31 for 21: Day 11, FAIL, Try Again

Apple picking and pumpkin patching with the crew yesterday. It was a spectacular, perfect fall day and every year this particular outing gets a little easier and a little more, dare I say, fun?

OY. I am not doing well at this 31 for 21 this year. I had such high hopes for myself.

Let's go for some bullets, shall we?


-Leo is still difficult to understand speech-wise. I won't lie when I say I would have thought by now, at age 11, things would be clearer. I'm guessing this where we are for him and that breaks my heart a little because he has SO much to say. I suppose I should be grateful for that at least, right? But he's likely always going to be tricky (for strangers and people who don't know him well--most of the time his family/friends/teachers do OK but even we are still perplexed and yes, frustrated). However. I love that his speech is getting more advanced and interesting and mature. This morning for example, he busts out with "Speaking of apple bread..." (We were discussing what we could make with all the apples we picked.) I mean, "speaking of...?" Just love it.

-This week was a doozy for Ellie. It feels like the bloom is falling off the rose on the new school year: Apparently third grade is a "big deal" (this is news to me as this is my first time going through third grade for a 100 percent gen ed kid). Multiplication, long division, more and more standardized testing. The list goes on and on. There has been a lot of talk of feeling "pressurized" (Ellie's words) and worry about the speed at which math is going. I checked in with her teacher and she's doing fine, so this is likely self-imposed stress (she's hard on herself and a bit of a perfectionist. Hmm. No CLUE where she gets that, cough cough). Every night after Ellie finishes her homework (math worksheets and language arts and spelling) she does her computer homework for 30 minutes. One evening this week I waxed nostalgic about how after homework Ellie used to draw. "I don't have time for that anymore," she announced, matter-of-factly. Geez, kid. Just stab me in the heart, why don't you?

-I met a woman yesterday at Leo's soccer yesterday who has a 20-year old daughter with Down syndrome (she's in the same special needs soccer program as Leo). It's bizarre to think about the fact that I actually don't know anyone with an adult child with Down syndrome. How did that happen?

As we chatted, we realized our children shared a few teachers, so that was a fun little trip down memory lane. There are a few younger children with Down syndrome in the soccer program too and as we watched their antics we shared a few funny stories of our trials with Impossible Young Children with Down ("When she was little, I never sat down!" this mom recalled). Yup, sounds familiar. I tried to take off my journalist hat and just act like a normal, friendly mom (in these situations where I am starved for information I tend to ask a lot of questions) but I was dying to know: What's high school like for her? Does she have friends? (Answer: Yes, tons. Or at least, everyone seems to know her. Huh. That sounds familiar. How much independence does she have? Does she go home after school by herself? The answer to the last one was no, she still has someone with her at home unless it's just for a few minutes. That one was a little tough for me to swallow.

Her daughter is in her last year of high school and her mom is now looking at programs for next year. In her words: "You're pretty much on your own." The future. I can't can't even go there. But I know the drill. I opened up Facebook this morning and there was one of those sob inducing "Memory" pictures from five years ago: Six year old Leo and three year old Ellie at the SAME apple farm we went to yesterday. Um. EXCUSE me? Five years?

Apple picking, October 2010.

And where were the twins? Oh yeah, not BORN yet (I was actually pregnant the day this picture was taken but didn't know it). And the future that mom spoke about yesterday? It will be here before we know it. But for now I'll go back to my cozy spot with my head resting firmly in the sand.

Nine and Milestones, Good and Bad

Leo had his nine year "well" visit today. NINE! Gulp and also, yikes. Oh time. You do have a way of marching on, don't you?

I've said this before and I'll say it again, after so many years of struggling with Leo at doctor's visits, what a pleasure it is now, to take Leo to these appointments. Watching him agreeably have his ears checked and heart listened to, it's almost eerie, it's like he's not even the same person he was at age three, and four and five, when it sometimes took two people to hold Leo down just so the doctor could look in his throat or listen to his heart.

Now? Leo is Mr. Cool. Today, even though he told me he didn't want to have his blood pressure taken, he conceded, and while the arm band pumped away, he politely told Dr. J about fourth grade and his beloved planets and basketball and how he likes to go the doctor now but "NOT with Ellie."

Leo's doctor even commented on it, right after he remarked on "What a nice young boy Leo is turning into." (Yes, he sees Leo maybe three times a year, but no matter, and so cue my heart, swelling).

"For years I only saw Leo when he was upset and febrile, so I never got to know him. What a pleasure he is," said Dr. J.

Dr. J also told me how impressed he was by how our family juggles everything and launched into the whole "God only gives you what you can handle" speech which I sort of roll my eyes at, but I also know that people mean well when they mention it. He made me laugh though, because he went on to say how he'll see a mom with a lot of kids and various issues or special needs and they are doing just fine, and then he sees a mom with one kid, perfectly healthy and no issues, and they are just freaking out and not handling it at all. I don't know, I don't mean to sound boastful in any way, it just made me smile. How everyone "handles" things? It's all relative I guess.

***
Ellie has soccer on Sunday afternoons and Leo usually comes too. During Ellie's game, he goes to the playground and often strikes up a pick-up basketball game at one of the nearby courts.


Last week Leo played with this nice young man. I watched them from afar and thought it was great how they just played together and didn't even need to speak to each other. I guess that's just how dudes are.

Of course I keep an eye on Leo, the playground is not in my direct line of sight by the soccer field, so I check on him throughout the game. Again, it does not go unnoticed how far we've come. Just a few years ago I would never have dreamed of taking Leo to a playground and not watching him like a hawk, fearing that he'd run off into the street or just, run off altogether.

Two weeks ago, during one of my "checks," I noticed Leo was sitting atop the monkey bars. Sobbing. I walked over to him and asked him what was wrong. He told me that a boy had pushed him. He pointed to a group of young boys several hundred yards away, paying no attention to Leo.

It's always a little touchy, being the mom at the playground with older kids. I wasn't about to bust in and reprimand anyone: I didn't see what happened. So I told Leo that the next time something like that happened, he should come and get me.

Then yesterday, after Ellie's game, I let her join Leo at the playground for a few minutes. Ellie had ordered me to "guard her Oreos," and I was happy to oblige at the bench in front of the slides. A short while later, a little girl from Ellie's soccer team approached a dad who was standing next to me, talking to a mom.

