Summer 2015: What a Difference a Year Makes

Summer is winding down.

The dog days (hello stretches of 90+ days and insufferable humidity, would you please just bring us a nice, cleaning, good old fashioned east coast summer thunderstorm please?) are upon us.

If I had to sum up the summer in one sentence it would be this:

What a difference a year makes.

There were loads of milestones. I frequently took the twins (and a big kid or two) to the town pool on my own this summer (see above). That felt like a major accomplishment.



I'm not potty training twins.

No one naps.

Everyone is (for the most part) calmer.

I touched on this a bit at the end of last summer, this feeling that I am a fifth wheel and they just don't need me the way they used to (by the way I am not broken up about this and say it without a single tinge of melancholy). I mean, of course they need me. But so much of the time I find that I am mostly doing maintenance and upkeep around here (filling the dishwasher, granting snacks, anticipating the next activity--What in the HELL am I going to make for dinner--and do these people REALLY need to eat AGAIN?).

This is partly my own doing (when they are all home or even when it's just the three of them--usually Ellie, Harry and Lucy in the afternoons, since Leo has been at an all day camp for the last month) they tend to get involved in elaborate activities (vet hospital, mountain lions, Play-Doh, to name a few). For the most part, it's very easy for me step aside and just let them do their own thing (listening with a half an ear of course).

By the way, Ellie? World's best au pair/mother's helper. I seriously could not ask for more. She has saved me more than a few times this summer when I've had to meet a work deadline and the twins are clamoring.

Ellie made us crepes for dinner from her new cookbook (with fresh strawberry topping). Eight thumbs up!

This summer, Leo turned eleven.



Ellie turned eight. She attended gymnastics, art and invention camps.


At the pool on her birthday she had a hot dog AND ice cream. I mean, you only turn eight once, right?


Ellie also learned how to ride a bike.

Leo went on his first overnight at camp (on his birthday, no less!).


Every year on Leo's birthday I have the same thought: that I couldn't be more proud of my boy, and that I wish I could go back in time to that terrifying day he was born and say, 'Self? Leo is going to be JUST FINE. In fact, the day before he turns eleven, he'll ride a jet ski for the first time, and on his actual birthday? He'll go on his first camp overnight.


School, together. Day 1.

Lucy and Harry had milestones too. During the month of August, since Harry's school was closed, he got to attend camp (cough, cough glorified preschool) with Lucy. I was surprised by how much they enjoyed being together (I always assumed they liked the break from each other that separate schools afforded since they are togetherallthetime). But no. Every morning this August, the first words out of Harry's mouth are: "Do I get to go to Lucy's school today?" I actually think he might just be in it for the LEGO bricks in Ms. Jamie's room but I could be wrong.



The thing that is so crazy to me is that the twins are now, the same age as Ellie was when they were born. Maybe it's because there are two of them and they rile each other up so much of the time but they just still seem so--Little. Young. Yes, babyish.


Summer, 2011. Sunrise, Sunset.












We still have a little over a week until school starts. It's hard to believe this is the twins' last year before "real" school (kindergarten). It's hard to believe Leo is heading off to middle school. We received Leo's bust "ticket" for the year and he'll be picked up at 7:30am (YIKES). That's going to be interesting.

Summer Update: On Endings and Beginnings and Tissues

Our first big "official" summer outing was trip to the strawberry patch. Yes it was raining, and yes it was about 55 degrees (no joke) but I'm proud to report it was the first activity like this that didn't feel like a complete disaster, with toddlers running in one direction and big kids frustrated because we couldn't do "everything." It just felt like, KIDS. Four of them. And it was fun! Imagine that. 

We are over halfway through summer (I think?). 

July 4 has always felt like the halfway mark to me.

Anyway.

I'm behind. As per usual.

Leo graduated. From fifth grade. Just like that, elementary school, DONE.

This was his reaction:


And this was mine.


