Bedtime Meltdowns and Manis

In a fit of domesticity, I made a variation of this last night. Of course, I was the only one who really ate it. Leo picked at his (squinting suspiciously at the stray tomato skin—he should be a private investigator specializing in vegetable detection). After eating the leftover string cheese, apple sauce cup and Pirate Booty from her lunch box, Ellie wasn’t too interested in my creation either. Shocking.

For some reason, after working all day and being away from the kids for eight hours, five days a week, a home cooked meal feels like the least I can do. But then they won’t even touch it. And then I remember why scrambled eggs (or something equally fast to make and easy to clean-up) really does make more sense, most nights.

***
Last evening was a strange one. For Ellie, the word exhaustion doesn’t cover it. I continue to look at her sideways, daily, still paranoid that she’s doomed to get the strep that three-quarters of the house had/has. It would certainly help if I remembered to take my antibiotics too, ahem. But the appetite is still there (you can’t really gauge sickness with Ellie by mood since she’s often what I would describe as, um, opinionated) so that’s a good sign. As I said, she devoured her lunch box remains (she now proudly zips and unzips that little bag like it’s her job, and her favorite phrase to go along with that activity is “I want something else.”) Hmm…something else? I know the feeling.

When we finally did finish eating and cleaning up the abbreviated “Hayride” (it’s now become an after dinner activity too), Ellie dissolved upstairs. There was refusal to put on the nighttime Pull-Up, there was hysteria at the thought of pajamas. There was plenty of warning from me, there were vows of “no books, you’re going straight in your crib” if she didn’t cooperate.

She didn’t.

And so, fearing what I might do if I was forced to continue trying to shimmy little pink pajama bottoms onto exceptionally uncooperative little legs, I did what I promised to do all along. It was into the crib for her, without pants even.

I know. Mean.

What was odd was there was no crying. Not even a peep. Erin went into her room to attempt to wrangle Pull-Ups and clothes. Somewhere along the way she must have lost her will to fight, because she let Erin dress her without argument. She then plunked back down and was out for the night.

Meanwhile Leo was feeling cuddly and needy (no surprise). I lay next to him on his little firm twin bed with the fish sheets and stared up at the ceiling, listening to his breathing, heavy but noticeably (so far) less congested-sounding than it was pre-adenoid surgery. That’s when he shot upright and presented me with two stubby fingered hands. For some reason, I knew exactly what he meant: he wanted me to cut his fingernails.

The moment reminded me of a lesson my mom taught me, handed down to her by the great and wise Peg Bracken: If you have the inclination to do something (in Bracken’s case it was housework-feel like dusting but you’re on your way to make a phone call or coffee? Dust! You never know when the burst of dusting energy might return!).

Normally, cutting Leo’s nails is just one notch easier than giving him a haircut. There is holding down, there is struggle and pleading and cajoling. But not last night. He observed me wordlessly as I carefully trimmed each little half-moon down. Note to self: he’s outgrown the infant nail clippers (oops).

This might sound silly, but it felt like a Moment. A milestone of some sort. Leo noticed something about himself that needed attending to. He asked for help. He tolerated having something "done" to him.

Now if we could just get him to notice that hair of his, part surfer dude, part Adam Rich from "Eight is Enough" and fast on its way to mullet city.

Ten minutes later, Leo was asleep, buried under comforter and fleece throw, clutching his water bottle and stuffed dog, the tired boy with the well-groomed nails.

Hayride 101

Leo has a new obsession.

See this?

It's called a "Hayride."

It involves taking most of the toys in the living room, all of the love seat cushions (the couch cushions aren't removable, thank-goodness-I-mean-oh-darn) and stacking everything into a big pile.

Sunday afternoon, while the rain pounded and the Colts killed the Jets, Leo got a gleam in his eye, took one look at Ellie and said, simply: "Hayride."

Ellie said, "OK Leo. Hayride."

It makes a huge mess, but it keeps them occupied for a good hour. The above photo doesn't do the "hayrides" justice. The one shown is in its early stages, trust me. Add a couple of Little People sets (Barn, House), all 759 Little People, a Princess Castle and some stuffed animals and you've got the makings of a perfect Hayride. Oh, and note the random, found, kitchen items that made it onto this particular hayride: measuring spoons, chopsticks and an ice cream scooper. Yup.