"Excuse me! Excuse me!" the little girl was quite persistent.

I thought maybe someone was hurt.

"That boy over there, he's talking funny. And...he's older. He's not a baby or a little kid but he kind of sounds like one. He's not talking right." 

Now my ears were really perked up: I realized she was talking about Leo.

"Is anyone hurt?" the dad asked. "Is someone fighting?"

"Well, um, no," the girl answered.

"OK, so..." the dad just looked at her and she slowly walked away.

It was just so ODD. She didn't even seem to know the dad. So she was tattling on Leo...for "not talking right?"

I couldn't help myself. I slowly followed the little girl. There was Leo once again, sitting atop the monkey bars and looking very upset, his lip curled over into a pout, his face, red.

The little girl was back at it.

"Well why does he talk like that? What is he saying?" She was talking to a small group of children, one of whom was Ellie. No one was saying anything, except Ellie. Sweet Ellie. Thank goodness for Ellie.

"He goes to speech school (that's what we've nicknamed Leo's private speech therapy, which he goes to on Saturday mornings. Ellie likes to come along because it means she gets a lollipop). And he just talks how he talks. Not everyone talks the same you know."

Ellie wasn't letting this little girl (who happened to be Ellie's teammate, I realized) get away with anything. She was very matter of fact about Leo's speech: He just talks that way. What's your point?
And to be fair, none of the other kids in the group seemed to know what to say to her either, nor understand what her problem was.

It was an odd situation. I didn't want to intervene and be the pushy helicopter mom.  The girl wasn't being outwardly cruel, just kind of insensitive. I told Leo it was time to go (which it was), but I watched as Ellie's teammate actually climbed down from the monkey bars and actually followed Ellie, continuing to ask her about "Why he talks that way?"

In hindsight, I wonder if it was a "teachable moment." Maybe I should have said something to the girl about diversity and how not everyone speaks in the same way, looks the same, etcetera (though I feel like Ellie had covered that already). Unless someone is in harm's way, I really like to let kids try and work things out (especially kids I don't know!).

And now, a new reason to keep an eye on Leo at the playground.

Ways of Seeing

One of the things I've always been fascinated by is the way Leo looks at things in his world. I'll never forget the time he was about four years old, when he leaned over and showed me his half-eaten cheese quesadilla. "Steps!" he declared. At first I didn't know what he was talking about. But I looked at his quesadilla and sure enough, the little bites he'd taken had created a pattern that looked indeed, like steps.

Last night before bedtime, Leo was standing in front of the open refrigerator, getting ready for his nightly pre-bed glass of seltzer (what is it with my boys and their seltzer fixations?).

"MOMMY! The seltzer! It looks like Mickey Mouse!"


The three bottles of seltzer are to the right of Leo, with the silver caps. I don't know about you, but I can definitely see Mickey Mouse there. Of course, I needed Leo to point it out.

The other day I set out a package of juice boxes for Leo to put away in the refrigerator--it's one of his "jobs."

"Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus and Neptune," Leo chanted.

There are eight juice boxes, in a package, just like there are eight planets in the solar system. Leo had lined up all the juice boxes on the shelf inside the refrigerator perfectly. Planets.

"NOT Pluto!" (Leo is very adamant about reminding us this whenever he gets a chance.)



Granted, this example of juice boxes as planets was a little harder for me to "see."

There was a time when I would have given anything to know what was going on inside Leo's head. As Leo's language has exploded over the last few years, I don't have to long to know what' he's thinking, the way I used to (now, the struggle isn't to get him to speak, it's often, to the frustration of everyone involved, to figure out what he's saying).

But it's still evident to me, through Mickey Mouse seltzer bottles and solar system juice boxes, that Leo's mind works in a very unique way and he sees his world in a way unlike others do. Unlike anyone I've known before, really.

Letters Home

I received this note from Leo's speech therapist this morning:

"I just want to mention something that was really touching during Leo's group session yesterday.
We were having a "tea party," a nice little vehicle for language exercises.
Just before everyone pretended to drink the "tea," Leo bowed his head and started giving "Thanks."
And so the rest of the students started doing the same. It was adorable.
He is a great boy."

Our Own Ginsberg

Yesterday Leo read his poem at the second grade “Poetry Café.”

Rehearsing the morning of, with an enamored audience. Harry = Riveted. (Look closely: Lucy (aka Pink Legs) was there too...

The real deal.

He wrote a "Bio Poem" (as in biographical):

Leo: Funny, Smart, Happy, Good

Sibling of: Ellie, Harry and Lucy

Who likes: Buzz Lightyear

Who feels: Happy

Who needs: Food

Who gives: Love

Who fears: Bugs

Who would like to see: DisneyWorld

Poetry was followed by a musical number: "I'm a Believer." (Leo is in the middle of the picture, behind the two boys with guitars--he has a guitar too but you can't see it).

I happened to see Leo’s speech therapist at the performance (the one who urged me to take Leo to the ENT to look into Leo’s congestion). She asked me if Leo had started on his new medication and for some reason I thought she was going to say she didn’t see a difference but instead she told me she’s already seeing a “significant” difference in his intelligibility and diction. So, finally some good news on that front.

And now for some poetry in motion (sorry, I couldn't resist):

Photo evidence: Louie on the move!

Some Finery, Some Answers and Some Hope

Know what’s always good for a laugh?

Trying to get four kids to look in the same direction, at the same time.

As you can see, we donned our Easter finery on Sunday. Lucy wore hers for all of forty-five minutes before there was a major wardrobe malfunction (in her case, a massive leakage issue). That explains the pink sleeper while everyone else wore crisp shirts and a dress (OK, full disclosure: Harry paired his dress shirt with jogging pants).


Last week was a doozy. Poor little Ellie came down with a nasty case of bronchitis and had to stay home from school for two days (of course she did, right as I returned to work because isn’t that just how life is?). Poor thing was sicker than I’ve seen her for a long time, maybe ever. On the first day the illness really hit, she came home from school, made herself a little bed on the couch and passed out. No dinner. At one point she even told me she was Too tired to watch TV. Can you imagine?

Everyone keeps asking me how it it's going being back at work. Work is fine, great, the same. I'm slowly acclimating to the luxury of having a moment to complete a task or thought (or both!). I think I spent the first week in a bit of a shock. I ate lunch by myself without it getting cold. And here's more progress: it wasn't string cheese, Goldfish crackers and cold coffee!

