The Great Outdoors, Sandbox Stink Eye and Teacher Love

I don’t think we’ve ever spent more time outside than we have this summer. For one thing, Ellie is no fragile toddler anymore and I don’t have to watch anyone every single second (well, I do, but you know what I mean). It's just a lot more relaxing (OK maybe relaxing is a tad of an exaggeration but there's definitely less hovering over the kids) now that everyone can kind of do their own thing, whether it's Stomp Rockets or water tables or chalk drawings or bikes (to name a few).

Granted it’s been hot as, well, you know, but we’ve been having some great fun. I never thought I'd say this but I feel like I'm getting used to being uncomfortable and sweaty. It just is. And Popsicles and baby pools and lemonade and sprinklers and white wine also help.

Erin bought more sand for the sand box and that occupied Ellie for most of Sunday afternoon. No really, I’m serious. It’s so funny--you just never know what kids are going to latch onto. Ellie spent a good two hours pouring sand into little cups and making piles and narrated the whole endeavor. There was plenty of "Mommy do you want to see this?"


Only Ellie would make herself a little chair in sandbox (she’s a delicate flower who could not deign to sit in sand). I actually thought that little set-up was pretty ingenious and she totally came up with it on her own.

Perfecting the stink eye. Can't you just hear the irritated preschooler/teenager in training: "Mommy don’t take my picture." This picture is so Ellie.

The fire pit. I’m very excited about this purchase. I realize no one wants to build a fire right now, but autumn will come (soon!) and with it, a chill in the air that will simply require toasted marshmellows, s’mores, and fleece jackets. Yesssss.

Admittedly, the hot, dry summer has some perks. I’ve had to mow the lawn maybe three times (not kidding) and our local garden shop had a crazy blow out sale last weekend. They were practically giving perennials away (40 percent off the whole store). I’d pretty much given up on a garden (I’m looking at you Dog Who Likes To Dig) but I figured, hey, at forty percent off, I’m willing to take the chance.

Also note the heavy use of undiggable containers.

Switching gears, Leo’s teacher sent me a few photos of his birthday celebration at school. I love these little windows into his “other” world. We had been wondering where he learned to hold up the right number of fingers and we got our answer in these pictures.



Can I just pause here to say again how much I love Leo's teacher? Not only does she take the time to do things like email me pictures of my kid (on the weekend, I might add) but on Saturday she actually came to the house to drop off Beloved Dog, who had accidentally been left at school on the last day of school. I know. I wasn't sure how we'd get out of that one but Mrs. L saved the day.

And switching gears again, back outside in our little oasis:

I'm titling this one "Happy Boy Outside with his Mama."

Now We Are Six

But now I am Six,
I'm as clever as clever,
So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever.
--From "Now We Are Six," by A.A. Milne

Six years ago this morning, on a day that was very much like today (insufferably humid, cloudy and overcast) a doctor leaned over my shoulder in the delivery room and told me he thought our baby had Down syndrome. What should have been one of the happiest days of my life had been transformed forever.

In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a sentimental person. Even though Leo is six today, that fateful moment when Dr. No Tact made his announcement before I even got to hold my baby could have been yesterday. Leo’s birthday still chokes me up a little. OK, a lot. It’s not because I’m sad though. It’s because we’ve come so far in six years. I’ve come so far. I look at pictures of newborn Leo and want a "do-over." I want to hold him again when he is just minutes old and know what I know now. That sure, things might be hard sometimes, or different than I expected, but everything is going to be just fine.

Today I took Leo to school as I do every day. He helped me carry the casserole dish full of cupcakes he’ll eat later this afternoon with his classmates. They are pink and yellow (per his request) and I stayed up until 11 p.m. last night frosting each one. I had to work late and I was tired by the time I got to the little frosting project (thank goodness I had the foresight to make them the night before). The cake that I made along with the cupcakes (for tonight’s family celebration) is a bit of a disaster. I’m fairly confident that it tastes better than it looks though and luckily Leo is not a pastry critic. Yet.

The crooked cake? It really doesn’t matter. Because all I could think about last night, as I wiped the powdered sugar off the counters and soaked the frosting coated beaters was how happy I was. How normal everything seemed. And I thought about how six years ago last night I was oblivious to the roller coaster ride of emotions I was about to take. In the morning, life as I knew it would be over (as it is for any new parent, Down syndrome or not). Now, it's difficult to believe there was a time I doubted I would ever feel "happy" or "normal" again. ("Normal" being a relative term of course.)

Leaving Leo at school this morning, the tears came for me. It was six years ago I cried because my new baby, the baby I was terrified of and grief stricken over was downstairs in the neonatal intensive care unit. In a little more than a month my “baby” will enter first grade. Did I mention that sometimes I really want to stop time?

