So I just got off the phone with our wonderful babysitter. As an aside can I just say that Erin and I have AMAZING plans for our birthdays (we are three days apart) that were just confirmed. I am dizzy with excitement. Our plans are better than my wildest dreams. More on that later, back to the babysitter.
She loves the kids. The kids adore her. She is patient with Leo and laughs off his quirks. She has four boys and so she LOVES Ellie. Whenever she needs to change her clothes and I haven't set something out in advance, it's always into the girliest, pinkest outfit from the bottom pile of Ellie's clothes (since I'm not a huge pink fan).
But from time to time, she uses the word "retarded."
And she just said it on the phone to me, describing how a friend was making fun of her for being forgetful: "He said oh you're so retarded!"
Ugh.
I don't know what my problem is. This, even after loving and vowing to steal Elizabeth's wonderfully snappy but not mean comeback: "You mean stupid. My SISTER is retarded. You mean stupid."
I act all big and bad and I'm going to educate and change the world and then right here in my own backyard I just, chicken out.
Friday, February 27, 2009
A Little Friday Story
If you have even a passing interest in Abraham Lincoln or you just like to look at pretty pictures, check this out. (Thanks to my dad for sending me the link.) I often forget to check out Maira Kalman's incredible blog at nyt.com but when I do I am never sorry.
Here's an illustration of hers (not from the Abe Lincoln piece):
Kalman is such an inspiration to me, both as a storyteller and as an artist. That sounds kind of pretentious but I mean it (and not in a pretentious way).
Just wanted to share. Carry on.
Here's an illustration of hers (not from the Abe Lincoln piece):
Kalman is such an inspiration to me, both as a storyteller and as an artist. That sounds kind of pretentious but I mean it (and not in a pretentious way).
Just wanted to share. Carry on.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
The World is Words
I still remember sitting in the backseat of my mom’s Dodge Dart (or maybe it was the Chevy ? It was some type of crap car--I grew up mortified by my parents’ cars but that’s a whole other post) looking up at the signs along the road, at the letters and words made from the letters, seeing my world open up. I was learning to read.
I am delighted to witness this happening to Leo. He calls to me from his perch in the backseat, with continued frequency. The following kind of conversation transpires:
Leo: “Dee Dee!” (his word for me)
Me: “Yes Leo.”
Leo: “A!”
I turn to look in the direction he’s pointing and there indeed is a sign with an “A” in it.
The other morning on the way to school Leo was munching pretzels contentedly when he began exclaiming “Dee Dee, Dee Dee, E!”
I couldn’t figure out where he saw the E, because we were driving by houses with no signs. There were no letters or words anywhere I could see. I glanced back at Leo and caught sight of the small pretzel he had gnawed into the shape of yes, an “E.”
Words are everywhere. Even in, apparently, pretzels.
I am delighted to witness this happening to Leo. He calls to me from his perch in the backseat, with continued frequency. The following kind of conversation transpires:
Leo: “Dee Dee!” (his word for me)
Me: “Yes Leo.”
Leo: “A!”
I turn to look in the direction he’s pointing and there indeed is a sign with an “A” in it.
The other morning on the way to school Leo was munching pretzels contentedly when he began exclaiming “Dee Dee, Dee Dee, E!”
I couldn’t figure out where he saw the E, because we were driving by houses with no signs. There were no letters or words anywhere I could see. I glanced back at Leo and caught sight of the small pretzel he had gnawed into the shape of yes, an “E.”
Words are everywhere. Even in, apparently, pretzels.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
What I'm Thinking About Today
-I am in constant fear that I am wearing two shoes of different colors (i.e. one brown, one black. It’s been done before and I got all the way to work before I realized my mistake.) It happened this morning where I had a panic at the bus stop but luckily once again I was safe (two black shoes). It is bound to happen again though.
-I am confused by how it’s possible to mix-up Leo’s backpack with another child’s since his is MONOGRAMMED with his NAME on it. And yes, I’m shouting. This happened yesterday. One of the bus ladies gave Leo's bag to another family. Also wondering why this other family didn't um, say anything? It wouldn't have been that big of a deal except that Leo had medicine in his bag that he needed last night.
-I’m annoyed that Leo’s school needs a note from is doctor just for them to administer eye drops. I get that they have “procedures” but we’re talking about eye drops here, folks. And I gave them a note in writing. The doctor has more clout than the parent? Guess so.
-Hoping that Leo’s teacher/one of the class aides made sure his face was clean and snot free for the school pictures today. Wishing he didn’t have a military buzz cut for said photo but oh well.