It didn't hurt of course, that they concluded the "ceremony" with the entire graduating class singing "We Are the World." My baby! Off to big, bad (I hope not!) middle school. Endings are hard. Goodbyes are harder. Leo's elementary school has always felt safe and nurturing and well, familiar (it hasn't always felt familiar of course, but the beginning, when it was scary and new feels like a billion years ago). Now we know almost everyone and even though it bugs me a little, Leo is known as the "unofficial mayor" (Hello, cliche!) of the school (you know what? Cliche and all, it comes from a good place and you can't really argue with that). 

On the last day of school, a much beloved teacher Leo had from kindergarten through second grade sent home a small photo album with a collection of pictures of his years with her, along with a heartfelt card. There was five year old Leo at the pumpkin patch (sob!), there was seven year old Leo making (pudding?) and wearing a Halloween costume (Aww). Not only was it sweet to see pictures of him I'd never seen, it was such a gift to see him "in action" at school, which is this somewhat mysterious other life our children have, largely without us.




Yup, I cried.

I remember when Leo was born (and I ordered basically every book related to Down syndrome from Amazon) reading something about how when you have a child with special needs, you will have an even larger "village" than you would have with a typical child, and you will often connect to these people more deeply. The reasons are many: There are extra challenges and extra struggles of course. There's much more information that needs to be disseminated. Your child's frustrations are theirs, but so are their victories. Also, there is usually much more communication between teacher and parent (in Leo's first year of elementary school there was a daily journal home and many, many emails). You can't help but grow close to these educators that are in the trenches along with you. And so some of them, the really good ones, find a small corner of your heart, where I think Mrs. L. and Mrs. F. (the third grade teacher who told me that I was a "forever friend") will always remain.


Back in May I met with Leo's future teachers at the middle school. We had an informal meeting (not an IEP).  Can I pause to say that just once, I'd like to get through a meeting with Leo's school "team" without being a sloppy, teary mess? Bad news, good news--doesn't matter. When it comes to talking about my boy? Tears. This particular meeting was emotional for a variety of reasons. I'm still not completely sold on his placement, but I don't know that many people who have middle-school-aged children with Down syndrome who are. I'm trying to be positive and open minded. I really am. 

Thankfully, Leo couldn't disagree more.

A few weeks later Leo and I toured his middle school together. Leo arm wrestled the principal twice and succeeded in not hugging anyone (though you could tell he REALLY wanted to--there had been a stern conversation about hugging prior to the tour). He was disappointed when the visit came to a close and kept trying to extend it (yes, he met the cafeteria ladies, several guidance counselors and found the comic book section of the library where he would have happily remained for the rest of the morning). 

Pass the tissues, middle school here we come.

And, We're BACK! With Four Year Olds and Some Thoughts on Summer

I suppose the great thing about not blogging forever is that when you DO finally blog, you have a lot to say, right?

Let's just jump right in, shall we?

Last week the twins turned four. FOUR.

Celebrating, a day early. This is the first year I made two cakes.

Ask me how on earth this happened and where the last four years of my life went and I will say I HAVE NO IDEA.


At four, Harry is a highly observant little conversationalist. He is thoughtful, loves to asks questions about how things work and it's safe to say his language has EXPLODED. He is still highly emotional (I've lost track of how many times we've had to threaten to take his Lego blocks away after he crumbles when something doesn't "fit" quite right or a Lego vehicle falls apart). We are working on ways for him to manage his many, MANY feelings (the majority of them involving his beloved Lego blocks). He is still a bit of a stunt man, falling off chairs and practically diving head first into rooms. He can be a real snuggler when he wants to be. He eats apples almost as if they are an obsession and can play quietly and independently for very long stretch (one word: Lego).