This has been a huge year for you Leo. You went from a small private school of less than forty children to a huge public school of over 500. You graduated kindergarten. You learned to read and speak in sentences without prompting. You can write, you’re beginning to learn to tell time, count money and you are an expert at coloring. You also really love to draw.

You have a lot of loves in your life and you continue to be a person of extremes. When you enjoy something (scrambled eggs, cake, grapes, watermelon) you enjoy it. But when you don’t want it (pretty much anything green), look out.

You adore your sister Ellie, who you have started calling (along with the rest of the family) "Ellie-Belle." Unlike many words you can say this one clear as, well, a bell. You are a fiercely protective older brother, already. The other day when you two were eating lunch outside and Ellie wandered off to play mid-meal (as she is prone to do), a fly landed on her pizza. You were incredulous. You yelled “My Ellie-Belle pizza, my sister!” Yes, you yelled at a fly.

You value family above everything and get giddy at the mention of “Grandma” (both of them) or Grandpa. You love your home. In fact, most days I think you’d be happy to just stay there, play with your trains and cars and Little People and put blankets on your dog Ruby while she “sleeps.” Sure the zoo and the park and taking Ruby for walks are all great fun but you’re also perfectly content to build hayrides and draw and do puzzles and read books. Lots and lots of books.

You could also play ball for an entire day, I’m pretty certain, and did I mention you have a fabulous arm? Really, people comment on it all the time.

Your stubbornness (when you don’t want to do something you don’t want to do it) is matched only by your incredible sweetness and sensitivity. I’m pretty sure that if your Grandma Eleanor was here she would say that when you are good you are very, very good and when you are bad you are horrid (see above regarding extremes). But don’t worry, she said this about me too sometimes.

You have a sharp little sense of humor and you love to make people laugh.

You continue to teach me to see the world in a way I never thought I could or would. You have introduced me to patience I didn’t know I had and have brought grace and compassion to my life. I did not know what these words really meant until you.

You surprise me and make me laugh every single day. I am so very proud of you and you are only six. I can’t wait to see what else you do! And even when you throw dish towels at me and cross your arms and scowl when you don’t want to do something, I love you.

Love,
Mommy

Parenting Advice From the Unlikeliest Places

I’m always pleasantly surprised when wisdom comes in unexpected places.

Most recently? Last night’s season premiere (hurray! Finally something on television worth watching again other than Friday Night Lights!) of Mad Men. It was from the all-knowing and wise Joan, who responded to Don Draper’s tantrum with the pronouncement:

“It’ll pass.”

Honestly I think if parents need to receive just two words of advice, this should be it. I realize it’s unbelievably simplistic, but think abut it. It applies to, well, everything really.

Baby won’t sleep through the night? Hysterical toddler demands “Uppy! Uppy!” while you’re trying to make dinner (her dinner, the way, the one she will mostly throw on the floor)? Children run to the back of the mini van instead of climbing calmly into their car seats?

It’ll pass.

This isn’t the first time I’ve heard this but it’s always a welcome reminder, since it’s can be so hard to remember, especially when you need to.

Granted, it is very challenging to remind oneself of this in the heat of the moment. When your almost six year old is throwing an enormous tantrum because he absolutely does not want to leave the pool at that moment, it’s hard to tell yourself calmly and quietly that it’s going to be ok, that someday you will be able to leave a place when it’s time to go without making a scene, but you will. You will.

As an added bonus, it reaches far beyond children. Fight with a friend or spouse? Can’t pay your cable bill? Don’t know how you’re going to shake the grumpy, heat wave induced bad mood (purely hypothetical of course)? It will pass.

Of course the whole “It’ll pass” reminder is also a touch bittersweet. Sure, I won’t miss whining through dinner (hi Ellie!) or getting shoved when I have the nerve to suggest Leo take a bath at the end of a hot, sweaty day. I'm pretty sure I won't look back on Leo’s propensity (still) for spraying me with the garden hose every chance he gets with much nostalgia, nor do I think I will ever pine for the nights when Ellie is cozily ensconced in her crib, blanket up to her chain, all the various stuffed animals arranged as they are required and she announces: “Mommy I have to go potty.”

Thankfully, the list of things I will long for is much longer: Being asked by Ellie when I pick her up from daycare: “Mommy how was your great day?” Watching small, wet bodies move with grace, ebullient happiness and complete confidence through the backyard sprinkler on a sultry July day, the smell of clean hair before bedtime, and hearing Leo proclaim, from the backseat, “Happy!” as he clutches a bag of grapes in one hand and his beloved dog tucked under his arm.

Watching Leo, the human pretzel sleep, and knowing that for now, there is no where he feels safer and happier than in his house.

Witnessing Leo at play. Here he is lining up his "guys." Clearly, he has a plan.

Leo eating watermelon. Pure joy (in case it wasn't obvious).

