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.

On Night Nurses and Cravings

In case anyone was wondering, I don’t recommend a third trimester cold. Yes, I finally succumbed to some of the hooligans’ microbes. I’m fairly miserable. Adding to the fact is the joy of nightly insomnia. Even without the cold, I have been waking up between 2-4 a.m. every night. I wish I could say I was doing something productive (my friend Lisa said she used this time in her twin pregnancy to organize. Why can’t I be equally motivated/productive?).

I will say that Leo makes an excellent middle of the night nurse (I hope he’s this helpful when the babies come). At 2 a.m. when I woke up hacking and sneezing Leo was of course in our bed (he makes his way into our room most nights between 1 and 3 a.m.). Leo patted me on the back and held his palm to my forehead dramatically, whispering, “Fever, Mommy?” He asked to take my temperature too, but I assured him I was fine. Wordlessly and without being asked to do so, he padded into the bathroom and returned with a package of baby wipes (which we often use to wipe the kids chaffed noses). He offered them to me with a furrowed brow. When I finally lay back down and attempted to go back to sleep he pulled me close and threw his little arms around my neck, his round, warm hand rubbing my cheek. His compassion astounds me. Leo, the nurse.

This morning, sleep deprived and congested, I looked long and hard in the oven for a cup for Leo’s orange juice (thinking I was peering into the dishwasher). I then came very close to pouring orange juice into Leo’s yet to be made scrambled eggs.

Fifteen minutes later, Leo accidentally overturned his mostly-eaten plate of scrambled eggs onto the carpet. Oh but never fear, there was plenty of leftover ketchup to go on that carpet! I whipped around to clean it and managed to knock over my coffee cup, which happened to be a favorite mug, shattered. Sniff.

I am not someone who should probably be trusted with heavy machinery or small children.

Thank goodness for this. I like to think it’s clearing my head. Perking me up?

(Though I buy the Target “Up and Up” brand because I’m thrifty like that).

This is amazing too. It’s practically intoxicating. And I don't feel as guilty using it since it's all crunchy and natural. Erin thinks I’ve lost it. She comes into the bathroom after I’ve showered and calls me her “Little cough drop.”

I confess to having craved eucalyptus even before the cold but now? It’s the perfect antidote. I literally go in to the bathroom just for a whiff of it. A hit. Straight from the bottle. I’m an addict. Anchovies, pickles and ice cream, pepperoni pizza? Nope. Eucalyptus. Weirdest pregnancy craving ever, right?

At least it’s Friday.

Green Day

"Go pick out your clothes," I heard Erin call to Leo this morning. She blessedly let me sleep a few minutes later than usual and had motivated Leo to get ready, cheerily, as only she can do.

"He has to wear green!" I prompted anyone within earshot. Erin repeated my fashion "suggestion" to Leo.

"Oh YEAH!" agreed Leo, as though grateful for the reminder. I have to say, they do an absolutely fabulous job at school of indoctrinating those kiddos with all the holidays. And to think, I was worried there would be a struggle over the fact that he owns no green Super Hero shirts (I remind you that's all he'll wear these days--yesterday there was an all out war over the fact that his beloved Bat Man shirt was in the laundry--the horrors!). But would you look at that? He happily arrived at my bedside, minutes later, clad in an adorable green plaid button down. All grins, and full of Irish pride.

Sorry, no pictures of Leo. But Ellie got into the spirit too. Yesterday I told her she had to wear green today or someone would pinch her. She gasped and her jaw dropped, her mouth forming the shape of a concerned little "O."

***
In other news, Leo's teacher wrote something lovely in his communication book yesterday:
"Leo did something so nice today! When he was getting off the bus it was raining, so he insisted Chloe [one of his bus buddies] get under his umbrella. So sweet!"

Aww. And also, I guess that balances out the other note I received, about how he got in trouble for crashing into Mrs. B (on purpose) with his scooter at P.E.

Hey, you take the good, you take the bad, right?

Happy St. Patrick's Day to all!

Edited to add:

Of course! Green Lantern! Thank you, dear readers. Next year, Leo. I promise.

A Confession and Just Another Gorgeous Autumn Sunday

I have a small problem.

It's an addiction really.

It is completely impossible for me to resist purchasing doll houses at garage sales.

Ellie and I found this one today at what was billed as a "garage sale" but was actually an estate sale. Ellie took one look at that beauty and said "I want to take this to my house." I couldn't say no when I found out it was $2. And yes, I searched futily for vintage Little People. This house isn't vintage (1993 though-not a spring chicken!) but I figured there might be some older things lurking. No such luck. Did I mention If they ever do a special "Hoarders" episode on doll houses I will be an excellent candidate.

It was very sad. The woman overseeing the sale was cleaning out her parents' house. I imagine they either died or are no longer able to live on their own. I didn't ask, but she told me she'd grown up in the house and was preparing to put it up for sale. It felt odd going through other people's belongings. There was just so. much. stuff. And it reminded me of how that's what we leave, I mean, in addition to offspring (perhaps) and loved ones and memories, we leave a lot, a lot of stuff. It was fascinating though. Every single room in the house was up for grabs, there were even items in the bathroom that people were buying. There must have been twenty pairs of ice skates in the basement, half a room of LPs, an entire wall of vases and crystal. There was a box of commemorative champagne glasses ("happy 25th anniversary!") that had never even been opened, along with an entire shelf of Corningware, white with the little blue flowers, that I remember someone in my family having. I took a couple of little dishes too, unable to resist.

In other news, today was a much better day in the Leo department. Erin took him to play miniature golf with his two peer buddies Jake and Adam. It has a Safari theme--a giant elephant, a fake shark pool, and fountains galore. Erin watched the boys from afar and said Leo had a blast. After golf they stopped at the deli to get takeout for lunch. When Ellie and I returned home with our garage sale booty, we dined on sandwiches and extra sour pickles and black cherry soda, al fresco. It was another crystal clear, idyllic east coast autumn day today. Leo was happy and agreeable and smiley and playful. Pfew.