At four, Lucy continues to be one of the happiest, smiliest people I've ever known. Ebullient is really the word I would use to describe her. She is strong-willed (highly unusual amongst four year olds, I know-HA HA HA) and independent, which is fabulous when she is doing what she's asked to do (put her pajamas on by herself) but not so terrific when she's decided that she DOESN'T want to do what you've asked her to do (put her pajamas on). Have I mentioned that both she and her twin brother are teaching me a thing or two about tantrums? Ahem. Lucy loves to color, draw and play with anything related to horses. She is definitely able to entertain herself more, lining up La La Loopsy girls and creating complicated scenarios and conversations with them. But her favorite playmate of all these days is her big sister Ellie. When Ellie gets home from school it's as though Lucy's day really starts. Last night I overheard her out in the backyard calling, "Eleanor! ELEANOR! You come here! Because I love you and I want to be with you all the time!"

It's hard to believe a little over a year from now these two will be heading off to kindergarten. They still seem SO LITTLE to me and it seems like they have so much maturing to do. I know that a lot happens between turning four and almost turning five. It really is a sweet age (when it's not maddening), and I'm trying hard to enjoy things when I can and not be driven completely insane when things get, shall we say, frustrating.

The school year ends in a little less than two weeks. Like most parents, I'm looking forward to a slower change of pace and perhaps am a little nervous about making everything work. Trust me when I sway I needed a bottle of wine, a spreadsheet and a bank robbery to figure out camps and schedules for all these small people.

Leo and Harry have summer school in July, then Leo goes to camp for all of August, Ellie is attending a variety of camps (art, science, gymnastics) for one week stints but is definitely going to home more this summer than she's ever been before (we shall see about that--she's promised me that she wants this, that she's ready for "down" time--but the jury is out on how this will play). Lucy's schedule is the only one that won't change, she's still doing preschool five mornings a week (though her school becomes a bit more "layed-back" and "camp-like" during the summer months, with water play and theme weeks (camping week, space week, fairy tale week).

Hopefully it will all be JUST FINE and everyone will be reasonably happy, but if not, I am trying to keep this in mind.

It's my mantra for the summer and really should be, even beyond. Erin and I have a running joke that someone is always not quite happy. Eating lunch outside? Three of them cheer and one pipes up, But it's cold! I need a sweater! I want to eat inside! Watching a movie? Three of them agree but one complains, I don't wanna watch that one! We watched it last week! And ask me how hard it is to make dinner (heck, ANY MEAL) for four children and have them all content. It's just not possible. And for a people pleaser like me, it can be exhausting--that endless, constant feeling that something is always not quite right. So, Summer of 2015. Wish us luck!

Newsflash: Not Everyone Likes You

Like most kids after school, Ellie isn't usually very forthcoming about her day. Our conversation is probably the same as it is for millions of parents and kids everywhere:

Me: How was your day, Buddy?

Ellie: Fine.

Me: Did you do anything interesting?

Ellie: No.

But this week Ellie burst from the crowd of jostling second grade elbows and backpacks with a lot to say.

"Something happened today, Mommy. Something not very nice."

I'll give you the abbreviated version, because the Ellie version was, shall we say, detailed.

According to Ellie, it was during recess and she and a group of children were playing basketball. Ellie said she noticed that some people were only cheering for one of the players.


That's Ellie on the right, saying: "That might hurt other kids' feelings."


Ellie announced that she didn't think it was very nice and one of the girls (who was doing the cheering) shouted, "You're not the coach, Ellie!" And that's when a bunch of people laughed.

Thus ensued a lot of she said, she said. I think Ellie was mostly embarrassed. And she felt misunderstood. She was just trying to help. She was looking out for the other kids who weren't getting cheered for. And the girl who accused her of being the coach is someone that is mentioned quite a bit when it comes to conflict. She and Ellie just seem to spar.

I found the drawings above when I was cleaning out Ellie's room (I try to keep out of her room as much as I can but she will not part with a single piece of paper and wants to save everything--her desk had become unusable--there were actually coloring pages from Thanksgiving on it, so it was time).

