Ellie is saying “yeah.” She has an adorable high pitched voice and she says “yeah” in a sing-songy way, sometimes to herself, as we’re driving and she’s kicking her legs happily in her car seat. Sometimes “yeah” is in response to something she enjoys, like the sight of me holding a bag of frozen blueberries or Veggie Booty. I can’t get enough of the cute little Ellie “yeahs.” Sometimes she and Leo will have “yeah” conversations, back and forth.
Ellie is also dancing. She will dance upon request. I discovered this the other day when I was holding her and I went to turn on the news on the radio. The music NPR sometimes plays between segments came on and immediately Ellie shook her shoulders and bobbed her head. I started laughing and she looked at me and smiled. I said “Ellie, are you dancing?” And she danced again. Oh my goodness the cuteness!
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Leo the Male Model
Leo had a photo shoot for a national magazine last week. It wasn’t a paid gig or anything like that (let's just say I have a connection) and don’t get concerned, I’m not about to throw it all away to become a stage mom. I hope it works out and they got something they can use (I’ll make sure to post a link to it if/when it happens). I think it’s great for everyone when “special needs” kids are featured in mainstream media and the story has nothing to do with the kid’s “issue.” It’s just a photo of a kid doing his or her thing and it’s great for the world to see and it’s great for moms (particularly new moms) to see their kid isn’t the Only One. That they are not the only one. I remember after Leo was born getting my obligatory free copy of Babytalk magazine and none of the babies looked like my baby. It was painful.
More on the photo shoot. I was nervous even though I promised myself I would try to be cool. I had the whole Down syndrome Ambassador thing stuck in my head again. I wanted Leo to be cute. And sweet. And funny. And to follow directions. And to be the Down syndrome poster child so that all the photo editors and stylists and assistants didn’t talk about us when we left and say Oh My Goodness what were we thinking asking that kid to do this he was so badly behaved!
Thankfully I think it went fine. In fact, it went way better than I expected (maybe that’s the key—have no expectations so whatever the outcome you are not disappointed). Leo was charming and mostly cooperative and much to my surprise, he even sort of followed directions! My favorite moment came before the shoot even began. We were sitting with one of the photo editors while they were readying Leo’s set (Leo had a set!). There were crayons and a big pad of paper to keep the kid models occupied and Leo settled right down to draw. I was chatting with this editor and at one point she looked down at Leo and said “Leo just wrote his name!” I looked over and sure enough, there it was clear as day in green crayon, “Leo.”
I beamed. That’s my guy.
Then she asked me how old he was. She said her four year old could barely right her name.
I think what was so satisfying about this was that it wasn’t one of those situations where I was trying to get Leo to perform. He just did it on his own accord.
Sometimes Leo impresses me when I least expect it. Sometimes I think I don’t give him enough credit.
More on the photo shoot. I was nervous even though I promised myself I would try to be cool. I had the whole Down syndrome Ambassador thing stuck in my head again. I wanted Leo to be cute. And sweet. And funny. And to follow directions. And to be the Down syndrome poster child so that all the photo editors and stylists and assistants didn’t talk about us when we left and say Oh My Goodness what were we thinking asking that kid to do this he was so badly behaved!
Thankfully I think it went fine. In fact, it went way better than I expected (maybe that’s the key—have no expectations so whatever the outcome you are not disappointed). Leo was charming and mostly cooperative and much to my surprise, he even sort of followed directions! My favorite moment came before the shoot even began. We were sitting with one of the photo editors while they were readying Leo’s set (Leo had a set!). There were crayons and a big pad of paper to keep the kid models occupied and Leo settled right down to draw. I was chatting with this editor and at one point she looked down at Leo and said “Leo just wrote his name!” I looked over and sure enough, there it was clear as day in green crayon, “Leo.”
I beamed. That’s my guy.
Then she asked me how old he was. She said her four year old could barely right her name.
I think what was so satisfying about this was that it wasn’t one of those situations where I was trying to get Leo to perform. He just did it on his own accord.