Oh sure I arrive at work most mornings to find snot or spit-up on one of my shoulders but, hey. With the way things are at our house, I really wouldn't expect anything different. The routine is getting more, well, routine. Definitely the hours between 5 p.m. (when I usually leave work) to 10 p.m. (when I can finally sit down after the kids are in bed, dinner dishes are finished and the next day's lunches are made) are more than a little frenetic. Staying home is ridiculous, leaving the house and getting all the kids where they need to be and picking them all up on time is ridiculous. But you know what? We enjoy ourselves much of the time, so that's what counts. Because life isn't going to get any less ridiculous for some time. If ever.

Friday was Leo’s follow-up appointment with the ENT, on the recommendation of both of Leo’s speech therapists. I did feel slightly vindicated when, upon answering the doctor's question as to why we were there ("to address how his chronic congestion might be affecting his speech intelligibility") the doctor took one look at me as if to say, Really?

He said congestion is not usually related to intelligibility. I mean, it could and sometimes does make some letters sound not quite right but not to the extent that Leo's speech is affected. So. The good news is, Leo is fine. No fluid in his ears, his adenoids haven’t grown back and his tonsils are right as rain. The doctor did note that he was very congested so he put him on a nasal spray, nasonex. The congestion may be seasonal allergies and while certainly not helping his intelligibility, it's not affecting it much at all.

But I buried the lead (again). For the first time ever, Leo was a rock star ENT patient. He sat quietly and calmly while the doctor peered into his ears and nose and throat. Oh sure he giggled when the spaghetti shaped tube went up his nose (I think you would have too--actually he took it much better than I think I would have). You may recall that the last time I took Leo to the ENT I was approximately twelve years pregnant with two babies. After a brief, semi-violent (Leo shoved the doctor) attempt to examine Leo, the doctor forbid me from trying to hold Leo down in my condition and announced Leo would need sedation for a proper exam. The only reason I agreed to that was it would allow us to do a proper hearing test.

Taking Leo to the ENT used to practically give me hives it was so stressful. Inevitably someone left in tears and sometimes both of us did. But I’m here to tell you that there is light at the end of the stressful doctor visit tunnel. He was similarly amazing at his last sick visit at the pediatrician's.

Dare I say we've turned a corner?

The Mantra + Ten

Thanks to those who expressed concern and made suggestions regarding my post about Leo and speech. As I said, it’s such a mixed bag, because some of Leo’s speech is so clear. It’s just that way too much of it is not. But in my rush to worry and fret, I forgot to mention one of Leo’s newest and perhaps sweetest phrases:

“Best Mommy everrrrr.”

I have no idea where he got this but he says it at least once a day (well, it usually proceeds me giving him something he wants (cheese crackers) or helping him with something (homework)) but I’m not going to argue. And it’s always followed by a hug and kiss. Erin and the other kids are also recipients of this:

“Best Mama/Ellie/Harry/Lucy everrrrrrr.”

I always follow mine up with “Best Leo ever!”
***

In other news, the babies turned ten months yesterday.

To celebrate, Harry started crawling and made a serious dent in his self-feeding skills (previously he’d very much been the I’ll just sit here and look cute and wait for someone to put the food in my mouth guy—really, who can blame him?). Go Harry!

Lucy celebrated by refusing to go to sleep and insisting on staying up with Erin and me all the way through "Mad Men." What the HELL Lucy? Not cool! This is the first time she has ever done this--let's hope it was a rare "I'm ten months old whoot!" event.

We are officially four days into my being back at work (because, you know, I’ve been sitting out by the lanai sipping cocktails for the last ten months and now I’m going to be doing actual work). But it’s true, it’s more work for everyone, this new deal, this working out of the home, and I have to give everyone credit, what they’re being asked to do is not easy and it sure is different.

Those leisurely weekday mornings of days gone by, those of the multi-course breakfasts for Leo (Mommy! I’m still hungry! I want to do yogurt and grapes!), Ellie in her pajamas until noon, watching “Rio,” the babies sleeping until whatever hour their little hearts desired (that usually wasn’t past 7 a.m. but no matter): those days are no more.

Two more tiny lunch boxes.

Even though the first day back felt like it was approximately 72 hours long and more than a little crazed (up at 5:15 a.m., out of the house by 7 a.m. with all four kids) I have to say, these kids are troopers and I’m confident that we will all adjust—dare I say thrive—as we acclimate to our new normal, just as we did when the babies were born and our world felt upside down and the words How Will We Ever Do This reverberated in my head just a little too often.

Things have a way of working out: Advice my dad gave me several years ago during a particularly tough time. I think of this little gem often and go back to this mantra, over and over, when I feel like life is just completely, absurdly chaotic and everything feels totally unmanageable (not that I’ve felt this way at all recently of course HAHAHA). Things feel impossible, undoable and then suddenly, we settle in. We find routine in the ridiculous. We laugh. We cry. We figure it out, little things to make life easier. Lunches made the night before, frozen dinners for the week. Do they kids really need baths every night?

The big kids know they have to carry their backpacks and lunch boxes into the house now since I have so many more things (two more lunch boxes, dirty baby clothes and diapers) to carry (though Ellie is still a fan of “Can you hold this Mommy?” when I have approximately nineteen other things in my arms/hanging on my shoulders.) The babies don’t need to be rocked and swaddled anymore, now they hold their own bottles (mostly, anyway—Harry I’m looking at you) and I can even sort of multi-task (clean up the kitchen, start lunches for the next day) while they drink their nightcap. At the same time, I try to lower my standards--even more than I already had!--the dishes and clean-up can wait. The nightly "To Do List" is overwhelming, but I remind myself to revel in those moments that I do have. Though I wish I could spend half as much time with the kids at night as I do making four lunches (for the next day). My goodness that is a job unto itself.

The night of my first day of work I was reminded of that odd sensation that I also recall from Leo and Ellie’s babyhood: of picking up my baby and realizing he smells like someone else. Someone with a different lotion or perfume or shampoo held him, maybe cradled his little head on a shoulder. For the first time, these little babies have a life apart from me.


But just as I knew would happen, this work thing? It makes the down time that much sweeter.