She did these drawings after I read to her and tucked her into bed one night this week. Clearly, she was really, really bothered by the exchange on the playground. That night she also wrote a letter to the girl, who she said she "really wanted to work thing out" with. In the letter, Ellie apologized for what she called a "misunderstanding." She stayed up late writing this note and she crept downstairs around 9:30 and asked me if I thought she should give it to the girl or read it to her. I told her I wasn't sure and what did she think? We concluded she would think about it, and decide later how to handle the note.

The next day after school, Ellie informed me that she talked to her teacher and that she, the girl and the guidance counselor were going to get together to talk about things. I told her I thought that was a good idea. I know you are all on the edge of your seats about the outcome of that meeting but it apparently hasn't happened yet.

This morning Ellie brought up the girl again. "I hope we can work things out," Ellie said quietly, out of the blue, as she waited for her toast. Clearly, this is something that is weighing on her and occupying a lot of her thoughts. I feel for her. In a word, girls suck (don't worry, I was good--I didn't tell her that).

But I remember the pain of fourth grade (fourth grade!) and not knowing who was going to be my friend on any given day And as we all know, it starts earlier and earlier (as is evidenced by Ellie's second grade "drama.") And honestly? Does it ever really end? But a wonderful thing comes with age: we just stop caring what people think of us and boy is it THE BEST.

As I waited for Ellie's toast to pop, thoughts of fourth grade and sixth grade and eleventh grade and 27-year old (and hell-40-year old!) spats swirled around in my head. Finally I looked at Ellie and said: You know what Sweetie? You are doing everything right. You're voicing your feelings. You're explaining your side of the story. You're apologizing when it's appropriate. You are nice to people and you do your best. That's ALL you can do. The simple fact is, not everyone likes everyone. This girl just might not want to be your friend. And you know what? That's OK. I mean, think about it. Do you want to be EVERYONE'S friend?

Ellie shook her head and said she guessed not.

I am in no way belittling or negating Ellie's feelings. I just felt the need to share with her the simple lesson I wish I'd learned a LONG time ago and it's not an easy one to swallow when you're a people pleaser like I am (and like I know Ellie is). Not everyone is going to like you. And that's OK.

It's probably cold comfort for a seven year old who wants everyone to be her friend, but I felt better saying it, and I hope she heard just a little of it, even if it doesn't get fully absorbed for another thirty five years.

Broadway Bound

Saturday night the four of us braved (another) winter storm and headed into the City. It was cold and snowy and blustery and the streets were treacherous and oddly unplowed--in short, leaving the house was about the last thing I wanted to do.


Our local train station always looks so romantic at night.

But we had a very, VERY important destination.

BROADWAY. For Leo and Ellie's first show: (Aladdin)!


Photo courtesy The Washington Post

I was twenty six when I saw my first Broadway show, on a trip to New York a few month before moving there (it was "Rent" of course). What lucky kids these guys are!


Terrible picture, wonderful time.


The excitement was palpable. "How many more minutes, Mommy?" I must have heard that about fifteen times. I can't say I blamed her. It IS a big deal.

The show was wonderful. Like all great Broadway musicals it had fabulous music, wonderful dancing and stunning special effects.

As the lights went up at intermission I leaned forward to gauge Leo's reaction. "Mommy, I love it!" he announced, grinning from ear to ear.



But of course it wasn't just about the play--it was about being able to share this experience with the kids. I've been playing them Broadway show tunes since they were infants and they know that Broadway is a big deal to me (I'm a self-professed Musical Theater Nerd, as you know). So now they know what all the fuss is about, and they have first hand proof that their Mommy isn't too crazy after all--that Broadway IS pretty amazing.

January Moments

Snow Day: Still life with outerware.

Let's face it. There's not much that's nice about January.

I forget how much I do not enjoy this time of year. The cold, the unpredictability of snow storms and potential snow days (which I have to admit, I don't dread as much as a I used to, both because I don't have to stress about attempting a commute into the city, coupled with the fact that the children are much better about amusing themselves on a day stuck at home). At least that's nice (trying to find a positive spin, can you tell?).