Ellie and her love of accessories. (Actually that probably won't pass, will it?)

Mostly clothing optional baking with Ellie.

It all reminds me of the great joke in one of my all time favorite movies, Annie Hall. In it, Woody Allen’s character, Alvy Singer does a bit about two elderly women at a Catskill resort:

“One of 'em says, "Boy, the food at this place is really terrible." The other one says, "Yeah, I know; and such small portions." Well, that's essentially how I feel about life - full of loneliness, and misery, and suffering, and unhappiness, and it's all over much too quickly.”

Ditto for parenting (though thankfully, in addition to the loneliness, misery, suffering and unhappiness I would add moments of transcending joy, pride, and a love like no other). So take that New York magazine, who recently proclaimed: "All Joy and No Fun: Why Parents Hate Parenting."


It'll pass. Much too quickly.

A Few Things

Another busy, hot week.

We had a little family birthday celebration on Monday night, which was Ellie’s actual birthday. Luckily at age three, pink M&M’s on a homemade cake are impressive (at least they were judging by the look on this little girl’s face).

And in a stunning new development, it’s become clear that Leo is a bit of a frosting junkie. He would not stop sneaking samples. Here's a shot of the offender caught, mid-lick.


At the last minute I worried Ellie didn’t have enough presents (I know. I'm a nut. I said it so you don't have to) so I made a hurried stop off at the Toys "R" Us in Times Square on my way home from work (not recommended). It ended up being worth the aggravation because she loved these. So much so that we moved her play kitchen from the basement to the living room (we normally only use the basement playroom on weekends). She comes up with wild concoctions: carrots with coffee, hot dogs and peas, asking me, “Mommy, do you want to see this? Do you want to see this?”

It’s also just been one of those weeks where the house is a wreck. Every morning I look around and vow to come home and attack one of my many clutter/cleaning projects and every night I come home hot, sweaty (did I mention hot?), tired and stunningly unmotivated.

Oh and also, I keep meaning to mention this here, something I’ve noticed Leo doing for a while now. He’s started repeating language. For example, Erin was on the phone this morning with someone from work and Leo was sitting next to her, quietly repeating everything she said. He does it in a very low, hushed voice, so it’s not annoying or disruptive. It’s almost like he’s taking notes, practicing his words or something. I keep meaning to mention it to his teacher but haven’t. He also does it when we’re reading (that is, when he lets me read to him). He’s still big on doing most of the reading to us, whenever possible.

Oh and also, T.G.I. (almost) F.

3

Dear Ellie,

Today you are three. And once again I am asking myself, where did the time go? Isn't it amazing how a hot Sunday afternoon in July (purely theoretical here, I assure you) can just drag and drag and you can keep looking at the clock and thinking how long until bedtime but then you turn around and your little tiny baby...


Would you look at those thighs? Trust me it was hard to resist not taking bites of those on a daily basis.

and then toddler

is suddenly Three. Years. Old.

Each melancholy, sentimental thing that anyone says about time and children is a cliche and collectively they're all tragically true. Every darn word. It already feels like this whole thing is going entirely way too fast and I want to slow everything down and implore you to stop growing! Stop getting older and bigger and smarter! But that would really miss the point, wouldn't it? And so I sigh and just hold you close to me as often as you'll allow me.

And because I have way more than three things to say about you and what you are doing these days, I give you:

1. You are kind, thoughtful, patient, affectionate and witty. You can also be moody, (you recently added the phrase “I’m crabby!” to your daily vocabulary) and stubborn. Who knows what occupation you’ll choose but you definitely have a bright future in the law--you argue better than anyone I have ever met. You give new meaning to the term “getting the last word in.”

2. You love anything pink although your stubborn insistence on it has lessened (pfew). You love dresses and skirts but still won’t let me do much (anything) with your hair.

3. You're incredibly friendly and confident. You march up to complete strangers (at grocery stores, in parks, at the pool) and announce, with your little head held high and your shoulders back: “I’m Ellie Belle!” as though they ought to recognize you.

4. As I’ve written here before, you both adore and deplore your brother Leo. But mostly you adore him. Most mornings the first words out of your mouth are “What’s Leo doing?” Oh sure, he aggravates you to no end but he is also your favorite playmate and you have started coming up with complicated scenarios with him such as “The Bear is Coming” (which, among other things, involves you and Leo hiding in the basement closet, covered with a blanket with you both giggling and whispering to each other until I come and find you).

5. I hope your friendship with Leo lasts a long, long time. Watching you two together brings me more joy than I ever thought possible.

6. Your imagination seems to be exploding right now. This weekend you built an intricate fort in the living room and reclined on your “beach chair” (which was really a pile of couch cushions).