-I’m worried Ellie might have croup. Or at least is on her way to another cold. She was up in the middle of the night with a barky cough last night. I guess we’re due. It’s been what, two weeks since she’s stayed home from daycare?
-When I picked Ellie up at daycare yesterday she had her paci, even though I have asked them not to give it to her unless she’s napping. They said she was fussy and that she seemed comforted by it. I wonder how often she is fussy and wonder also if I’m deluding myself into thinking she is happy being in daycare. Not that there is much I can do about this. Sigh.
-Speaking of, I am a sigher. I have really become one. My mom used to sigh a lot and it drove me crazy for some reason. I’m not sure why. Now I totally get why she did it.
-Not believing that I’m about to turn 36.
-I am confused by how it’s possible to mix-up Leo’s backpack with another child’s since his is MONOGRAMMED with his NAME on it. And yes, I’m shouting. This happened yesterday. One of the bus ladies gave Leo's bag to another family. Also wondering why this other family didn't um, say anything? It wouldn't have been that big of a deal except that Leo had medicine in his bag that he needed last night.
-I’m annoyed that Leo’s school needs a note from is doctor just for them to administer eye drops. I get that they have “procedures” but we’re talking about eye drops here, folks. And I gave them a note in writing. The doctor has more clout than the parent? Guess so.
-Hoping that Leo’s teacher/one of the class aides made sure his face was clean and snot free for the school pictures today. Wishing he didn’t have a military buzz cut for said photo but oh well.
-I’m worried Ellie might have croup. Or at least is on her way to another cold. She was up in the middle of the night with a barky cough last night. I guess we’re due. It’s been what, two weeks since she’s stayed home from daycare?
-When I picked Ellie up at daycare yesterday she had her paci, even though I have asked them not to give it to her unless she’s napping. They said she was fussy and that she seemed comforted by it. I wonder how often she is fussy and wonder also if I’m deluding myself into thinking she is happy being in daycare. Not that there is much I can do about this. Sigh.
-Speaking of, I am a sigher. I have really become one. My mom used to sigh a lot and it drove me crazy for some reason. I’m not sure why. Now I totally get why she did it.
-Not believing that I’m about to turn 36.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Typical Birthday Party and “Retarded” Playgroup
Saturday morning Leo and Ellie went to a mutual friend’s birthday party at a play space. I guess here in New Jersey play spaces are The place to have a party (we had an invite for Leo for another one in our mailbox when we got home Saturday night -yay I love parties!). I completely see the appeal but I think it’s funny though that we all finally (I say “all” in reference to the many people we know where we live who have made the exodus from cramped NYC apartments to “spacious” houses) have the space to have parties and yet it’s so popular to not have them at home.
That’s beside the point. Both kids had a blast climbing the massive play structure-and I do mean massive. It must have been 20 feet tall, basically it looked like a giant hamster activity center (the plastic ones with the tunnels). Ellie was pretty brazen for a little thing-she held her own with the three and four year olds no problem. I had a few heart pounding moments where I couldn’t spot either kid (I knew they couldn’t go far but it’s still not a mom’s happiest moment). And Leo is very fast. Thank goodness I did see him out of the corner of my eye sneak into the party room or there may have been far fewer cupcakes than the host had originally planned.
Leo pretty much sticks to himself at these things. He didn’t want to participate in circle time, wanted nothing to do with the jumpy-apparatus that was blown up after the dancing. Fine, whatever. He was content to climb and slide and climb and slide some more.
Both kids also had a great time with this contraption-not sure what to call it. It involved climbing a little ladder and then sliding while hanging. You get the idea. See an earlier post for a video, though the shot below does feature a lovely view of Leo's cute outie belly button.
And he was quite happy to go eat pizza in the party room but insisted on beginning his meal sitting under the table. I don’t know what it is, if it’s the noise or the crowds but he does this often when faced with a group of people. Just ideal for social situations! It was ok though. I mean, I’m over being embarrassed or self-conscious about it. Eventually he sat down and ate his pizza like everyone else.
Of course I would like Leo to be the Down syndrome poster child in these kinds of “typical” social situations and act like everyone else. Of course I think that invariably people see him doing something weird (eating his pizza under the table) and think that he’s being “weird” because he has Down syndrome and therefore people with Down syndrome are weird.
But like I said, Leo eventually came up from his subterranean position and joined the rest of the party. And he loved singing “Happy Birthday” (one of his favorite songs ever) and he clapped the loudest and longest of anyone when the song was completed. But then. After Leo was finished eating he jumped up and zoomed back out to the play space. I figure his thought process was “good food, now I’m full, let’s play some more!” Makes perfect sense, right? The only problem is, there was another party going on in the play space. And after we ate it was our cue to leave.