Speech. Again. And Some Needed Comic Relief.

I met with two of Leo’s teachers and his school speech therapist yesterday for his parent teacher conference

The good news is, academics-wise, Leo is doing well. His handwriting is progressing. He’s an active, eager participant in class discussions as he’s always been. As I mentioned a few months ago, Leo now attends the learning disabled class for language arts and that is apparently going (mostly) swimmingly (he's not as cooperative or enthusiastic about math, which he also goes to this class for but hey, he comes by that honestly--I was a horror in math throughout all my school years). The class is comprised of children with various, minor “learning problems,” some are not quite reading at grade level, some have dyslexia. If you saw these kids in the hallway, you wouldn’t look twice but they’re in this class because they need just a little extra help.

The “learning problems” teacher (let’s call her Ms. F since that rolls off the tongue a bit more gracefully, don’t you think?) adores Leo. She said he’s a hard worker, loves to be involved in class discussions. Her kids have welcomed him into the class and seem to really enjoy his presence. The interesting thing about this group of kids is they all know they have a problem. They know they’re different, that they’re not good at something and they need help. I don’t know this for sure but I’m going to take a leap and say that I don’t think Leo gets this (about himself) right now. I actually hope he never does but at the same time I suppose it’s a double edged sword—don’t you have to be fairly intelligent to grasp something like that? And I know Leo is incredibly intelligent. One of the many signs of just how smart Leo is? He completely knows when you are pretending to understand him. Most times he's not satisfied you get what he's saying unless you repeat it back to him.

In the meantime, Mrs. F proclaimed Leo the best reader in her class (remember, he’s in second grade and there are third graders in this class). Now for the comic relief: There is much reading aloud in her room and the other day after Leo read his portion, one of the children who really struggles with reading took a deep breath, sat back and said “I think Leo’s a genius.”

Now for the not so cute. Speech. Leo is continues to be very, very difficult to understand. He’s been in private therapy (supplementing what he receives in school) since November and when I asked his school speech therapist if she’d seen any difference since then? She answered a resounding No. My heart sank a little. I wasn’t expecting a miracle, but I guess I was expecting something. A little glimmer of hope. A small bone. At the same time, I obviously want her to be honest. Stroking my parental ego does no one any favors.

It’s baffling to me. Leo says some words and phrases (“That’s boring!” and “Mommy, I’m still hungry!”) clear as a bell. Others (and there are many, many others) leave us scratching our heads. We get frustrated. He gets impatient and understandably frustrated. Of course he does. He’s trying to communicate. We, his family, and to some extent his teachers, get a lot of what he’s saying by context. But we can’t expect the rest of the world to know Leo’s context just to be able to have a conversation with him.

Leo is an ebullient, chatty presence everywhere he goes, including the daily “snack and conversation” held in Ms. F’s room. The other children are extremely patient and curious and include Leo fully. They are, according to Ms. F, just dying to know what Leo is saying. Join the club.

And speech is everything. Or, speech is his bridge to the rest of the world. And the thing is, it’s not like Leo doesn’t have things to day. He’s not speech delayed anymore by any stretch. In fact, he won’t shut up (never thought I’d say that!). He is so friendly and outgoing and interested in the world and people around him. I just worry about how long that openness will last if he’s constantly met with “What did you say? Huh? I’m sorry Leo, I can’t understand you.” I’m afraid if we can’t help him figure this speech thing out, at some point, he’s going to shut down, to not even try.

Both his school and private therapist agree that they want him to be checked by an ENT for something physical (inflamed sinuses? Tonsils? Perhaps a palate issue though wouldn’t this have been discovered already?)—something—anything that night explain why speech is so largely unintelligible. His ABR last summer was all clear so we know he can hear. I’m looking into apraxia but that’s something for a neurologist.

I just want to help him. He has SO much to say.

Love, Leo and 100 Days

Yes, it was Valentine's Weekend 'round these parts.

I wrote the list of children in Leo's class (I imagine he could have done this himself if we'd had more time). When I presented him with the list of names he was alarmed.

"Leo! What about Leo?" he asked. He reached for the paper and immediately added his own name.

I reminded him that you don't give a valentine to yourself, that those were the names of the people he was giving valentines TO.

"Oh!" Leo laughed. He then erased his name and wrote his signature sign-off for Valentine's Day. The standard "from" just won't do, oh no. For him it's simple:

"Love, Leo."

We also completed Leo's "100 Days Project." The assignment was to compile a poster of 100 things to commemorate 100 days of school which, barring any snow days (cough, cough, mildest winter ever) is slated to fall on February 16.

Here's the illustration and title page. I was pretty impressed to learn that Leo knows about apostrophes. You'll notice how in many pictures where he's writing he's leaning over. His OT often has him lay on his stomach when he colors and writes as it helps him keep himself steady.

In other Leo news, his speech has taken an interesting turn. He seems to be in touch with the Yiddish roots that comprise fifty percent of his gene pool and is now pronouncing many of his hard "k" endings with a "huch" sound. It's hard to explain in writing here but the Yiddish speakers in the crowd know what I'm talking about. "Look" sounds like "luch." In all seriousness, I think his speech therapists are really drilling into him the importance of crisp word endings as he will often drop the endings of words ("yeah" instead of "yes"--though "yes" has recently become a Sean Connery kind of yes, more like "yesshhh." Hey, I'll take it.

Also, school seems to have fully indoctrinated him to the definition of Bullies. Now, if anyone is remotely mean to Leo he immediately accuses them of being a bully. Probably no shock to learn that Ellie is called a bully at least a dozen times a day.

All I Want Are Some Turkey Dishtowels and a Few Other Thoughts

I set off to Target earlier this week on a mission. Turkey dish towels. Like these, only preferably not for $13. No such luck. It's all Christmas baby. There were no turkeys to be found. Apparently no one decorates for Thanksgiving anymore.

I guess I'm as guilty as the next guy (see above). We went to the mall today for the playground and the bookstore, passed Santa, who Ellie begged to see (what?). Nineteen dollars and ninety five cents and fifty percent of my children later (Leo was at school, Lucy was asleep), there we were.