Some days are hard. And some days are much, much better.

And did I mention? A new dollhouse?

Breaking Stereotypes at the Pumpkin Patch

We went to a farm today that boasted not just apples for picking but pumpkins too. And Leo's beloved hayride. There was only one problem. Leo was not all that excited or happy about much of it.

Oh sure, he had his moments of pleasure. He jumped up and down with anticipation of the approaching hayride. He smiled and cuddled on the hayride and hugged the woman who helped people down the stairs off the truck (oops). He was happy to pick apples for a while. But something was just off. He was more stubborn than usual. He didn't want to hold hands in the parking lot. He didn't want to stay on the path (you know, away from the oncoming tractors). There was much scowling about, well, pretty much everything. In short, he was just a big grump.

But wait, aren't people, especially children with Down syndrome, such "happy little beings?" That's what the geneticists at the hospital promised us the day that Leo's official karyotype came back. Hey! I want my money back, because Leo can be a downright crab.

A happy moment, but notice how he's trying to get away from me taking his picture?

It all seemed to go downhill when, on the way to the farm we had the nerve to drive past one of his favorite places, Barnes & Noble. Thus began the chant for "bookstore! bookstore!" When I explained to him that we were going to a place with hayrides! and apples! and pumpkins! He wanted none of it. He became completely focused on the bookstore and the cruelty of how we were making him go to the farm instead. And did I mention he even had his Grandma Jerry with him too?

By the time we reached the farm, a good thirty minute scenic drive through winding roads of northwestern New Jersey farm country, he was in a slightly better mood, and thankfully the bookstore seemed to have receded from his mind. But like I said, he just wasn't himself. Everything felt harder than it needed to be. Granted, that is not unusual, but today was just different.

I feel badly for Leo. As I've said before, I think much of his frustrations stem from communication issues. Then again, we knew exactly what he wanted today: the bookstore. It just wasn't in the cards. Whereas other kids get mad about not getting their way and tantrum about it, Leo seems to just hold onto it, completely unable to listen to reason. He knows what he wants and he wants it now and god help anyone who stands in his way. Transitions can be really rough.

In this case, he wanted to go to the bookstore and just was not able to shift his thinking towards the farm. But he's six years old! a not so patient little voice in me says. He shouldn't be acting this way anymore. Of course this isn't fair to Leo because sure, he's technically six, but he's not really six, in terms of his maturity level. And also? I think today Leo was just tired. He kept sitting down, like, in the middle of the path near the apple orchard. This is just not like him. But whereas another child might say "Mommy, I'm tired!" Leo just takes his frustration out on everyone else around him.

Or maybe I'm just too hard on him. I know that I can be. I'll be the first to admit I get frustrated and honestly? A little depressed by days like today. Why can't he just have fun? Roll with the punches? Why can't he listen, when asked not to run into the road. Why does everything just have to be harder? It's the DOWN SYNDROME, a little (OK, big) voice in me booms. If it weren't for the Down syndrome... Days like today leave me feeling exhausted and spent from being a wound-up ball of nerves because every. little. thing. is met with a "NO!"

I know blaming the Down syndrome is seriously unproductive. What does it accomplish? Or, sure, I could throw myself a big old pity party, but why? What's the point? So some of his behavior is related to the Down syndrome. What else is new? Not to stereotype but I think most of us in the "club" can agree: we've got some seriously stubborn people on our hands.

Of course it all evens out in the end, because as I've said here before ad nauseum, Leo is one of the most empathetic, nurturing, thoughtful people I know. He can be witty and funny and smart and affectionate. Nobody else was hugging the farm employees except Leo (and we do try to reign in the hugging but believe me he is fast).

It is what it is. But it doesn't keep me from wanting to have a little tantrum myself sometimes.

“Don’t Accept. Expect.”

Pajama Day at Daycare

The same day I wrote my last post, about the joy of seeing Leo fitting in so well with his peers at daycare, I received this email from the daycare’s head teacher.

I admit, when I saw the subject line, simply “Leo,” I panicked. Will I ever stop waiting for the other shoe to drop? Will I ever stop expecting Leo to be excluded or singled out for not doing what he should be?

Dear Maya,

I was so proud of Leo today and wanted to share this with you.

I took the older group outdoors to play various team games today.

Leo followed all the rules and waited for his turn and loved the sports day.

He has come such a long way this year that watching him was sheer delight.

He disappeared upstairs when I was giving all the other children treasure before I left today but I will make sure that he receives his treasure tomorrow.

This brought tears to my eyes so I am sure you will be a very proud mom tonight/tomorrow.

Regards, Ms. N.

By the way, he “treasure” she referred to is a box of trinkets, similar to toys at a dentist’s office, that the children are allowed to choose from for good behavior.

Of course, Ms. N’s email brought tears to my eyes too. It’s such a wonderful thing when someone else sees what your child is capable of, when they recognize him for who can be, when they do more than just “put up with him” for the sake of not discriminating.

I know that I sometimes sell Leo a little short. I mean, I think and know he’s brilliant. He sees the world in a way that no one else does and it’s clear that he’s incredibly intelligent, he just learns a little differently and yes, a bit slower, perhaps. And he has Down syndrome. But what he can do? All that far outweighs what he can’t. And I’m confident this will continue.

Ms. N’s letter came the same day this speech was brought to my attention. Here's my favorite quote from it:

"Life doesn't let us in on many secrets. One of them is, happiness comes to those who do the best with what they have. The more we struggle in our limited, human way, to make sense of things, the more we see that some things don't come with sense included. The best we can do is the best we can do."

The gist of the speech is this: "Give your child the chance every other child gets...Don't accept. Expect."

Sounds simple, doesn't it?

