's like your body is just keyed up. It's cruel, but it happens. I tried to reason with her, that if she didn't sleep, she would feel even worse in the morning. That she has to get sleep for kindergarten!

"But Mommy! I'm tired before I even walk in the door!" she replied.

Yes, I know that feeling too.

Of Kindergarten Previews and IEPs and One Big Giant Update Smorgasbord

It has been ages since I posted a good update.

Last week, Ellie attended her kindergarten "orientation." Word is, this gives the school a chance to meet the kids so they may properly balance the classes.

Ellie's new school is about five blocks from our house, a perfect little walk. I'm a little sad that she and Leo won't be at the same school. (The program he's in isn't offered at our neighborhood school.)

Ellie took her place by the list with her name on it. She seemed a little nervous ("Are you gonna come right back and get me when it's over?" but was relieved to see a familiar face from her preschool.

And yes, because I am a giant sap, I did get a little teary thinking about how quickly five years goes by and how The Days are Long But the Years Are Short and I'm going to turn around and be standing in that same courtyard watching Harry and Lucy line up for their kindergarten orientation and OMG Stop the Train I Want To Get Off...

Also? This is my first foray into "General Education" where you, you know, just sign up your kid for school and no meetings or evaluations by therapists and specialists, they just...go.

While Ellie did worksheets and drank a juice box, the parents were herded into the library for a talk by the principal about the curriculum and then we got the PTA sales pitch. Eight years into this parenting gig and I still often feel at these sorts of things that I'm a kid and what am I doing in a room full of all these parents? These grown-ups.

***

Leo got another hair cut.

I just want to reiterate how proud I am of him, that he can get a hair cut (or a blood test! I forgot to tell you about the blood draw last week that he sat stone still for) without a huge (any!) amount of stress or bargaining or bribery (OK, there is the little matter of the iPad that he holds during hair cuts but who cares? Bring on the iPad!) And best of all, I don't have to wear my combat boots or shin guards for these kinds of events anymore. Kids are just amazing. They're one way (in this case, terrified of anything hair cut or medical related), and they're one way and then one day? Something just clicks. And they change. And they surprise you in wonderful ways.

Scored this train table at a garage sale a few weeks ago. The giant box of Thomas trains went unsold so the seller threw those in too, when we went back to pick it. I've literally been searching for this kind of deal for years. The table has been a hit. It's one of the few toys Leo and Ellie play with together seamlessly (we put the table in Leo's room so that the babies can't get involved in the multiple, tiny pieces).

In other Leo news, we had the IEP meeting to discuss the next school year's placement. First of all, third grade? How did that happen? We're making a big change this fall. Leo will be moving from a mostly self-contained class of MCI ("mild cognitive delays") to the LLD (Language and learning disabilities) class. I got the sense from everyone involved that Leo's is a trajectory that doesn't happen often. Once MCI, always MCI? Anyway, acronyms and labels aside, we all agree this should be a good move for Leo. He will be challenged for sure and rather than be "safe and cozy" where he's been, his therapists, past and future teacher are excited about giving him the chance to spread his wings a bit.

Obviously as his mommy it's difficult for me to be completely objective but I've felt for some time that what holds Leo back the most is his language (intelligibility). Yes, he's a bit immature for his age too but this boy is smart. Yes, he learns at a slower pace and needs extra support, which is why the LLD class seems like a great fit. I've talked to many parents of kids with Down syndrome about this and have heard that there's a growing opinion out there that a lot of kids with Down syndrome aren't cognitively delayed but rather that they have learning disabilities.

It's all semantics I guess and it's easy to get sidetracked by all of that. What matters is that at this moment, Leo is poised for a big change that we think will be wonderful for him. His current teacher, the one who has seen him from kindergarten to this new step, she and I had a good little cry at the IEP meeting ('They should stock tissues at these!' I joked) when the school psychologist started in on how far Leo has come since his first day of kindergarten when my biggest concern was whether or not he'd escape out of his classroom (am I glad those days are over).

We have always wanted to challenge Leo, to give him the opportunity to "rise to the occasion." I think this new classroom is definitely an example of that.

***

Lucy is a cruising fool. Walking feels imminent but who knows. Her nickname for now is Pull To Stand.

Harry has gone from the butt scoot to the more traditional crab crawl. Also he is getting his molars (see above). One word: Ouchie. Also: Misery.

They have the whole downstairs to explore and yet I often find them like this, back-to-back inhabiting the same tiny space. My little bookends, so different, yet drawn to each other.