And here's an outdoor "Hayride."

Look at Leo's focus.

Here's an interesting variation on a "Hayride."

They called this a "Hayride Train."

I don't ask questions. I'm just happy when they get along and it doesn't involve this.

Though this is pretty cute too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wherein the Three Day Weekend Becomes a Five Day (And It's Not a Good Thing)

I'll spare everyone the gory details of a sick post. Well, it might get a little "sick posty" but I'll try to restrain myself.

Saturday was a great day. We tried to take the kids to the indoor playground I'd been bribing them with all week (Me, to the kids when they weren't cooperating: "If you don't get on the bus/get in the car/put on your coat/fill in the blank/ we can't go to the slide place..." (we call the playground the "Slide Place" because, um, it has slides).

Well there was a last minute birthday party at the freaking Slide Place, so open play was cancelled (OMG the guilt! You should have seen Leo and Ellie's faces when we got all the way there, took our shoes off and we were told no.) That was a low point. But a quick change of plans and we were on our way to their second favorite indoor activity, Barnes & Noble.

We had our requisite cupcakes at the cafe before leaving and...Ellie wokeup from her nap at 5:30 COVERED in cupcake. You know where this is going. At first I thought, Oh well, hey, she did eat an ENTIRE chocholate cupcake. Maybe it was just a case of too much of a good thing.

But she then proceeded to vomit continuously for the next, oh, five hours. Couldn't keep anything down. Not water, not apple juice, not Gatorade. And her pathetic pleas for "more appa jews" were beyond pitiful. We'd called the pediatrician since the vomiting was really non-stop. And after five hours of it, he said we should take her to the emergency room for probable IV fluids.

Well that was not something I need to again for a long time. The tiny IV "cast" the finding of the teeny vein, the holding down of pathetically weak toddler who doesn't have much strength to fight the IV.

But hey, we were home by 4 a.m.
***
Sunday and Monday we took it easy (obviously). Leo had been acting not quite himself all weekend, a touch less, shall we say, exuberant? He'd been downright cuddly on Saturday night. In fact, while Ellie vomited in my lap, Leo was literally snoring at Erin's side on the couch. And then Monday afternoon I noticed a little rash on Leo's face. And I knew the minute I saw it that it was strep. He had the same rash last spring when we all rode the strep merry-go-round (I think we all had it at least twice, except for Ellie who only got it once).

And then Monday night was a rough night for Leo. He woke up wailing around 2 a.m. Horrible cough. Sidenote: I am obviously failing miserably at making this not be a sick post.

Tuesday morning Leo was full blown Strep Pizza Face. By noon, we'd seen the pediatrician (lucked out with an early appointment) and had our confirmed diagnosis (duh! Can you believe the ped doubted me? Yes we saw my not favorite one, the one I keep meaning to ask that we don't see--she cringed when Leo hugged her, you know, he was all strep germy and everything).

And did I mention poor Erin is sick too? Strep and a DOUBLE ear infection, which should just be illegal for grown-ups to get. So she had an incredibly restful sick day (note sarcasm) with quarter hourly calls from work and the non-stop needs of the two hooligans.

And in the midst of all of this, I have a touch of something too. Would not be surprised if it was strep--I'll go to my office clinic when/if I ever go back to work (kidding). If there is anything less fun than being a mom when you're sick, let me know what it is and I'll make sure to never do it.

Poor, sweet Leo. The guy just got over adenoid surgery (done to preven chronic sinusitus, so of course it makes sense he would immediately get strep--gah!). He can't catch a break. But through all of it, he is really mostly a sweetie. The irony is, a sick Leo is a slightly subdued Leo, which is definitely easier.

Yesterday he was actually lying down on the exam table at the ped's office. Yea...SO not normal. He is just so grateful, for the littlest things. On the way to the car at the ped's office there's a little coffee kiosk that sells fruit and juice and candy. Of course Ellie demanded M&Ms. Leo spotted the watermelon and asked for that. He loves watermelon and I thought, January, watermelon? Why not? What wouldn't taste better with a sore throat?