Sometimes Leo impresses me when I least expect it. Sometimes I think I don’t give him enough credit.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Hot Time Summer in the….Suburbs
I’m sure you’ve all heard how hot it’s been for the last few days on the east coast. Our town has a pool (that sounds so John Cheever but it’s true). In fact, if you’ve seen this movie, you’ve seen our pool. It was filmed there (creepy, creepy movie. Felt like I needed to shower after seeing it). Anyway we went to the town pool for the first time on Saturday and had a great time. I see such a change in Leo from last year. Last summer he was so much more of a baby. This summer I can see that we can sit on a blanket and watch him play in the baby pool (a mere few feet away, but still) as opposed to having to shadow his every move. Ellie seemed to like the baby pool too, cruising around the edge and exploring.
Sunday it was too hot to go anywhere. So the pool came to us. We used the handy dandy electric pump (great invention) and blew up our gifted pool (see Friday’s entry) in about ten minutes. Leo was so excited he actually jumped in before it even had water in it. He also loved the whole filling it up with water process (see photos) but had a hard time keeping the hose in the pool. Because flooding the deck is so much more fun!
Ellie was not herself on Sunday. Teething, whiney, maybe a little cold? She was content to sit on the blanket and do a lot of toy chewing. I think there was something on my camera lens because all the photos from the weekend have a fuzzy, dream- like quality.
I think there are going to be a lot of pictures like this in the next few months. Backyard. Pool. Hopefully not with a dirty lens though.
See that falling down fence in the background? Kiss it goodbye. We have a date with the fence company, Friday morning, Baby. Ruby is about to become an outside dog and I’m readying the chair with the drink holder. Once that fence is up we are living in that backyard.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Leo = Rooster
When did Leo start to feel it was necessary to wake at dawn? To be our in-home rooster? Gah! I am OVER it. I thought kids were supposed to sleep later as they got older. I thought maybe Ellie's 5 a.m.-ish wake-ups were waking Leo, but no. For this morning Ellie didn't make a peep at her usual time but Leo, well Leo woke me with a start. At 5:30 a.m. And did I mention I have the day off today? So I was all set to let us all sleep in. Until the decadent hour of maybe 7 a.m.
My rooster son had other ideas.
How on earth can a person so small have so much energy at such an early hour? There was Leo stuffing the pillows in the laundry hamper. There was Leo slamming all the doors and turning on lights. There was Leo pushing the bedroom rug under the bed. And there I was, fumbling for the remote, trying to see the "On Demand" prompts on the television, without my glasses. Please Dora, please, help me out.
I suppose getting an early start to the day has its advantages. So far today I have shopped for the week (am excited to finally make gazpacho!), bought an electric pump for the blow-up pool my friend Stephanie bought us (it's supposed to be humid and in the 90s this weekend), made the bed (never do this on week days!) and eaten a terrific junk food lunch (I am too embarassed to admit but let's just most days I have salad for lunch). Not today. Next up: baking cookies for the kids' daycare family picnic tonight. And yes, I am home, alone. No kids. Thus explains the unusual productivity.
Three day weekends rule.
My rooster son had other ideas.
How on earth can a person so small have so much energy at such an early hour? There was Leo stuffing the pillows in the laundry hamper. There was Leo slamming all the doors and turning on lights. There was Leo pushing the bedroom rug under the bed. And there I was, fumbling for the remote, trying to see the "On Demand" prompts on the television, without my glasses. Please Dora, please, help me out.
I suppose getting an early start to the day has its advantages. So far today I have shopped for the week (am excited to finally make gazpacho!), bought an electric pump for the blow-up pool my friend Stephanie bought us (it's supposed to be humid and in the 90s this weekend), made the bed (never do this on week days!) and eaten a terrific junk food lunch (I am too embarassed to admit but let's just most days I have salad for lunch). Not today. Next up: baking cookies for the kids' daycare family picnic tonight. And yes, I am home, alone. No kids. Thus explains the unusual productivity.
Three day weekends rule.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Birthday Party. Questions.
Saturday I took the kids to a birthday party by myself. The daughter of a friend of mine from the mom’s group I was in when Ellie was a newborn turned one (how is that the babies are turning one?). The party was held at a building within a park, adjacent to a playground. I knew as soon as I saw the playground that we would not be going inside to the party. When Leo sees a play structure it is pretty much over. He loves him a good playground.