7. Macaroni and cheese is really all you need to subsist. You also like canned peaches (I know! Who likes canned peaches?). Also pink (aka strawberry) yogurt and anything with sprinkles. Honestly you really seem to thrive on air because most often, meals involve you dancing around the house while I implore you to "sit down right now please!"

8. You love going to the Mystic Aquarium but you also love to stay home and paint in the backyard or play in the kiddie pool. You are most happy when we are together. Even a trip to the grocery store elicits shrieks of joy when the gang’s all there: “And we’ll all go! Mommy, Mama, Leo and Ellie-Belle!”

9. You floor me every day with your observations. You recently moved into the “bigger kid” room at pre-K. You’re no longer a Purple Penguin but have graduated to a wise old Pink Flamingo. When I asked you if you liked being a Pink Flamingo you said no, that you preferred the Purple Penguins. Why?

“Because that was the past Mommy, and I love the past.”


Happy Birthday my dear, sweet Ellie-Belle. You are the daughter I always wanted. It’s so much fun watching you become a this little person.

Fixing the Wheels

In case you hadn’t heard, yesterday the temperature reached 102 degrees by 3 p.m. in Central Park, breaking the record high of 101 degrees for the day set in 1999. There’s a record I did not need to be a part of, I assure you. The good news is, I have discovered a 7-Eleven in the middle of New York City where I can buy a Slurpee. It seems funny doesn’t it? Something so suburban in the middle of the epitome of urban. When I have time (which is usually never) on my way to the bus at after work, my new favorite treat is to stop off for 28 ounces of really bad for me frozen high fructose corn syrup fun. So refreshing.

In other news, we had a quiet Fourth of July weekend. We skipped the town parade this year. Too. Flipping. Hot. Also, the kids are getting too old to want to sit that long but are still too young (and untrustworthy) to not wander off. It wouldn’t be a relaxing time for anyone.

I don’t know where it comes from, but I have this driving, bordering on obsessive desire to make sure the kids have lots! Of! Fun! on the weekends. Maybe it’s because I don’t get to see them that much during the week. And also, much of the time I do spend with them during the week it feels like we are just getting one thing finished to get to another. And rushing. Hurrying all the way. Hurrying to eat breakfast so we can get dressed so we can get to school so we can get picked up and eat dinner and take a bath and get to bed on time and…tired? Yes. I know I am. And I know they are.

That’s why it’s important to slow down on the weekends. Hello, obvious, right? But really, I need to give myself (and them) permission to just Be. I’ve come to the point where I relish Saturday mornings (even if they do start a little earlier than they need to—I’m looking at you Leo). Side note: Would someone please explain to me the phenomena known as I have to literally extricate my kid from bed during the week but come the weekend it’s hello 5:30 a.m. wake-up call? To be fair, Leo has started at least sleeping until 6 a.m. Most weekends.

And really, our kids are just plain happy to be home on the weekends. They rarely want to go anywhere. They play with their Little People and tea sets and puzzles like they’ve never played with them before. They relish pajamas until noon (or with the recent weather it’s been more like underwear) and cheese pizza in front of “Finding Nemo” at 6 p.m. Or better yet, Leo’s favorite: “America’s Funniest Home Videos.” Witness Leo watching that show in full belly laugh mode and just try to be in a bad mood.

Need more proof that kids really don’t need all that much to have fun, or that fun truly does come in unexpected places? A few weeks ago, on a drive back from a day trip to a music festival, we got a flat tire. Not fun. At all. The kids were asleep when we realized what had happened and when they woke up we were pulling into the insufferably hot garage of a Sears tire center in an unfamiliar New Jersey town. Ellie sported her little furrowed brow and demanded to know what was going on. I explained that the wheel on our car was broken, and had to be fixed, that it was sort of like when she was sick and had to go to the doctor. We were at the doctor for wheels! Yes, that was it!

Leo, just hours before the flat tire.

And the whole time we were at Sears I was disappointed that our blissful Saturday had to end the way it had. I felt bad that the kids had to miss out on a precious (and increasingly rare) afternoon car nap. I was annoyed that we would get home later than planned.

But then one of the Sears tire guys bought Leo a Sprite from the vending machine in the waiting area. And someone gave Erin the remote to the television in said waiting area and the kids ended up watching Ni Hao while our new tires were installed. And Leo and Ellie sat on the sticky plastic bench sharing their soda and swinging their little bare legs. A couple of random dads, also waiting for their cars joined us, staring up at the bright colored cartoon like it was an old, dear friend. I noted the irony—they’d stolen away from the house, maybe relieved to get away from their kids for an hour or two and here they were, at Sears, watching Nick Jr.

The next morning, on the way to school, I asked Ellie what her favorite part of the weekend was. I expected her to tell me about the snow cone she had at the music festival, or going swimming in the backyard pool. But no.

“My favorite part was…”

She paused as if to really consider it.

“Fixing the wheels!”

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?