So while we waited in the parking lot for the antibiotic to be filled (I love you Walgreens Pharmacy Drive-Thru), Leo ate watermelon and said "Day-Yoo Dee-Dee." (Thank you Mommy). Ellie didn't press too hard for those M&Ms and was happy with her orange juice and Pirate Booty.

Last night, all three of us exhausted and short tempered, we read (against my better judgement because it's hardly the "soothing" bedtime book) "The Hokey Pokey," and the two little squirmy, chatty people put their right hands in and left legs out. They dissolved into a pile of giggles, ended only when I had to prevent Leo from sticking his streppy fingers too close to Ellie's mouth. And I thought to myself, yea, the puking and gnarly face rash, and the choking down of antibiotics and the missed work and the pediatrician co-pays, all of it is a real drag.

And it's all going to be over much to soon.

Friday Rant With a Large Glass of Whine

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Transitions can just be so maddeningly hard.

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

Breaking news: this parenting thing is hard.

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

Greetings From the Tundra and Other Fun Facts About the Weekend

I’m not usually one to complain about weather. I was born and raised in what many argue to be one of the more shall we say, depressing weather places: the gloomy, rainy pacific Northwest. It wasn’t until I left Oregon and lived in other places: southern California, even sunny-in-the-winter-yet-frigid-cold-New England--that I realized: OH. Rain and gloom is not normal. It’s not the way everyone else lives. In fact, I'll admit it. I like rain. I like it even more when I'm sitting in a pub in London and I have no where to go and nothing else to do.

But.

It has been cold here, now, for the last month I would say. And when I say cold, I don’t mean freezing. I mean, well below freezing. Highs in the 20s, on a good day. And as much as I pride myself on my sturdiness and my hearty Russian stock…I have to say the cold is getting old.

To wit, today I am wearing pants AND a skirt, as well as a “foundation garment,” long sleeved shirt and wool sweater.

Without kids on the weekends I could see myself holing up on the couch with a pot of coffee and The New York Times and a stack of library books and and lots of blankies. Heck, I would probably even take the dog on a walk in the afternoon when it “warmed up” a little (translation: when it goes from 19 degrees to 22).

And I confess, this is a rough time of year for me. On top of the cold, the Bright! Sparkly! Holidays! are over. The decorations are packed away and the house is returned to its previous, decidedly less-celebratory self. The visitors are gone. The staying home business is over (mixed feelings about this one, really) and the next vacation is not for a l-o-n-g time.

But we plug along. Someday again I will wear flip flops and a full, thin, billowy skirt and the summer breeze will blow. My arms will grow tan (the famous "mini van tanned arm," my nose will get red from too much backyard play (can there be too much? No way). My hair will frizz in the July jungle that is summer in New York. Most of all, spring will come.

We did our best to stay warm and busy this weekend.

-I kicked off the weekend with a trip to Crumbs on my way home from work for some of this ridiculousness:

I'm partial to the chocalate one with the white "squigle" in the front. It tastes JUST like a Hostess Cupcake only So. Much. Better. And, totally expensive and totally worth it. Life is too short not to, you know?

-We took the kids to see "The Princess and the Frog" on Sunday morning. The 11 a.m. showing, to be exact. Don’t think I’ve ever had popcorn before noon, but yesterday I did. And by the way Ellie ate about half the bag. She’d clearly had popcorn before, though not under my watch (daycare? I guess). Both kids loved the movie and sat enthralled, up until about the last ten minutes when Ellie started to get a little restless. The only hitch was that Ellie doesn’t weigh enough for the seat to be held down unless she sat right on the edge of it. I know, such problems.

-This is such a cliché for a cold winter day but seriously, the kids, on their own volition, built a fort. Doesn't that sound like a suggestion some exasperated parents would make?: "Go build a fort!" Sunday night, while the Cardinals and the Packers were duking it out, Leo took all the cushions off the love seat and made a tall pile.