Sure, it's simple, but also hard, when you've been told since the day your child was born what he won't do, that he's different, that he's slow. Lowered expectations + waiting for the other shoe to drop = hard habit to break.

By the way, when I say "Don't accept. Expect," what I think is, be the best you can be. Don't try to be like everyone else. Because really, who wants to be like everyone else?

I think every parent and teacher should read that speech. Scratch that. Every human being should read it: “Don’t accept. Expect.”

Spying

This morning at daycare I sat with Ellie for a few minutes as she started her breakfast. Knock on wood that simple “Johnny Book” has been working wonders in easing Leo’s transition to school in the mornings (I’m sure since I’m writing about it here, it will all get shot to you-know-what, ha ha). It didn’t hurt that the room where we were today had less than five kids in it. What can I say? Leo does not enjoy a crowd first thing in the morning (and I can’t say that I blame him).

So today, as Ellie dug into her yogurt and strawberry o’s and milk, Leo played happily a few feet away. He didn’t even need his Johnny book today, actually, casually dropping it by his cubby on the way to the classroom.

He started out sitting alongside another little boy. They sat across from each other at a tiny circular table and quietly worked on a puzzle of a boat scene. Leo was chattering away to this little boy (who happens to be the older brother of one of Ellie’s BFFs—he’s a very sweet kid). The little boy responded to Leo and they seemed to be having some kind of conversation though I couldn’t make it out.

After a few minutes, Leo moved on to reading some books. He and a different boy sat next to each other on the brightly colored ABC rug and read from giant version of Curious George books.

A little while later, Leo had moved on to the play kitchen where a complicated meal was being prepared and Leo seemed to be head chef.

When I left, Leo was in the midst of an intricate skit with puppets. He had fellow actors as well as a small audience.

For some reason I often think that Leo plays alone at daycare. I don’t know why I think this, since he and Ellie create some intricate scenarios almost daily, involving hay rides and the play kitchen at the tea set and the Little People. Maybe it’s because other kids at daycare can’t understand a lot of what he says. And shoot, he often likes to be alone. But in these few minutes this morning, I was reminded of how wrong I am. I was also reminded of what inclusion looks like. Leo is truly “one of the guys.”

Yes, Leo’s behavior can sometimes be challenging. He sometimes doesn’t “act” like the other kids. They don’t always know understand his speech. But you know what? Nobody seems to care. At all. And it’s just so awesome and refreshing and most of all, reassuring.

And yes of course, when I climbed into the van to drive to the bus stop to go to work, I cried.

Happy tears.


Enjoying a little before school Really Rosie.

Time Off, Farmer's Market Fixings and the Smart Cookie

I’m back from a few days “off” with the kiddos.

All in all, we had a wonderful time.

There were play dates and hot mornings at the playground and cool afternoons spent at the bookstore or wandering around Target or Trader Joe’s (finally went to the one nearby--yes, one--in New Jersey that carries wine. I’m sure the kids were thrilled with that little errand). We played in the backyard pool and painted (scored a ton of brand new paint and a cute little easel at a fabulous garage sale on Sunday).


We took long, slow, hot (did I mention hot?) walks and bike rides.

Popsicles consumed: I think we average 4-6 a day. Monday morning Leo asked for one before 9 a.m. I thought about it for a minute and realized, hey, why not? I did say he had to eat breakfast first.

If you asked Ellie, I think she'd say the highlight of her weekend was the acquisition of this:

I think it's safe to say I didn't know it was possible to love an umbrella as much as Ellie loves this one.

I made a point that we do “something” every day, even if that something was just a trip to the park in the morning before it got too hot. Yesterday might have been my favorite day. We began the day at one of my favorite playgrounds and then stopped off at the farmer’s market for some ingredients for dinner (cold, fresh tomatoes with garlic and fresh mozzarella over fresh pasta with a side salad of cucumber and shallots). Are you sensing the “fresh” theme? Dessert was homemade apple crisp made from some leftover apples that were on their way out. Making that crisp required me to (cringe) turn on the stove. Aside from daily scrambled eggs duties (hi Leo!) I’ve hardly used the stove since June. Too. Darn. Hot.

Ellie just discovered nectarines so we bought a big basket of them at the market. When we got home she promptly ate three in a row. Speaking of Ellie at the market, I think I am still reeling at how well she listens to me and follows me around. Whether it’s Trader Joe’s or the park or the grocery store, she stays with me. She comes when I ask her to. It’s like, magic. If my hands are full when we’re crossing the street, she holds onto my skirt or puts her little hand in my pocket. This makes me want to melt.

Leo is getting much better about following directions and making transitions (leaving a fun place when it’s time to go without too much of an argument) but it’s definitely a work in progress. Before we get to our destination, I talk a lot about how we’re all going to listen and stay together and when it’s time to it’s time to go. I think he’s learning about this at school too because Leo just taught me a new sign that he must have picked up there—it’s the sign for “together” and it’s two hands, palms together, like you are praying. I love it and now we use it all the time.

I give him multiple warnings before it’s time to leave. And yet. It’s still often a battle.

Monday after a sultry morning at the playground we went to the bookstore. We were there for a good two hours and it was lovely and relaxing and I met a nice mom with a little girl named Maya. She and I chatted for a while and she joked about how Maya is the new Jennifer and I told her when I was her daughter’s age I would have legally changed my name to Jennifer if I’d been allowed. Then Ellie and I read Princess books while Leo played with the beloved train table and read Mickey Mouse and Nutshell Kids books.

When it was time to leave I even promised Leo a cupcake at the Starbucks, hoping that would help ease the pain of departure (I hate food as bribery but hey, sometimes you do what you have to do). Sure enough, he left the train table area without too much cajoling (trust me this is big) and when we got to Starbucks, he picked out a chocolate cupcake and ate the top (frosting) as he is apt to do.

Could you say no to this face? Sometimes it's hard, trust me.