To be honest, I love this time of year. I'm a Jew who loves Christmas. I love Christmas music (confession: I listened to it today on Pandora and love that thanks to Pandora I don't have to wait for the radio stations to play it). It's weird not being in the city and feel myself missing the hustle and bustle a little, or at the very least being able to complain about all those dang tourists crowding around the tree at Rockefeller Center.

In other news:

-Speaking of turkeys, I finally finally hung my little "art garland" (to hold seasonal kid art) that I've been meaning to put up for, oh, five months (hi babies!). It's nothing big, it's just twine and cutie mini clothes pins and with a couple of nails it took all of three minutes to hang. It will be a welcome spot for all the art we do around here or the stuff that comes home from school that I feel guilty instantly recycling (we are clutter central, suddenly). I really can't go on enough about how accomplished I felt having crossed that To Do off my list. It's astonishing how challenging it is to finish a goal or project around here lately and that's been hard for me not to get itchy about. I assure you I'm getting better though ("lightening up," as my mom would say.)

-Leo finally started private speech therapy. Let me just say that 5 p.m. is not an optimal time to be loading up four children and setting off in the night for said appointment. The babies want to be asleep at 5:30, or at least on their way, not sitting in an Italian restaurant waiting for take-out food for their older brother and sister. That's what Ellie and I did while Leo was at his appointment when I determined there would be no time for dinner prep when we walked in the door at 6 p.m. and the babies were cuh-razy and exhausted. This extra speech for Leo is such a worthy cause, but I'm pretty sure if they can't find a better time for his appointment (earlier, please), it's going to shave a couple of years off my life.

-This maternity leave has been sadly TV-less (what a surprise, right? It's not like I have anything to do). In an effort to amp up my television viewing, I'm trying to get "into" a show. That show is American Horror Story. Wow. Anyone else watching? What do you think? I can't look away. It's so bad it's good.

-These babies are getting chunky and sturdy and holdable by the big kids.

And I'm pretty sure these two are in love.

One is the New None and Some Updates

More pictures having nothing to do with my post. Just gratuitous, blurry cuteness.

It occurred to me today, as I took Ellie on a little trip to Target while Erin stayed home with Leo and the babes, that going out with one kid is the new none. That is to say, time was, back in those lazy, self-indulgent (ha ha) days of just two kids, it was no big deal to say "honey I'm gonna run to Target" and leave the two hooligans. And it is still not such a big deal if one of us is left with all four. It's just not, shall we say, relaxing. In any possible way. And so, one is the new none. Taking one chatty, curious and dare I say agreeable four-year-old to Target? Well it's a downright vacation. It felt strange to be able to just walk away from the cart and not worry about it (you know, since it wasn't the stroller carrying two tiny human beings that I'm so accustomed to having with me on nearly every outing).

A few other thoughts:

-Ellie is in love with Halloween. I'm not sure what she's more excited about, the decorations, the costumes or the forthcoming candy. Last week I bribed her with taking a walk with the promise that we would spot Halloween decorations. We did, though there were some that were "too scary." She had to look away.

-Leo and Ellie's Halloween costume choices have been secured. No I'm not telling! You'll just have to stay tuned. Let's just say Ellie and I scored the perfect accessories for her costume on Friday. Leo came home from school and promptly announced he wanted to be the male version of what Ellie is going to be which is fine, but of course I have to go back to tall the stores where I purchased Ellie's accessories. I should have known.

-Leo is starting private speech therapy this week. Last week Leo had his formal evaluation and the speech therapist was very complimentary, declaring his expressive language exceptional. She predicted he'll probably score at about the level of a fourteen year old (!). Now, to work on being more understood. I'm excited and hopeful. I can't say the same about hauling all four to said speech therapy sessions, but there you go. He's also being re-evaluated at school (to make sure he's getting the right amount of therapy, that his placement is appropriate). I'm not expecting any surprises there but it should prove interesting.

-The babies are four months old (and nine days) old. They are smiling and laughing and generally just downright ridiculously adorable. I mean honestly, can you think of a more wonderful sound in the history of the universe than a giggling baby? They are more and more interactive with us and the world around them every day. It's refreshing to not be nursing them constantly anymore. They are true, little people. Now if they fuss I can ask one of the big kids to read them a book or (Ellie's specialty) sing them a song and this will almost always entertain them for a few minutes. Lastly, it's reassuring to know if we run out of food, we always have those thighs (see above).

A "Room" of My Own and Some Bullets

We did a bit of furniture rearranging this weekend. You can imagine with four kids, two of them babies, our already not spacious house is feeling oh, just a tad crowded. Part of it is all the stuff. Two swings, two bouncy chairs, two car seats. You get the idea.

We turned our old office, which used to be the dining room, into a nursery, which...the babies aren't technically sleeping in yet. That's a post (snore) for another day. In any case, my "writing" desk moved into the living room. We tried two different locations and it just didn't quite work in either one. So in the midst of yet more furniture swapping, Erin floated the idea of putting my desk in the mud room.

"It will be just like that movie!" she said excitedly.

"The Towering Inferno?" I asked, slumping into a puddle of exhaustion on the couch. Because that's what life's been feeling like a little bit lately: major disaster movie.

"No! That one with Diane Keaton, the writer, you know!" she said.

Oh righhhhttttttt.

Yeah, this is totally my new office (see above). HAHAHAHAHA.

And I tried not to take offense that the room where in theory, I'm to do most of my writing is also the room the dog is most likely to poop in.
***
There's so much to cover. I think it's time for a bullet post.

-Lately I vacilate between moments of What's the Big Deal? I Can Totally Do This Four Kid Thing to OH MY GOD WHAT WERE WE THINKING I AM GOING TO LOSE MY MIND. I will say that we laugh a lot. Mostly at the ridiculous absurdity that is our life. One of the best comments anyone ever left on this blog was "If you're going to laugh about it some day you might as well laugh about it now." Yup, that really sums it up.

- Leo is set to start private speech therapy soon, which I'm very excited about. Just getting the time to make the phone call to the insurance company, finding a therapist, gathering the materials, all of this was so daunting in the face of everything that's going on right now. But the paperwork is in, the appointment is made, and I'm breathing a little sigh of relief that we are on this path of something that feels really important.

-To backtrack a little, I spoke with his school district assigned therapist who expressed concern about Leo's speech. Of course this was both validating and depressing. She noted that he's regressed in several speech areas, is unable to make a few letter sounds that he was making as recently as spring. "What happened over the summer?" she asked. "Did he go to summer school?"