I was a little disappointed since I had been alone with the kids all day (Erin had to fly to New Orleans at the last minute for a funeral—don’t even get me started on the sadness that is the death of a 39-year-old mother of three to breast cancer). When I’m alone with the kids all day I usually try to schedule at least one “event,” that is, one thing that the day is centered around. Well this birthday party was the “event” and it was looking like my one chance at a social interaction for the day with someone over the age of three was going to end up being me sitting on a bench watching Leo play, bouncing Ellie on my knee.
Don’t get me wrong--I like watching Leo play. I like watching him try to figure out how to move his body. He is very daring and adventurous but he’s not impractical or unrealistic. He knows his limits and he’s very good about asking for help when he needs it. It’s rare that he gets himself into a situation on a structure that he can’t get out of. He’s big into ladders and rock walls right now which is great, but I don’t really trust him on these by himself. I have to hover a bit, which I think annoys him and I don’t love it either. Now that Ellie is officially way too big for the Bjorn (threw out my back last week and learned that lesson the hard way) taking the two of them to the playground myself is a little challenging. Also, Ellie wants to climb all over the structures herself and she is definitely not practical or realistic about what her little body can do.
I pushed Ellie in the swing and I let her climb a bit but I got tired of trying to keep her from eating sawdust and finally she was getting to heavy to carry around, so I plopped her in the stroller, completely expecting her to start whining and squirming. To my surprise she sat there quite content to watch her brother and I was relieved to be able to take a short break. After a minute or so, a woman came and sat down next to us. She was watching her daughter who looked to be four or five. I asked the woman if she was here for the party and she said she was. After a few minutes of silence she asked me how old Leo was. I told her he was almost four and she nodded and pointed to her a little boy who was a few play structures away.
“So he’s about the same as mine,” she said, nodding in her son’s direction. “He’s three.”
No, I thought to myself. He’s not the same as yours. He’s a year older. I wondered why she would say something like that when at that age, one year is a pretty big difference. Was she just assuming that because Leo has Down syndrome he’s a year behind? (he is, at least, but that’s beside the point). And then I wondered what I also wonder when people ask me Leo’s age. Are they asking because of the Down syndrome? Are they asking because he’s not speaking in comprehensible (to them) words? Do they even notice the DS?
“My son has autism,” she said.
I nodded. That was when I got it. That was when it all changed. Suddenly I didn’t mind that she compared her son to Leo. Not that Leo has autism but I understood that she was seeing that Leo was different but not as someone who didn’t understand difference. Rather as someone who has been there.
She stood up for a moment and started towards her son who was looking like he might need some help on a ladder. But then a man, the boy’s father I assumed, appeared and so she sat back down.
“He loves the playground,” she said. “We won’t be able to get him out of here for a while.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I was hoping to go the party but I don’t think we’ll be going in for a while. My friend doesn’t even know we’re here yet.”
Moments like these depress me. They make me feel isolated. Why can’t Leo just be a regular almost-four-year-old who walks into a party and joins the group, rather than seeing a playground and becoming completely transfixed by it, unable to do anything else but Play. But then I have to remind myself; it’s not necessarily the Down syndrome, stupid. How many typical 3 ½ -year-olds give a hoot about a birthday party? It’s the playground all the way, baby.
“Leo, do you want to go inside and eat some cake?” I called. No response. I was trying to think of a way to get him inside the building because seriously, my friend didn’t even know we’d arrived and since I’d gotten lost getting to the party we were ridiculously late. The party was practically over.
“Mine travels with his own cake,” the woman said, as her little boy toddled in our direction. He was holding an upside down, topless chocolate cupcake which he had smeared all over his cheeks and yellow t-shirt.
Eventually, we did get to go inside. The cake was gone but Leo got a balloon, a shiny pink Mylar one, which he adored (later he would let go of it in the parking lot but for a moment it was his and he loved it). He hugged my friend’s husband at the knees when he gave it to Leo. Friend’s husband called out to the remaining partygoers, “Look at Leo, I gave him a balloon and he hugged me! I love Leo!”