And then Leo jumped out of his chair and ran to the display case for more. This time he wanted a vanilla cupcake. Then he began signing for and saying “cookie.” I calmly explained that he’d had a cupcake and that it was time to go. I got a box for his leftover cupcake. Leo threw himself on the ground. The Starbucks cashier peered over the counter and asked me if Leo was OK.

I tried to get him to leave Starbucks on his own volition (speaking quietly and firmly in his ear that it was time to go) but Leo was a mess. Finally, I picked him up and carried him out (all 50+ pounds of him, not fun). Luckily, he didn’t fight me. It’s like he knew it was time, he just couldn’t bring himself to go through with it.

When we got to the parking lot, the temperature on the car registered 97 degrees. I was not in much of a mood for discussion at this point, but again, in the calmest and quietest voice I could muster, I tried to reason with a then-hysterical Leo that if he couldn’t listen we wouldn’t do fun things like the bookstore or the park or the pool (all places he sometimes has a hard time leaving). He nodded, all the while his tiny brows furrowed and his full little lips in a pathetic, glum little pout.

What kills me is he GETS it. I know he does. But I'll be honest. Sometimes I just want to wail, why do I even bother leaving the house? Why do I bother trying to do anything fun if trying to leave the fun is so flipping hard? But of course, that's silly. He has to learn and the only way to learn is to experience. And like everything, it just takes Leo a little bit longer to "get" it. And also? He has a way of "evening" things out, because Leo might be the most thoughtful person I've ever known. This morning I bumped my side getting into the car. Leo had to climb out of his car seat to kiss my "boo-boo." In short, it's hard to stay frustrated with him for too long. His ability to infuriate me is tempered by his incredidible sweetness and sensitivitity.

But back to the scene, post bookstore. I’ve learned to just let him be at times like that. I got him safely secured in his seat and just let him think about what’s happened. Eventually he always comes around. And sure enough, about three minutes into our drive home, Leo called to me.

“Mommy? Sorry. Sorry,” said a small deep voice, from the back seat. For extra emphasis he said “sorry” and signed it, even.

Stopped at a red light, I turned to look at him and smiled and accepted his apology. I thanked him for understanding and acknowledging what happened.

“Mommy?” Leo said. “Cookie.”

I told you. He gets it.

Evening Firing Squad

Now that the weather is getting warmer and the flowers have started blooming, we have a nice little routine when we get home from daycare. Leo and Ellie burst from the van (with a little help from me) and race to the azaleas and rhododendrons (or as Ellie likes to call them, “rosemarys”) and bleeding hearts (on their way out, sadly) and various other plants and flowers and bushes that line our front yard, to survey the day’s blooms.

After this little nature moment, we slowly make our way up the stairs and into the house where the kids settle in, hip-to-hip on the love seat (not always quietly or agreeably, I assure you) to watch a thirty minute video while I prepare dinner. Leo’s latest obsession is “Oswald” but “Little Einsteins” is a close second.

Yesterday was different. Don’t ask me what possessed Leo to deviate, to bypass the porch and instead walk all the way around and behind the giant, violet bloom covered rhododendron bush under the front window, pick up the hose and aim it directly at me.

“Don’t do it Leo! Don’t do it!” I wailed. OK, screamed. I quickly dropped the two jackets, backpack, assorted lunch boxes and random coffee cup I had been holding, onto the hood of the minivan. I would need two hands for this one. And then…

Pow. Full-on garden hose spray to my gut. Soaking jacket, sopping shirt. Also neck.

Ellie was standing behind me and burst into tears on cue and then came her shriek of “Leo sprayed me!” Really she was merely misted (or was the victim of the excess water that bounced off my body).

I lunged toward Leo, trying to avoid any direct-in-the-face hose-action. I was moderately successful. And then came one of my finest parenting moments.

I grabbed the hose from Leo. And sprayed him back.

Not in the face mind you. Just on his shirt. And just a little. And not full blast. And then I immediately felt like the worst parent in the world. But can I pause to say how unpleasant it is to be sprayed in the face with a garden hose? I guess it was human nature or just a defensive reflex. Whatever it was, I’m not proud.

I turned the water off and set the hose down in the dirt. It was clear from Leo’s wide eyes and pursed little mouth that he knew immediately what he’d done was wrong (and probably, he also knew what I'd done was wrong). We went inside and the three of us huddled in the mudroom. I crouched down to Leo’s level and had a long talk about why it’s wrong to spray people with a hose. I showed him Ellie’s wet hair and my wet clothes. Leo hugged a moist Ellie and apologized and she whispered a tragic little “thank you.”

Then I went on and on (and on) about how it was definitely also wrong of me to spray Leo but that I was frustrated and mad and that sometimes even Mommy does bad things when she’s frustrated and mad.

In the moment, I was furious. About thirty seconds later, I realized it was pretty hilarious.

Oh well. I’ll try to do better next time. Hopefully Leo won’t log too many hours with his therapist over the old “My Mom Turned the Hose On Me” moment.

Cool under pressure. That’s me.

Hold My Hand

In the last month, I’ve seen on three separate occasions, young men with Down syndrome walking with their families through the streets of midtown New York.

I know what you're thinking. Big deal, right?

Well, I’m a total gawker. I admit it. I see them and I full-on stare. I drink them up. Sometimes I eavesdrop. I want to know everything. How old are they? Are they talking? If so, what are they saying? I’ve always felt we (families of people with Down syndrome) should have a special code word or handshake or wink so that people know we’re not being rude, that there is a legitimate reason for our curiosity.

What strikes me about these young men is how calm and mature they all look. And all three times, they’ve been “spotted,” never once were they hovered over. There was no nervous mother holding a hand with a death grip. Perhaps most notably though, the young men were not charging ahead, glancing back over their shoulders with a cackle and a teasing look as if to say Try and stop me, lady.