YES.

Gee, this summer? Oh, not much happened. Not that I'm blaming the birth of the babies on Leo's speech "regression" or whatever you want to call it, but Speech Therapist certainly poured salt in my guilty mom wounds. It is what it is and we're moving forward. So.

-On a positive note, speech-wise? Guess which word Leo can suddenly say clear as a bell? Ellie. Up until about two days ago, he pronounced it "Eh-yee." Now, he can say the "l" in her name perfectly.

In babies news, I'm pretty sure Lucy noticed Harry for the first time this week. They were getting ready for bed and Lucy was just staring a hole through her big brother. He of course was oblivious, ravenous and wiggly and staring a hole through me, so impatient was he to get his next meal.

Doesn't Harry look about 45 years old here? By the way, The little dot on his nose is a scratch. I'm awful about cutting their little finger nails. Sorry guys.


-Speaking of Harry, in the last week or so he seems to have caught up with Lucy in the smiley/chatty/cooing department. He has a deep little voice (for a baby) and suddenly has a lot to say. Leo and Ellie have always gravitated toward Lucy because she is so smiley and gregarious. Poor Harry's had a bad rep for a while--I think Leo and Ellie hold a bit of a grudge against him for all that newborn screaming in the "early" days . "Put Lucy by me, put Lucy by me!" Ellie commands to me as she climbs into the back of the mini van. Hopefully Harry's new found friendliness will put some marks in his court.

-Lucy, is doing these little "baby push-ups." She's pushing her little head forward from her car seat like she has somewhere to go. "She's trying to get out! She's trying to come to me!" squeals Ellie.

-Ellie loves her classes. She says things like "I'm so excited I get to go to gymnastics/swimming/ballet class" at random times throughout the day. She's also started asking me, on an almost daily basis when she is starting kindergarten (I pointed our neighborhood school out to her on a recent walk). The concept of time to a four-year-old is both annoying and adorable.

-Ellie's big realization this week? That it's a good thing we don't have three babies. Why? Because then I would "need three boobs."

Three boobs. That's one we can definitely laugh about right now.

"Beebeebee Boo"

As I've mentioned before, Leo's speech can be challenging to understand. And the older he gets, the more frustrated he becomes with his inability to get his point across. Of course, who can blame him?

This morning's frustration?

"Beebeebee Boo"

Whaaaa?

"No Mommy! You know it! Beebeebee Boo!"

There I was, trying to do twelve things at once as I'm apt to in the hour before Leo's bus comes, when the babies are taking their early morning nap (and I feel the clock ticking to get things done while I have the chance): throw a load in the wash, get the dishes into the dishwasher, make the kids breakfasts, Leo's lunch, take out the trash and recycling.

Meanwhile, poor Leo is shouting at me, doing his best to act out "Beebeebee Boo," increasingly furious that I am not comprehending him.

I admit it, I get mad when this happens. Not mad at Leo, of course. Mad at the situation. And yes, mad at Down syndrome. It should not be this hard. Poor guy just wants to tell me something. It shouldn't be this frustrating for me, to get it and it shouldn't be this frustrating for him to simply, you know, communicate. We should just be a mom and seven year old boy having a simple conversation in a kitchen about what the seven year old boy wants/needs. Sure I might get annoyed that he needs something when I'm in the middle of so many tasks, but there wouldn't be that added layer of What On Earth Is He Even Saying?

Finally, hitting the wall and knowing I would not get it at this rate, I fell back on my old stand-by:"Draw a picture of it Leo. Draw a picture of what you want so Mommy can understand it."

Leo threw his head back in irritation but complied, disappearing to the living room to begin his work on the large drawing pad on the coffee table.

He returned with a drawing. A sweet little drawing, which I stared at it, blankly. Still nothing. Ugh.

"Write it Leo. Write the words," I urged.

He stomped back to the living room to write something on the paper, then returned to me.

And so I present to you:

DVD Book.

Of course.

"Beebeebee Boo" was "DVD Book." Leo was referencing the "book": (CD/DVD album) where we keep all the kid DVDs. One of Leo's favorite things to do is go downstairs to the basement playroom and put in his DVD of choice. This morning he wanted to eat his breakfast down there and watch a DVD. Why not? It's Friday, after all.

Look at it. It's perfect. The rectangle is the book. Colored in, because the book is black. The circle is the DVD, complete with a little character on it (he did, after all, end up picking an Elmo DVD).


The only good thing that comes out of these incredibly exasperating "what is Leo saying" exchanges is that when we do finally figure out what he's saying? It's like Christmas morning. Very, very exciting. And we all celebrate.

Bedtime Chat With Leo

Last night, after we finished books, Leo was getting situated in his bed. As he does any night that I put him to bed, he pulled up my shirt to say goodnight to the babies.

"Goodnight baby, goodnight baby."

The What to Name One of the Babies discussion is still in full force, so I ran two options by Leo. His ability to pronounce the names is something we are considering (it never occurred to me with Ellie although he can say her name just fine).

"How about [Insert Baby A's Prospective Name] or [Insert Baby A's Other Prospective Name]? I asked Leo.

He studied my face for a moment, then broke into a huge grin.

"Rudolph!" He announced, with absolute certainty.

Rudolph, as you might not be shocked to hear, is not one of the names in the running. Rather, Rudolph is the word/name that (blessedly) has replaced "Poopy Head" which, for a while there, Leo was calling anyone and anything, because it was sure to get a rise out of people (Ellie is absolutely lightening quick at tattling "Leo said a bad word!")

"Hmm, I don't know about Rudolph," I said. I repeated the names to Leo and he again chimed in with good old Rudolph.

"You're silly," I said, ruffling his thick sandy hair. Leo rested his head on his purple unicorn Pillow Pet (don't ask), and then shot up again, reached out and felt my stomach.

"When are the babies coming?" he asked.

"One more month, I answered.

"One more month?" Leo repeated, wearing the same frustration both children do when they are told that no, the babies are not coming today or tonight (at least, I hope not).

And then, another big grin from Leo: "One baby, two baby, Happy Mother's Day!"

Truer words have not been spoken, Leo.