Snow days: Not what they used to be! (That's a snowman with his scooter and basketball, by the way--because, of course).

Nope, this is definitely not the easiest time of the year.  The holidays are over. Spring is a looooong ways away. It's cold. Did I mention it's cold?


This picture was taken back when we could see our driveway. Now? Not so much. Snow, snow and more snow.


We are doing our best to make lemonade out of the snow. Or, in my case, virgin bloody marys (see my glass, above). It was early Sunday morning and I was dreaming about a kid-free, bloody-mary-and-The-New-York-Times-Long-Brunch. Instead, we did a Valentine craft.


I'm going to the library as often as possible. The twins love when I bring home grocery bags of books, devouring them immediately. I usually just take Leo and Ellie with me to the actual library--when I pulled into the parking lot last time they both cheered, so I guess I must be doing something right.

Before the snow and deep freeze pummeled us, the Oregon Grandparents were here for their semiannual winter visit.



We took our traditional trip to our local zoo on New Year's Eve day and it was as magical as ever. For some reason--maybe it's that it's never above 25 degrees when we go, or because everyone has overdosed on the zoo (its "holiday zoo lights" display brings people from far and wide), but there is never anyone else there on New Year's Eve day. Seriously it's like having a private zoo, all to ourselves.



It was just the wolves and us. And yes, they were pretty much licking their chops at these scrumptious children.






One of the best parts about a frigid visit to the zoo is the hot chocolate/donut warm-up that follows.


The next day we feasted on Jewish deli food and watched the big Oregon game. It was fun to have family around to cheer on our "home" team. Most importantly, Ellie and Leo learned the art of chest bumping. (Thanks, Grandpa).


We bid the grandparents a sad goodbye, went back to school and Lucy managed to fall flat on her face and get her first black eye, earning her a new nickname, "Rocky." (I didn't know you could get a black eye wiping out the way Lucy did, but apparently you can).

But by far I think one of my favorite January moments was when Jake and Adam, Leo's buddies from the Friendship Circle, came over for a surprise visit while they were home visiting from college. It took Leo months to stop asking for these guys, who have been spending an hour every weekend with Leo since he was four and they were thirteen. So I thought it would be fun to surprise Leo and not tell him they were coming.



It was better than I could have ever imagined.

Full Circle or "I Want to Help People"

It took years--YEARS for me to feel safe letting Leo walk in a parking lot without holding my hand, to leave the front door unlocked with him playing in the living room or mudroom or better yet--the FRONT YARD (fence-less) unattended.

I didn't think the day would ever come that I would go to a birthday party with him and not worry the whole time about where all the entrances and exits were, or that I wouldn't wait for the call to come from school saying he had vanished, walked out of a classroom and down the street, never to be heard from again.



And now, he's helping children cross the street. Of course with some supervision. But still! Talk about Full Circle.

Leo first mentioned safety patrol back in the fall. I admit, I dropped the ball. I don't recall seeing a form or application about it come home school, but it may have. I meant to ask his teacher about it but I forgot. Last week the application arrived in his homework folder, front and center, along with a note from Mrs. W: "Leo wants to be on Safety Patrol. Please have him fill out this application and return on Monday."

OK then.

This afternoon, Leo pulled the the neon yellow Safety Patrol sash out of his backpack as though it was a gold medal from the summer games. "My dream came true!" he exclaimed, practically vibrating with joy and pride.

It's no secret Leo loves to help people. If you have as much as a hang-nail he will lovingly prepare an ice pack (he prefers ice cubes wrapped in paper towels--don't ask) and present you with an assortment of Hello Kitty, Buzz Lightyear and Tinkerbell Band-Aids. He will rub your back and prop you up on pillows and announce, "I want to help people."

Erin and I were talking this weekend about how the perfect job would be something in a nurturing field--who knows-maybe a hospital or nursing home. As long as he's happy, and fulfilled--that's all we care about.

Safety Patrol seems like a pretty great start.