That was a good moment. That’s when I think about how Leo is living up to his reputation as the cute kid with Down syndrome. But what about when we finally had to leave and I had to carry him out kicking and screaming, balancing him on one hip while I pushed Ellie’s stroller with one hand. That was not a good moment. He would. not. walk. He went, as I like to call, "boneless." It’s not fair to Leo to expect him to be the Down syndrome ambassador, always on his best, cute behavior. But I’d be lying if I said I don’t hope that he will be. I go back to my earlier thought, that plenty of typical 3 ½ year olds don’t attend parties gracefully. Why should I expect Leo to? He doesn’t always have to be cute. He doesn’t always have to be giving hugs. But some of the people at the party have never met anyone with Down syndrome, and they may never meet anyone again. Leo will be it. The one. That’s a lot of pressure for a 3-½ year old.
I was a little disappointed since I had been alone with the kids all day (Erin had to fly to New Orleans at the last minute for a funeral—don’t even get me started on the sadness that is the death of a 39-year-old mother of three to breast cancer). When I’m alone with the kids all day I usually try to schedule at least one “event,” that is, one thing that the day is centered around. Well this birthday party was the “event” and it was looking like my one chance at a social interaction for the day with someone over the age of three was going to end up being me sitting on a bench watching Leo play, bouncing Ellie on my knee.
Don’t get me wrong--I like watching Leo play. I like watching him try to figure out how to move his body. He is very daring and adventurous but he’s not impractical or unrealistic. He knows his limits and he’s very good about asking for help when he needs it. It’s rare that he gets himself into a situation on a structure that he can’t get out of. He’s big into ladders and rock walls right now which is great, but I don’t really trust him on these by himself. I have to hover a bit, which I think annoys him and I don’t love it either. Now that Ellie is officially way too big for the Bjorn (threw out my back last week and learned that lesson the hard way) taking the two of them to the playground myself is a little challenging. Also, Ellie wants to climb all over the structures herself and she is definitely not practical or realistic about what her little body can do.
I pushed Ellie in the swing and I let her climb a bit but I got tired of trying to keep her from eating sawdust and finally she was getting to heavy to carry around, so I plopped her in the stroller, completely expecting her to start whining and squirming. To my surprise she sat there quite content to watch her brother and I was relieved to be able to take a short break. After a minute or so, a woman came and sat down next to us. She was watching her daughter who looked to be four or five. I asked the woman if she was here for the party and she said she was. After a few minutes of silence she asked me how old Leo was. I told her he was almost four and she nodded and pointed to her a little boy who was a few play structures away.
“So he’s about the same as mine,” she said, nodding in her son’s direction. “He’s three.”
No, I thought to myself. He’s not the same as yours. He’s a year older. I wondered why she would say something like that when at that age, one year is a pretty big difference. Was she just assuming that because Leo has Down syndrome he’s a year behind? (he is, at least, but that’s beside the point). And then I wondered what I also wonder when people ask me Leo’s age. Are they asking because of the Down syndrome? Are they asking because he’s not speaking in comprehensible (to them) words? Do they even notice the DS?
“My son has autism,” she said.
I nodded. That was when I got it. That was when it all changed. Suddenly I didn’t mind that she compared her son to Leo. Not that Leo has autism but I understood that she was seeing that Leo was different but not as someone who didn’t understand difference. Rather as someone who has been there.
She stood up for a moment and started towards her son who was looking like he might need some help on a ladder. But then a man, the boy’s father I assumed, appeared and so she sat back down.
“He loves the playground,” she said. “We won’t be able to get him out of here for a while.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I was hoping to go the party but I don’t think we’ll be going in for a while. My friend doesn’t even know we’re here yet.”
Moments like these depress me. They make me feel isolated. Why can’t Leo just be a regular almost-four-year-old who walks into a party and joins the group, rather than seeing a playground and becoming completely transfixed by it, unable to do anything else but Play. But then I have to remind myself; it’s not necessarily the Down syndrome, stupid. How many typical 3 ½ -year-olds give a hoot about a birthday party? It’s the playground all the way, baby.