Pot Head

The other night Leo burst into the kitchen with something to say. This has been happening more and more at our house, and it’s exciting, truly. Speech has always been Leo’s biggest delay. There’s no doubt that he understands everything (and has for a long time). But his ability to communicate his needs, or perhaps, more accurately, my ability to interpret those needs, is another story.

In other words, it looks like a big old game of charades at our house a lot of the time with Leo doing lots of hand gestures and pantomiming. Sometimes, a sentence becomes a whole physical routine. And I have to say, Leo is quite the little actor. Much of the time, he does a fantastic job of getting his point across through body and sign language (always attempting to vocalize too).

Back to the other night. Leo was very excited about the apples (sitting in a large bowl on our kitchen table from last weekend’s apple picking extravaganza). He started talking about apples (I understand that word--it's clear as a bell), apple seeds (which he is studying at school—this much I learned at Monday's Back-to-School Night). But then Leo started in on “pots.” As in, the pot on the stove that was cooking macaroni.

“Apple! Pot!” he exclaimed over and over until I had a headache. And then another phrase that I just Could. Not. Understand:"Daw-dee-Apuh-Dee." Or something close to that. He stomped his feet, not in frustration but in determination, and attempted the phrase again. Still nothing.

I feel bad admitting this, but it’s sometimes a lot of work to try to figure out what Leo is saying. It can be exhausting. At the end of a long day? The last thing I want to do is play charades. Then again, I remind myself how exhausting it must be for people to not be able to understand you fifty percent of the time, poor guy. That's when I get over myself and patiently go back in for another round of charades.

But it makes me consider how easy it is to take for granted something as simple as speech. I am still fascinated and floored by how early Ellie was able to communicate her wants, needs and most of all: her thoughts. It never ceases to amaze me that I find myself having (relatively) complex conversations with a three year old. It makes me think of a wonderful essay I read a while back (it's definitely worth checking out), a darker variation on "Welcome to Holland:" "Have a Nice Trip," by Jill Cornfield. She compares communicating with her typical son vs. her son with autism:

"I never knew how simple a child's illness could be until my younger son got into bed with me late one night, hot and crying. "My ear hurts!" he moaned. He had Motrin; we went back to sleep; we went straight to the doctor in the morning and said, "He says his ear hurts."

“Apple! Pot!” A pause. "Daw-dee-Apuh-Dee!"

Still, nothing registered for me.

And then, some synapse in my small brain clicked and for some reason, an old school, cartoon image of Johnny Appleseed (who IS Johnny Appleseed anyway and why is he so dang famous and perhaps most importantly, why does he have a pot on his head?) popped into my mind.

I looked at the pot and the apples and Leo and finally said to him hopefully:

“Johnny Appleseed?”

Leo’s face lit up into an ecstatic grin.

“Yes Mommy!” And then he went in for The Hug. He was jubilant. I got it.

Yesterday morning I emailed Leo’s teacher about another matter and gave her an abbreviated version of that story, because I'm a nerd that way and I thought she might appreciate it. Here’s how she responded:

"Yes we did learn about Johnny Appleseed and the story I read showed that he carried his cooking pot on his head. Leo called him a "pot head" and we couldn't stop laughing (though of course the students didn't know why we were laughing so much)."

Aww, my little Pot Head.

Spoke Too Soon (Alternatively Titled Speech Delays Blow, and Other Obvious Observations)

Well, today was the first day since school started thirteen days ago that I had to carry a kicking and flailing and generally extremely uncooperative Leo to the bus’ door.

There were definitely no over the ecstatic shoulder grins today. Sigh.

It all started after breakfast which, after dozens of nags, he finally ate. He then leaped from the couch and began construction of one of his infamous “Hayrides”—the material for this one was the couch cushions. Fine. I had bigger fish to fry, namely convincing Ellie to dressed.

But then Leo started saying something. It sounded like: Diddy-Boo. I know. I had no clue what he was saying, and I’m usually pretty good at figuring his language out, often by context. Ellie is really the expert though. I’d say a good ninety-five percent of the time she knows exactly what Leo is saying (this still fascinates, mystifies and provides me with an endless source of entertainment).

But this morning, even Ellie was no help. With raised eyebrows, she shrugged her little shoulders, said “I’dunno” and turned her attention back to the "The Backyardigans."

That’s when Leo took off and started rifling through drawers. First the kitchen junk drawer. Then my desk drawer. I still had no idea what he was after.

Then the bus came. I’m sure you know how that one went over.

Sufficed to say that Leo managed to pull the front of my shirt down with his kicking and carrying on and I ended up flashing the old lingerie to Leo’s bus driver and both bus aides.

And it isn’t even Friday.

This was not behavioral. It wasn't that he didn't want to get on the bus. He just wanted to communicate something and he couldn't. Actually, he could, it was my problem that I couldn't figure out what that thing was. I see and feel his frustration, and truthfully, he's a very patient, good sport about it most of the time. Unless of course, he happens to have to get on the bus at that moment of frustration. I can't say that I really blame him.

Sing It Sister! I Mean, Brother!

Leo is now illustrating “One Was Johnny” too.

Leo has always loved music. He took music classes as an infant and toddler and when he was young it was often the thing that would calm him down when nothing else would (who could forget those few months where, if he cried in the car, all we had to do was bust out with “Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall.”) It was a vocal tranquilizer.

When Leo was eighteen months old we drove from Oregon to New York and he needed music the entire way. "Elmo’s Greatest Hits" could assuage any fussiness. It was magic and I can still remember every lyric of every song. Lucky me!

Today, the “One Was Johnny” obsession continues. The book that houses that song goes with us on nearly every car trip (even if it’s five minutes away to Shop Rite). Thankfully, Leo has branched out to include a few more ditties, in his repertoire. He know bellows “Pierre,” “Chicken Soup With Rice” and “Alligators All Around” with absolute fervor. And thankfully, Ellie is exceedingly accomodating with Leo’s musical demands, er, requests.

In addition to stroking my nostalgia tendencies and eliciting pride for loving something that I did as a young one, an interesting thing has happened along the One Was Johnny way. Leo is really singing. Actually, make that all out belting. Not exactly on key, but he is connecting several words. Believe me, for someone whose speech is limited to two and (at most) three word sentences, this is big. I could watch him in the rear view mirror singing, for a long, long time. He just looks so happy and free.