Leo is much, much better than he used to be, when it comes to listening and not running off in public places. But he’s still a definite flight risk. At Trader Joe’s and Costco and Target, it’s still cart city for him. When it’s just the two of us (or just Erin and him), he’s almost always a little jewel and I will sometimes (OK, probably not often enough, I'll admit) let him walk independently. But still, the thought of him “free range” through New York City, of not having him strapped to my body? I shudder.

But obviously, right? I mean, he’s five. I’m sure many parents of typical five-year olds would be nervous in New York too (or any city or for that matter, public place). But let’s be honest. It’s a different kind of nervousness. With Leo, there’s a lack of predictability that makes me jumpy (to put it mildly). And I know it’s crazy but there’s a part of me that thinks Leo is always going to be the way he is now. But then I look at those young men and I’m just…hopeful.

And I’m fairly sure there will come a time when I want to hold Leo’s hand, and he won’t want to hold mine, only in that instance, it won’t be a safety issue-it won’t be because I have to hold his hand Or Else. It will be an I’m your Mommy and I want to hold your hand because I love you! issue.

And who knows if he’ll indulge me.

A First, With a Side of Lizard

Some mornings, Leo springs out of bed with all the enthusiasm of a celebratory spark plug. He jumps up and down for scrambled eggs! He gleefully picks out his own clothes (a yellow shirt, if available, always). He cheers when I find a new episode of "Dora" for him to watch while I make lunches for him and his sister.

But many mornings are not so easy. Leo will not get out of bed. When he does finally get out of bed, Leo moves downstairs at a mind numbing, glacial pace. When asked what he wants for breakfast, the only answer is a furious and incredulous “No!” Even the beloved eggs are met with fury.

Luckily, Leo has always been fairly resilient. I believe his teacher would refer to him as "easily redirected." I wouldn’t exactly call Leo moody, but if there is an upside to his sometime mood swings, it’s that as quickly as he moves from incredulousness to be being asked what he wants for breakfast, that’s how swiftly he becomes cheerful. He’s only human. When he's angry he's very, very angry. And when he's happy? He's a sweetheart. No big news here.

So this morning it was a relief when Leo had successfully shaken the grouchiness and was finally dressed in his underwear and socks and settled comfortably on the couch and in front of the coffee table with his plate of scrambled eggs (the final shirt and pants go on after breakfast is completed—trust me, I’m a veteran ketchup stain remover). Have no doubt though, there was certainly a battle to get just that minimal amount of clothing on and just to do so there were plenty of threats to turn off the TV, to take away the eggs. He comes around. Eventually.

But today, I just knew. When I looked at the clock and it was 7:40 and Leo was still just wearing socks and underwear and Leo’s bus can come anywhere between 7:45 and 8:00 a.m. Well I knew. For the first time this year, I would be driving Leo to school myself. Certainly not the end of the world but not the most convenient turn of events either.

Sure enough, Leo’s bus pulled up at about 7:47. I did my best to wrestle the clothes quickly on him. Today he was to wear a new, quite adorable button down shirt decorated with gecko lizards. I thought the fact that some of these lizards happened to be yellow might entice Leo to get dressed quicker (maybe we would make the bus that was pulling up outside the house at this-very-moment?).

But Leo started arguing with me and stomping his feet and saying something I couldn’t understand. At first I thought he just wanted to wear a yellow shirt (an almost daily request). The next thing I knew he was running upstairs. Awesome. Keep in mind the bus was, a this very moment, outside our house. The reminder honk was imminent.

I dashed outside and across the lawn and asked the driver in the sweetest possible voice I could muster, if he could come back in five or ten minutes, maybe pick up a few more kids and swing back to get Leo (knowing full well this was totally not going to happen).

And sure enough it did not happen. The driver shook his head apologetically and shrugged his shoulders and I sped back to the house for Plan B.

When I returned inside, Leo was standing at the bottom of the stairs grinning proudly ear-to-ear, holding a tiny rubber gecko lizard. That’s what he’d run upstairs to get. He wanted to wear bring his lizard, in honor of his lizard shirt. Makes perfect sense, really. And why hadn't I thought of that?

Except for the fact that Leo tried to melt like a wet noodle into his car seat when one of the aides tried to extricate him from the car in the “kiss and go” lane at school, this story has a mostly happy ending. Leo got to school, eventually, rubber gecko and all. And I guess considering this is the first time we've ever "missed" the bus and it's almost May, well that's pretty good, right? RIGHT?

These are the days, when I finally do get to work, my first question is: Is it lunch time yet? Or better yet, happy hour?


No gecko here, just lunch bag turned silly hat. Leo is almost always game to make people laugh. And in Leo's eyes, almost anything can be a hat.

Too Loud

Say you have an otherwise adorable, mostly sweet little boy who sometimes decides things are “too loud.” And we’re not talking rock concerts or crowded festivals. We’re talking empty restaurants and bathrooms and bedrooms.

Since you are a worry wart, worst-case scenario type who tends to catastrophize (my new favorite word, thanks grandpa , for the reminder), you immediately start Googling “sensory issues” and “delayed autism” and “behavior modification.”

You email Adorable Boy’s teacher, the same one who let him wear headphones in the lunchroom last week because it was pronounced “too loud” and urge her not to make this headphone thing a habit.

Then she emails you back and says she doesn’t think it’s sensory at all, since Adorable Boy refused to go the bathroom yesterday, declaring it was “too loud.”

I believe this is a behavior issue, said Adorable Boy’s teacher.

I have to say I’m relieved.

Or maybe, it’s as Erin refers to it (and leave it to her to add some much-needed levity to the matter), it’s just Leo being a Little Shi*.

Whatever it is, Leo is certainly keeping us on our toes lately.

All in all, his mood is great. Dare I say, back to his old self, when it comes to the day-to-day? I’ve added fish oil to his daily regimen (after hearing from other DS Moms and reading a few studies claiming that it may improve mood as well as brain function-hey it couldn’t hurt, right?).