He proclaimed his fortress a “hayride,” which I can only translate to mean, it was a vehicle like a tractor, the one that took us on our memorable October hayride. Boy did that word “stick” in Leo’s memory. He also took all of the various Little People vehicles and structures and piled them on his “Hayride.” That boy’s imagination…he slays me. It is a beautiful thing.

-We played A LOT of indoor ball (catch). When I got tired of playing with Leo I convinced Ellie to play with him and I have to say, that is a sight to see. Note to self: get some video of this.

-I read about a new TV that premiers next week called Life Unexpected. It is set in Portland, Oregon and is being compared to "Juno" and "Gilmore Girls." Of course I’m holding out hope that it’s the next "Gilmore Girls" (I’m still mourning its passing) and wonder...Portland...Gilmore Girls...did they write this show specifically for me? What can I say? We cancelled HBO and Showtime, "Mad Men" is over, "Breaking Bad" and "Friday Night Lights" haven't started up yet. My standards are low, but please don’t suck!

-Leo continues to "toast" us with his cup every chance he gets. Leo watched "Julie & Julia" with Erin and me over winter break. In the scene where Julia Child clinks glasses with her husband and sister, Leo reached over and toasted his Playtex Insulator Straw cup with my coffee mug. It took me a moment to figure out what he was doing. He was all smiles, beyond pleased with himself.

What can I say? We are raising him right.

Questions: Answered Offensively Late, Pt. One

Back in October, in honor of 31 for 21 and National Down syndrome Awareness Month, I opened up my blog for questions. About anything. And I answered a few. And then I totally dropped the ball. And I’m sorry. One of my New Year’s Resolutions is to be more on top of things. To not let things hang. To finish things and be done with them and move on. Yes.

I hope no one was hanging on the edge of their seats waiting for me to answer these insightful questions, which I really enjoyed reading and so appreciate people taking the time to write. And After Words, I especially apologize to you since your question had a bit of a time element, as the child you wrote to me about might already be driving or graduated from college. Sorry for the delay. Sidenote: Did you ever talk to the family? I'd love to know how it went.


After Words asked,
Do you think it's appropriate if a stranger on the street asks you about Leo's DS? If yes, what form would you prefer the questions take?

I have an acquaintance with a son whom I believe has DS. There's no particular reason I need to know either way--he's a lovely playmate when we run into him at the playground--but I always find myself wondering when we see them. Again, I don't know what would change about our interactions if I knew the answer to the question, and it seems gauche to ask it. What do you think?

This is a tough one. Part of me wants to say, go for it. Ask away. I would rather people be honest than sit and stare at Leo and wonder. There is also the education factor. Leo doesn’t have to be the Down syndrome Ambassador of the World, but there is a good possibility that Leo might be the only person with Down syndrome that some people meet. I don’t want people to forget him (and hopefully they’ll remember him for good reason, not bad!) and I want people to learn something from him (hopefully something positive, that he’s not a monster, that he’s just a smart little boy with a great sense of humor who takes a bit longer to do certain things).

Having said all that, I admit that after over five years parenting a child with Down syndrome, I am still terrified to ask a parent if his or her child has it. I am serious when I say that I sometimes just can’t tell.

I chalk this up to the fact that I am so accustomed to Leo and his peers with their extra chromosome that seriously, they have started to look “normal” to me. Oh sure once in a while I’ll catch Leo with that look, and it’s unmistakable, but honestly, I think it’s sometimes really not safe to assume. It’s the same idea as never asking a woman if she’s pregnant (what’s that joke about how it’s only okay to ask in the delivery room?). You’d really hate to be wrong.

So Afterwords, here’s what I’d do. I’d ask the parents where the little boy goes to school (assuming he’s school aged, keep in mind many kids with DS start school as young as age two in an early intervention program as they transition to school-age programs). That will undoubtedly get the the ball rolling towards more info on the little guy. It seems to me it would just naturally spring from there.

Obviously some parents are more open, some are more guarded. Probably no surprise to hear that if you met me at the playground I’d talk your ear off and you’d be sorry you ever asked me anything.

I hope that helps.

Gratuitious photo of Mr. Handsome and me.

And Leo and his classmates, from a bulletin board during the holidays at Leo's school which I have titled "Visions of Sugar Plums And Other Things."