This started me thinking about how it’s so much easier to learn a song in another language, then a spoken phrase in another language. It’s the reason I can sing in German and Hebrew but don’t ask me to get my way around town in any of those tongues, please. It makes perfect sense, really, that the singing is helping Leo’s language. I’m not sure if it’s because I spent the last ten days straight with my dear boy, or if there truly is a language burst going on. Either way, it’s exciting to see. And hear. Not to be outdone, Ellie is also singing a lot more (if that's possible for someone who was already talking and singing non-stop).

Another little tool that is popular with both kids are Play-A-Sound books. As much as the "bells and whistles" toys and books can grate on me, I do think some have redeeming qualities. I’ve embraced (make that, accepted--mostly) the Princess scariness and in a weak moment at Costco I bought Ellie a Disney Princess book similar to this one. Of course fighting over it ensued and I had to order Leo a Mickey Mouse one and then of course he only wanted the Princess one. Anyway. Singing! More talking! Exciting stuff.

Thursday Listiness

1. After a long string of muggy days of 90+ temperatures, we finally have a reprieve. Summer came too fast and hard for me this year. I can handle this misery in August because I know that pumpkins and caramel apples and cinnamon candles are just around the corner. In June? The heat just makes me crabby.

Sure, Leo doesn't mind the heat. As long as he doesn't have to actually do anything except of course be, you know, cool.

2. Ellie continues to astound me with her little one-liners (more like six or seven or eight liners, really) and her marquee-worthy personality. I know this is not exactly newsworthy or interesting to probably more than a handful of people but, when your first child doesn’t speak for three years and your second child doesn’t stop speaking, well it’s just remarkable to me on a daily basis. Just as remarkable: Leo's uncanny ability to communicate everything with a limited vocabulary.

3. Case in point: Last week Ellie developed a terrible, three-pack-of-Marlboros a day sounding cough. I kept her home and took her to the pediatrician (the day after an all-nighter where she literally coughed all night, in our bed). I assure you that I brought her into said bed because there was absolutely nothing else to do (I am many things but I am not the Family Bed Mom).

4. Well, she was miserable in her crib and she was miserable in our bed. There was just no comfortable position or destination, it was one of those nights where you really question everything: parenting, the meaning of life, why you ever made any decision..you get the point. As a very wise person once said, "the days are long, but the years are short." But when you're a parent and your kid is sick, the nights, they are the longest.

5. And then she woke Leo up around 1 a.m. with all the hacking and crying and carrying on and then it was truly horrific. But bless little Leo who has become quite the compassionate little Florence Nightingale. At one point when my judgment was truly impaired (what do you want? It was 1:14 a.m.) and we were all in the bed together, Leo tried to pat Ellie on the back in an effort to appease the cough but she roared back at him like a little banshee and would have none of his sympathy. In the end, Ellie and I slept in Leo’s bed and Leo and Erin slept in our bed. Don’t ask. We all (sort of) made it through the night.

6. The next morning, the sun came up and poured through the kitchen window, the coffee was made and its comforting aroma permeated the house. The kids got dressed in crisp t-shirts and shorts and had their faces and hands washed. And all was OK again. Proof that everything truly does look better in the morning. Even when you don't sleep. Much.

7. Ellie has not let us forget the novelty that was the whole “go into your room” experience. The actual cough is long gone but she has developed an excellent fake cough which she dusts off around 8:30 every night when she starts asking to “come to your room. Because I have a cough Mommy.” Hack, hack.


8. There’s been a development in Leo’s language and I can’t say I’m bragging too much about this one. “Bad Dog” has been replaced by “Poopy Head.” Yes it’s true. And as annoying and irritating and ridiculous as it is, I admit I’m a teeny bit impressed. Why? Because really, have you spent time with any typical five year old boys lately? I hate to generalize but I think it’s fair to say that most of them pretty much love anything scatological. Calling someone “poopy head” is in my estimation, about as typical five year old behavior as you can find. If only there was a category for “gross out humor” on Leo’s report card. He’s practically advanced. Ah, my boy.

9. In more Leo news, summer school seems to be off to a good start. The extended year program is through the district and runs the month of July, from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. After that Leo takes spends his afternoons at the daycare/aftercare program where Ellie is (known as "Little School" in our house.) He has the same teacher and aides and I think it's essentially the same program during the school year, just abbreviated. One change is that because of the timing (the bus was coming to the house way too late for me to get to work in time), I've been taking Leo to school myself. It's a small change but I find myself enjoying it. It's more time together in the morning and less time for Leo on the bus. Also, I get to see the teacher and the aides every morning as well as some parents. As a working parent it's hard sometimes, I feel like my kid has this whole other life independent of me that I don't get to be a part of. Don't get me wrong, I like that, but to a point. I was worried about how he would do at drop-off. He used to cry and cling to me when I brought him to school but we've seen a huge shift this year. He still looks disappointed to see me go but he lets me leave without a fight. And so far, (knock on wood) no tears. He's really maturing.

10. Lastly, the new look for the blog. Love it? Hate it?

That's My Name

For as long as I can remember, Leo has called me “Dee-Dee.” That’s just been his version of “Mommy” and well, who am I to argue? I was admittedly thrilled when he came up with the term around age 3 ½. At least he was calling me something, I reasoned. Speech is speech, right?

Leo’s teacher and speech therapist have been well aware of the “Dee-Dee” situation and have been working with him all year to correct it. In fact Leo’s teacher joked that it was her “mission” (well, one of them) for the year.

And so, a few weeks ago, one day quite of the blue, it happened:

“Mommy!”

Granted, Leo’s version is more akin to “Ma-Bee!” But hey, I’ll take it!

And it’s been all “Ma-Bee” all the time since then.

It still hasn’t quite sunk in, that he’s talking to me, saying the word I’ve been waiting to hear since he was a toddler and all his peers were speaking and ordering “Uppy Mommy” and Leo was saying… nothing.

Leo's new favorite refrain is “Oh-Day Ma-Bee!” (OK Mommy!) the resigned and quite patient response to my perpetual nagging (seriously, I get on my own damn nerves so I can only imagine how everyone else in the house feels about me). Said nagging commences in the morning when he’s not eating his scrambled eggs fast enough and doesn’t end until nightfall, when he takes too long to get upstairs or or pick out his books or select just the proper pajama ensemble.

But like I said, I’ll take it.