But Sunday, after a long, exhausting Saturday that included for Erin, supervising the tiling of a bathroom and for me, hosting an extraordinarily lucrative garage sale (all while both of us supervised the hooligans and made sure they didn't escape with any of the garage sale customers), we decided to celebrate by all going out to brunch, which we rarely do.

As usual, Leo didn’t want to leave the house (who could blame him really, it was a dreary, rainy day and to be fair the poor guy is go-go-go all week at school and after care). He was fine once he got in the car and was fine as he walked hand-in-hand with Erin up to the door of the restaurant and then…he collapsed in the entry way, right next to the hostess stand.

“Too loud,” Leo said, covering his ears.

Keep in mind we were literally the first customers of the day. The only people there were employees.

Twenty minutes later, Leo finally came to the table.

Did you know it’s possible to eat an entire brunch with one hand covering an ear?


It is. Just ask Leo.

So I will add this “Too loud” business to the list of things that Leo does that I just don’t understand. And I will tell myself that it’s ok. I don’t need to “get” everything. But I wish I could help him.

And now I'm off to Google Little Shi* Syndrome.

Hair by the Village, Finally Spring and Two Steps Forward And...Well, You Know

1. Leo's hair.

It's so much better than it was! (Please pay no mind to the odd "There's Something About Mary" cow lick that Leo woke up with.) Mrs. E. finally broke out the clippers yesterday (according to Leo's teacher, being a professional, Mrs. E. felt clippers were the only way to really make it look "clean.") Apparently a Zhou Zhou Pet was just the ticket to distract and calm Leo while the clippers were doing their job.

2. After an initial good week behavior-wise (such a good week that we've decided to hold off on the behavior specialist after an email from Leo's teacher in which she pointedly said "I don't think Leo has a behavior issue") Leo's teacher emailed me today to say that he refused to go into the cafeteria for lunch because they arrived late and it was fuller than it usually is and therefore deemed "too loud" for Leo. It took almost all of the lunch period to get Leo into the room and this was only after Mrs. L gave him headphones to wear.

Oy.

I realize this is not a behavior thing. It's that blasted sensory crud. It makes me feel so helpless and frustrated. The thought of Leo wearing headphones during lunch does not make me happy. I mean, I get that you do what you have to do and I'm all for whatever gets you through the day, but really, doesn't he have enough strikes against him? Headphones in the lunchroom? He has to be that odd man out? Filing this under information I sort of wish I didn't know.

3. Enough of that for now.

4. It's finally spring! I'm enjoying the warmer days and nights and reveling in the mild temperatures. The heat can't be far away. Every morning and night on the way to and from the car Ellie has to stop...


and smell the flowers.

I think she's onto something.

The New Adventures of Old Leo

Slowly but surely, the Old Leo seems to be returning. He’s been much less cranky this week (knock on wood!). There’s been more agreement and less haggling, and he’s been joining us at the dinner table without a fuss.

Of course, getting both hooligans into their car seats after daycare at the end of what’s been a long day for all of us continues to be the bane of my existence. Seriously, all I want to do is go home and all they want to do is dance around in the back of the mini van. I know, I am so not the Fun Mom.

Last week, in the thick of Leo’s mood, I asked his teacher if the school had access to a behavior specialist, someone who could help us figure out how to manage Leo’s frustration (and ours). Yesterday there was a form in Leo’s backpack requesting my signature so that I could “consult” with the behavior person. For some reason this made me nervous—I didn’t want there to be some official notation in Leo’s file that he’s some kind of a behavior case. A scarlet “B” if you will.

Leo’s service coordinator responded to an email I sent asking about the form, assuring me it’s just a formality and will merely give this person permission to evaluate Leo. So...I guess we'll be moving forward with that. In other news, the service coordinator wants to schedule Leo’s annual review next month.

Gulp.

Apropos of nothing, can you believe this guy ever gives anyone a hard time?

A Enigma and a Nod to Emerson

Every since I returned from Portland, Leo has been in a mood.

I hate to generalize, but I think in this case, it’s fair.

Leo has been angry, aggressive and impulsive. And did I mention angry?

I wish I could capture his scowl. His furrowed brow, his tiny pursed lips. His expression is so clenched, so exaggerated and dripping with fury, it looks painful.

I know it’s painful for me.

Two nights in a row Leo refused to come to the dinner table, even for his beloved eggs. Last night he sat at the bottom of the steps in the entry way and literally wailed. It’s hard to ignore and just go along like everything is fine with this sort of behavior. It’s hard not to let it get to you.

He’s been complaining about things being “too loud,” so much so that I actually took him to the pediatrician on Monday to see if he had an ear infection (he’d been literally holding his ears). I actually really hoped he had an ear infection. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a little miracle cure? Nope. He checked out just fine.

With any other child (say, one with 46 chromosomes), I would chalk this up to a phase. But with Leo, my mind goes in all sorts of directions. And Dr. Google doesn’t help.

I know that by nature I'm a worrier. And when it comes to the kids, when things are particularly hard, I tend to think They Are Always Going to Be This Way. I think back to early newborn days when Ellie was waking every hour. It didn't seem possible that would ever change, but of course it did.

Eventually last night, Leo did come around. He joined Erin at the table and gulped down pasta while Ellie and I went upstairs to do bath and books. He’s seemed happier lately when things are one-on-one which is fine when it’s possible, but newsflash to Leo: You’re not an only child. We have no plans to get rid of Ellie any time soon.

I emailed Leo’s teacher on Tuesday to find out if she’d been seeing any of the troubling behavior we’d seen and she said Leo had been completely agreeable.

Then I received this email yesterday: “Leo is having a difficult day today. At times he is refusing to do his work or listen to directions. I guess this is what you had written me about before. He eventually comes around but today it's taking him a longer time.”

Not what I wanted to hear. Like most kids, Leo’s always been a Different Person at school and has almost always saved his challenging behavior for lucky us at home. Obviously this is not fun for us but it’s certainly preferable to him being a turkey at home and at school.