“Leo, do you want to go inside and eat some cake?” I called. No response. I was trying to think of a way to get him inside the building because seriously, my friend didn’t even know we’d arrived and since I’d gotten lost getting to the party we were ridiculously late. The party was practically over.
“Mine travels with his own cake,” the woman said, as her little boy toddled in our direction. He was holding an upside down, topless chocolate cupcake which he had smeared all over his cheeks and yellow t-shirt.
Eventually, we did get to go inside. The cake was gone but Leo got a balloon, a shiny pink Mylar one, which he adored (later he would let go of it in the parking lot but for a moment it was his and he loved it). He hugged my friend’s husband at the knees when he gave it to Leo. Friend’s husband called out to the remaining partygoers, “Look at Leo, I gave him a balloon and he hugged me! I love Leo!”
That was a good moment. That’s when I think about how Leo is living up to his reputation as the cute kid with Down syndrome. But what about when we finally had to leave and I had to carry him out kicking and screaming, balancing him on one hip while I pushed Ellie’s stroller with one hand. That was not a good moment. He would. not. walk. He went, as I like to call, "boneless." It’s not fair to Leo to expect him to be the Down syndrome ambassador, always on his best, cute behavior. But I’d be lying if I said I don’t hope that he will be. I go back to my earlier thought, that plenty of typical 3 ½ year olds don’t attend parties gracefully. Why should I expect Leo to? He doesn’t always have to be cute. He doesn’t always have to be giving hugs. But some of the people at the party have never met anyone with Down syndrome, and they may never meet anyone again. Leo will be it. The one. That’s a lot of pressure for a 3-½ year old.
Monday, June 2, 2008
The Start of Summer
The beginning of summer in these parts (well, northwestern New Jersey to be exact but we make the drive there every year) is the crawfish festival.
Last year I was hugely pregnant and Leo was a wandering, uncontainable toddler. This year we got wise. I decided to attend not pregnant and with Ellie on the outside (much more enjoyable for us both, I think it's safe to say). And we brought a tent to contain our now two children. The kids seemed to think the tent was great fun. Leo got to drink his own smoothie and he even ate crawfish bread (we called it pizza and that was fine by him) and his current staple, Veggie Booty. Ellie was happy eating Gerber sweet potato puffs (more like spilling them all over the tent, but no matter). We listened to fabulous zydeco and ate delicious crawfish pie and Po' Boys. Pretty much if it had crawfish in it, we ate it. Oh and this year I got to have a beer. That was nice.
But the best part of the crawfish festival has to be the eating of the snowballs. For those who have not had the pleasure, a snowball is a New Orleans treat. It’s sort of a shaved ice concoction (yet it is so not shaved ice) topped with a delicious syrup that comes in a variety of flavors (like pineapple or cherry) poured over the top. I know what you are thinking. Snow cone. But it is so much more than a snow cone. When it’s hot you feel like you can eat five in a row. And sometimes you do. Yesterday I think we had five total between the two of us (to be fair, Leo ate his share and Ellie was eyeing it with serious interest. Next year honey). We left the festival close to dinner time sunburned and sweaty with strollers weighed down with children, bags, chairs, the tent and yet we still found a way to also carry two snowballs. They are that good.
From the photos it looks like all we did was eat. Well there was a lot of eating. But we also walked around and people watched and Leo enjoyed music by the Swingset Mamas at the kid's tent. He danced a good amount and I could tell he enjoyed himself as he tried to hug the lead singer at least twice. While she was singing. And playing guitar. At least she was a good sport about it. Did I mention Leo is big into hugging right now?
Welcome summer 2008!
Farm Animals
Leo has been exhibiting some very adorable “play skills” lately. He is really into figures (like Fisher Price Little People) and especially animals. I am loving (and so is he, apparently) these farm animals I picked up from the $1 bin at Target (I heart the $1 Target bin). The novelty of new toys wears off pretty quickly but you can’t argue when a toy costs $1. And to think I saw some figures similar to these at Pottery Barn Kids a few weeks ago for something like $20. I am not kidding.
I love how he lines all his guys up. I like to watch him while he’s not looking. I imagine the stories that he is coming up with in his head.
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