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.

Back in Black...and Pink Glittery Mules

We interrupt this summer vacation to bring you Back to School.
I anticipated tears and a struggle, returning to the old morning rush/nag routine. Most of all I was afraid of the actual getting on the bus, as in, Leo would not want to.

Instead I got a little boy who insisted on wearing his new Batman shirt (it's from an Underoos set and he slept in that shirt last night...ssshhh don't tell), was in love with his new shoes and who jumped right on the bus without looking back. I didn't even get a hug! But you know what? I'll take it.

And Ellie, in her new glittery pink mules (courtesy of an exceedingly successful weekend thrift store trek) began her first day back at Pre-K in style.

More soon. Lots more.

Catch-Up

It’s been a while, so here goes:

-Can someone tell me where the whine button “off switch” on Ellie is located? Oh my goodness. I have had to dig deep for patience this week (having a cold hasn’t helped my mood or my fuse, I’ll admit it). This girl is emotional. Things need to happen right! Now! And things need to happen her! Way! Or else. All I can say is yikes. And also, sigh.

-Leo lost another tooth and this one is (um, was) in the front. And yet again, there is no tooth to be had. We think it happened when he was eating an apple and well, you know the rest.

-Suddenly, Leo answers almost every statement with “Where?” For example, if I say, Leo, it’s time to go to school. He’ll say: “Where?” I have no explanation for it though we’ve all had some good laughs over it. (And let me be clear, it’s not that he doesn’t hear me. He just asks “where” about everything. For now).

-Ellie makes the most adorable little speech gaffes and I usually don’t have the heart to correct her. She tells me she’s “tendering” (pretending). She reminds me “I care if my macaroni is cold” which seems to mean the opposite (that she actually doesn't care). The other day we saw a teenager breeze by us riding what Ellie announced was a “scootboard” (skateboard). I corrected her and then immediately regretted it. “Scootboard” is way cuter.

-I am astounded on a daily basis by her vocabulary. Yesterday as she watched with fascination as I attended to a little home improvement project. She asked me “Why does it have that screw?” How does she even know the word screw?

-I am currently obsessing over lunch boxes. Leo really needs a new one. Ellie does not but I fear the wrath of Leo got a new one and Ellie didn’t so I probably need to just bite the bullet and buy two. The irony is that Leo could care less about a new lunchbox and he’s the one that actually needs the new one. This is probably the one I’m going to get (in mariner blue/shark) but I’m not sure if Leo will be able to open it on his own. I’m also not sure how much this really matters. Ellie has requested a “Princess” one but I’m going to pretend like I didn’t hear her and probably get her the pink one with the butterfly.

I also really like these and this one in particular (it works because along with "Where," Leo recently discovered robots):

And for Ellie:

My hesitation is keeping them clean. I like to be able to throw a lunch bag in the wash in case of the inevitable leaks, and you're not supposed to wash these. Hmm.

-Speaking of shopping, I just need to tell someone about these.

How cute would they be with some tights and a little dress? Maybe if I tell people about them I won’t want to actually buy them.

-I’m about to be home with the kids for ten days. Daycare is closed all of next week for "teacher prep" and Leo’s school starts the day after Labor Day. I’m excited. We have some play dates planned. Some day trips. Both kids have their annual physicals. It’s all mundane stuff but it’s things I miss when I’m working. Oh and I have grand farmer's market ideas and hope to cook some actual meals (rather than Trader Joe’s defrost jobs (notthatthere’sanythingwrongwiththat).

-I have all kinds of cleaning and organization projects in my mind that I’m positive I won’t accomplish but it’s fun to dream. It’s also fun to eat breakfast outside (which Leo asks to do almost every morning during the week) and stay in your pajamas until noon on a Tuesday and we might just do that too.

“Don’t Accept. Expect.”

Pajama Day at Daycare

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

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

Dear Maya,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Regards, Ms. N.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sounds simple, doesn't it?

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

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

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

Spying

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy tears.


Enjoying a little before school Really Rosie.

An Obsession I Can Support, A Sighting, And One of Those Transcendental Moments

I’ve said it before: It is so much fun to share things I loved as a child, with the kids.

One of my favorites? "Really Rosie".

I’ve mentioned it here before, so it’s not exactly news. Nerd alert: I bought the "Really Rosie" book and soundtrack before I even had kids. And Leo has been a fan for a while, but his interest has escalated in his latest obsession, which is listening to one specific song on the soundtrack: "One Was Johnny," while reading along with the book. Leo is the king of the repeat button.

I love it. And did I mention he also sings the song? I mean seriously, he belts it. I'd like to find him some more books that come with CDs with music. He loves them. Another favorite is this completely random freebie I got at work. He can listen to that one on repeat too, while he flips through the book's pages. So many of the CD/book combos seem to be simply just stories read aloud though, and there seems to be something about the music that Leo particularly enjoys. And he's totally learning something too. Evidence: he pointed to the word "jail" (which is in the lyrics of "One Was Johnny") and said it clear as a bell this morning. Too cool, right? I mean, shouldn't all six year olds know about jail? (ha ha)

Daycare (where Leo is full-time for the month of August until “real school” starts the day after Labor Day) drop-off has been a bit of a disaster lately. I'm told he's fine a few minutes after I leave, and I believe it. I’m not sure why drop-off has been so bad, except my hunch is Leo doesn’t like walking into a classroom brimming with four and five year olds. Too much noise, too much shrieking, too much stimulation and for some reason, someone is always crying. So can you blame him for wanting to hang out in the hallway or an empty classroom instead?

Of course, he can’t do this. And I still worry about him sneaking off when a teacher isn’t looking. So yesterday we brought the “Johnny book” as Leo calls it, with us to school. We rocked out to it on the drive. When we arrived to school, Leo brought it inside, and promptly sat down on a bench in the garden where the rest of his class was doing a water project. When I left, he was reading and singing, his little legs crossed, his small body swaying to the music in his head.

Pick-ups have been dreadful lately too for some reason. Everyone is hot and sticky and hungry. No one wants to get into their car seat, everyone wants a snack that doesn’t exist. My temper is short and I feel immediate guilt when I begin to lose it because, remember, I haven’t seen them all day, couldn’t I at least keep it together for a couple of hours?

But last night we had the “Johnny book” and Leo and Ellie climbed into their car seats like it was just the thing to do. No one whined or cried or lost their patience. And then we three sang about the cat who chased the rat and the dog who came in and sat, all the way home, up the winding hill that leads away from the school, passed the forest of deciduous trees that I swear are showing tiny hints of autumn. It was there, amidst the singing that Ellie declared “Mommy! I saw a dear!”

And I’m sure that she did.

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

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

All in all, we had a wonderful time.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mommy?” Leo said. “Cookie.”

I told you. He gets it.