But.

This morning he came downstairs without much haggling. He ate his breakfast in a timely manner. He didn’t assault me when I tried to help him get dressed. And best of all, he bolted out the door calling, “My bus!” upon seeing his morning ride to school. He practically skipped toward the bus and boarded it without protest or attitude.

So maybe today is a new day? Maybe it is just a phase. Or maybe it’s as a few people have suggested, that Leo is actually angry with me for going away for almost a week. He didn’t get to go see grandpa and grandpa like Ellie did. He didn’t get to go on the airplane. Is he just ticked off?

So today I am celebrating a good morning. I am hoping for the best and taking it one day at a time (any other good cliches I can spout?).

But seriously, here's something that feels particularly apropos. I really do love this one:

“Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities have crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day. You shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.”
--Ralph Waldo Emerson

Monday, Leo’s teacher sent this picture home in his backpack.

He was Student of the Month at his school. And why was he recognized?

For gratefulness.

Oh Leo, you are my little mystery.

Wisdom in the Snow

It was the day after our most recent snow storm. Ellie was inside with Erin where it was “nice and warm” (Ellie's words, honest) and I was on the back deck with Leo, attempting to build a snow man.

We rolled the appropriate balls together for the body. We found acorns for eyes and buttons and dried sticks for a mouth and arms and a nose. Leo’s hat was lent to our little snow man and he borrowed my gloves.

And, as I often do at moments I want to document (either here or for a photo album or whatever), I whisked the camera out of my pocket and attempted to take a picture.

Leo is often camera shy. He shakes his little fist at me and stomps his feet and yells “NO!” adamantly. I usually respect his wishes (and go ahead and sneak pictures in when I can), but this snow man was so precious and the activity had been such a delight. I wanted to have proof of it.

That’s when Leo pushed the snow man down. Destroyed it. Down went the head. The hat was thrown across the yard. The stick arms were tossed away with total disregard.

I stood, frozen. Not sure what to say or do. It all happened so fast.

To be honest, I wasn’t even angry. Just sad. Why would he do that?

And my next thought was what I often think when Leo does something "bad" and I'm a little ashamed to admit it. It’s because he has Down syndrome. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t have Down syndrome.

This is, of course ridiculous. Because who knows? Who knows which of Leo’s behaviors are related to Down syndrome? I mean, I have my suspicions, but again, why does it matter? It’s just an excuse to be mad. Or disappointed. Or depressed. Or to play that giant, stupid, loomy, “What If” card.

And what of all the so called "good" Down syndrome qualities? I won't even go into that list as I don't want to perpetuate stereotypes. I know, I know.

When Ellie won't stop chattering and go to sleep at 10:30 pm, or when she refuses to close the refrigerator door and sit in her chair to eat the string cheese, do I sigh and say, Oh, it's because she has 46 chromosomes? Right.

Back to the snow man.

After what seemed like forever (mere minutes), after the Appetite for Destruction of the snowman incident was over, I just quietly and calmly said to Leo, Why did you do that? Mommy helped you build a snow man and he was beautiful. And I wanted a picture of you two together.

And do you know what Leo did?

He rebuilt his snowman. Every last little body part and limb. Quietly and quickly and wordlessly, he put him back together.

And he crouched down and posed for a picture, without even being asked.

He said "Chee." (His version of "Cheese.")

Oh sure, Leo can be a little hurricane sometimes. And oh does he have a temper. But ultimately, he loves to please. And he knows how to do it. And oh does he know when he’s disappointed you.

This scares me a little, because I know how critical I can be. I’m working on trying to be more patient. Less reactive.


I should take a lesson from Leo.

I think he would have sat for photos for as long as I wanted to take them. He only stopped posing because I put the camera away, finally (and I didn't even get the Geez Mom! expression once!).

When it doesn’t involve food, Leo is one of the most patient people I know.

Sprung (Sort Of) and You Can't Get Too Many Hugs (But Please Stop Dribbling Apple Sauce On Purpose)

Walking to work on Thursday morning, I felt I was on furlough. I was sprung from strep jail (except, oops, I have strep now too). The high 30s temperatures felt downright spring-like.

We made it through the week. Almost. And hopefully with another 24-hours on antibiotics I’ll start to feel slightly human again. I can’t think of a better excuse for some bullets:

-I bought myself another iTunes pick-me-up. Currently on heavy repeat is the soundtrack to “Up in the Air.” As I said, the movie was eh, but the music, I love. It’s fitting my mood of late. I’m not feeling so "Glee"-like right now. I’m not sad, just feeling a little introspective. It’s gray. It’s January. It's still coldish. It’s time for folky-pop and Elliot Smith.

-I'd like to welcome some new readers in Gretna, Louisiania who have recently been introduced to the wonderful world of blogging. Hello!

-Leo has been doing this strange thing lately. He will spill something (yogurt, apple sauce) on the table or dribble it on his pants, or he’ll make a tiny tear of the page on a book. The most maddening recent incident came when I was went to put Ellie down for her nap and was gone all of two minutes. I came back and found Leo had taken all the tissues out of a full box of tissues. I was...frustrated (to put it mildly). He’s five (OK, I know, he's not really five in Down syndrome years, but still...). He is so smart. I thought we were passed this kind of stuff.

After he spills/destroys, he then comes straight to me and says (and signs) “Sorry.” It was really beginning to get on my nerves and he was clearly doing these things for attention. But he would do these things (mostly) when I was sitting right there in the room with him so I couldn’t figure out why he would need more attention.

Erin and I discussed it. As we talked about it, I decided that I think what he’s doing is he’s attempting to have an interaction of sorts. A conversation, if you will. Sure it’s not exactly constructive, but it’s definitely an exchange. He says “sorry,” I talk to him about what he did and why it was wrong, then we close with a hug. Leo can’t have the kind of back and forth exchanges we have with Ellie, so I think this is his version. And also, an excuse for attention. And a hug. It doesn’t make what he’s doing any less annoying but it does help me understand it a bit better. Erin’s idea is that I don’t make a big deal and certainly don’t close with the hug. It's not like I don't hug him all the time, for other good reasons or for no reason at all. I guess you really can't get too many hugs.

-Last night we had ice cream at the adorable mom and pop shop near our house. There was a sign on the door that read “Wan’t great pizza?” GAH! The burdon of the English major. It actually provided me with good laugh.

-Don’t tell me if this post has a typo. I’ve never been the world’s greatest grammarian but I feel pretty confident about my mastery of apostrophe's. Ha! Kidding. Apostrophes. Ah, English major humor...

I’ll leave you with some sunshine. I think we could all use some.

Friday Rant With a Large Glass of Whine

We’ve had a rough couple of days around here. To borrow the words of my former idol Dan Savage: "Kids are like heroin, a little heroin addiction. When it’s bad, you’ve never been so miserable, but when it’s good you’ve never been so high."

I’m not sure what’s been going on with Leo. I’m hoping he’s just tired, still getting into the swing of back-to-school. The only way I can explain it is he’s just been very angry. Hitting me. Kicking me. Uncooperative. Not helpful. Every other word is no. Bribery is the only way I can get him to do anything. Where is my sweet boy?

It all came to a head last night when I picked him up from after care. When I arrived he was sitting, angelic, reading a book. He barely acknowledged me, which is unlike him. Most nights both kids run towards me like I’m the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus, with shrieks of “Mommy! My Mommy’s here!” (it’s one of the best parts of my day). But not last night. Leo did not want to leave with me and he most certainly did not want to leave without the book he was reading.

I tried to usher him out of the room and towards the cubby where coats and bags are housed. Leo kicked. He cried. He punched. Once the baby gate to the room where he'd been reading was closed, he tried to crawl over the gate. He shook the door knob of the closed door and pounded on the window.

Time was, when Leo was smaller and stubborn and angry and pulled something like this, I could just scoop him up and take him wherever we needed to go. Sure, he often went “limp noodle,” but it was still doable. He was malleable. Well, at fifty pounds he’s not so malleable. Plus, he’s old enough to know better, and he does know better. But once he sets his mind on something—a book, a toy, whatever…it’s Look. Out.

Leo acted last night the way he often did at the old after care program. They were not so strict and would let him “borrow” whatever it was he wanted to take. Where he is now, they are not so lenient, and I can understand why but still, it’s tempting to wish we could just cut corners and borrow the damn book for the night.

Instead, Leo sat in the dark outside the school at the bottom of the stairs while I struggled to get Ellie (who was also not being so cooperative) into her car seat. Meanwhile, Leo cried. He wailed, “book! Book!” Our one saving grace was that it wasn’t 15 degrees out (it’s going to be in the balmy high 40s today, can you believe it?).

When I asked him if he was going to stay at the school and sleep on the stairs he lay down and started snoring.

Transitions can just be so maddeningly hard.

Finally I broke down and promised he could watch a DVD in the car (I detest that DVD player and only use it in extreme situations—this one definitely fit the bill).

Three minutes later we were on our way, tucked into car seats, munching on Goldfish and grooving to Dora (though of course there was an argument between Leo and Ellie as to what we’d watch—there was full on whining about Mickey Mouse and not Dora).

***

Not to get all Whine Fest 2010 but the “bad trip” (going with that heroin analogy here even though, No, I’m not into heroin, sheesh) seemed to begin on Wednesday when we went to Leo’s follow-up to his adenoid removal/ear tube surgery.

The good news is, Leo’s ears are healing well and his chronic congestion seems to have subsided (for now). The bad news is, we waited over an hour just to see the doctor and then another hour for the hearing test which Leo flat out refused.

One look at the (admittedly, a little creepy) booth where the test is administered and Leo was transformed into first a wild animal: “No! No! No!.” (and for full, dramatic effect, crawling under chairs in waiting room), followed by a deer in headlights expression. When the people in the crowded waiting room realized we’d been waiting an hour for a test Leo wouldn’t even take, there was a collective gasp. Ah, good old pity. Yea, I did feel a little sorry for myself at that moment, I admit.

And then this morning, there was a big, huge, uncharacteristic refusal to get on the school bus (seriously, most mornings, he practically skips to the bus). Sigh.

I’m hoping everyone just needs a three-day weekend (which we have)...because I know I do. And I know I just need to hold on. I think kids are a lot like what Mark Twain reportedly said about the weather in New England: "If you don't like [it] wait a few minutes."

Breaking news: this parenting thing is hard.

And I’ve said it before and I’m sure I’ll say it again. It’s a good thing he’s so cute.

Overheard

I was making dinner last night, Leo was having a post-day care tantrum so I put him in a time-out (which he miraculously actually stayed in). Ellie did her best to assuage the situation:

Ellie: You crabby Leo?

Leo: NO! (growling)

Ellie: You crabby Leo?

Leo: NO!

Ellie: You crazy Leo?

Leo: NO!

Ellie: Do you have a boo-boo?

Leo: NO!

Ellie: You not talkin' to me?

Leo: NO!

Ellie: You love me?

Leo: NO!

Well, you have to give her credit for trying.

And in case you were wondering, Leo was hugging Ellie three minutes later (as soon as Diego came on).

Photo Evidence: "No WAY!"

Someone better call Molly Ringwald.

'Cause she's missing her pout...

and I think Leo stole it.

Or maybe Barbara Eden in "I Dream of Jeannie," minus the smile and the genie bikini top.

Keep in mind if these pictures had a soundtrack, they'd be saying "No WAY!" (because the pout and the crossed arms aren't complete without that little gem).

Sorry about the underwear shot Leo, but think with all the "No WAY"-ing we've been putting up with, I've earned the right.