Our exit was a touch humiliating. As much as I can say it doesn’t bother me that Leo ate part of his pizza under the table, it does bother me that I had to wrestle him into the stroller in order to control him from running away from me. Without help and with Ellie in tow, that was the only way I was going to get us all out of that building in one piece. I’m sure the fact that Leo was exhausted didn’t help matters, it just would have been nice to not have to push my 4 ½ year old out of the party hysterically crying, in a stroller. But then I have to remind myself that Leo isn’t really 4 ½, developmentally. And I’m pretty sure we weren’t the only ones having party-exit-emotional-outbursts (though I honestly didn’t see any that were quite as vocal as ours). And there was a moment when I had to dash from the party room to the playroom to retrieve Leo when I left Ellie completely unsupervised so that was a little scary. It happened so quickly that I wasn’t able to grab a parent to see if they could look after her for a second while I attended to Leo. Not to be dramatic, I mean it’s not like she was playing next to a swimming pool or anything. When I went back to get her she was carrying someone’s mary janes around. That little girl likes shoes.
************************************************************
Later that day was the New York City Down syndrome parent group/play group. I knew some of the parents in real life, others I’d only exchanged emails with (a few were particularly helpful when I sent out the desperate “sleep problems for a preschooler” email a month or so ago). It was a nice mixture of ages of kids, I think the youngest was seven months old. It threw me a little when one mom, her son almost two, smiled at Leo as he barked like a dog on all fours inside a “house” made of cushions, and told me it was “great to see older kids who were doing so well.” Wasn’t it just last week that I attended my first playgroup with infant Leo, studying the faces and movements of the “old” (four and five year old) kids with a mixture of curiosity, tenderness and terror?
Sorry, gratuitous baby Leo picture. Since I didn’t have a blog when he was a baby I feel that he missed out on being shown off as a newborn. That baby I saw on Saturday looked an awful lot like this:
As an aside, I know that all sleeping babies kind of look alike but it’s really eerie to me how similar sleeping babies with Down syndrome look alike. The little 7-month old on Saturday that we met, when he passed out on his mother’s chest it was like seeing a sleepy infant Leo. It almost made me shiver.
In addition to the adorable sleeping 7-month old, there was a gregarious 8-year-old with a wonderful sense of humor. She told me “Babies (i.e. Ellie) are not allowed to play on boats” (there was a large boat climbing structure in the center of the playroom). She also reached over and while we were talking, sweetly (some might say I guess, inappropriately) tucked my hair behind my ear.
I met the mom of a toddler who told me her diagnosis story. We all have one, whether it was finding out on the operating room table (me) or prenatally and over the phone by a genetic counselor (her). She told me how insensitive her genetic counselor was, pausing to take another call and putting her on hold in the middle of the life changing news. Her description of the events in that phone call? “Retarded.” She said it with a straight face, and without missing a beat.
I waited after she said it, a second or two, expecting her to look embarrassed or apologetic. Wasn’t that word banned from “our” vocabulary? Ironically, I had just heard my beloved Dan Savage use “retarded” on a recent podcast and cringed. He quickly followed it up with a humorous explanation that only he could get away with. Ordinarily, retarded as an adjective is a deal breaker for me. In fact, I just had drinks with some old friends and one of them dropped the “R” bomb, knowing full well about Leo. I stupidly kept my mouth shut and haven't thought of this "friend" in the same way since.
I once had a friend who used the word a continuously. It bothered me and I finally said something to her about it. Her response? She didn’t think of Leo as retarded, therefore the term wasn’t any insult. To her.
Where am I going with all of this in, to borrow one of Amy’s expressions, this rather unblogosphere friendly length. I guess I just found the use of “retarded,” by the mother of a child with Down syndrome as interesting. But maybe some of us are like my friend, they don’t see our kids as retarded in that way. Our kids have delays. Our kids are different. Our kids do things in their own time. But they are not like, retarded. As babies, when they sleep they look like angels. They sing “Happy Birthday” louder and longer than anyone at a birthday party. They sweetly tuck hair behind an ear. To be fair they also have ugly fits when it’s time to leave a birthday party, but they are not retarded. Retarded is so school yard bully. So ugly. Maybe it’s that the original definition of the word has changed and been replaced by things like “special needs” and therefore retarded can be returned to it pejorative status, but not relating to actual people. Whatever. And they can say what they want but I hardly think we've come to the point as other minorities have in which we have "reclaimed" our ugly word (I'm thinking of the n-word, queer) into something that is no longer (at least to some) icky. Maybe I'm old fashioned but I still think it’s ugly and I can’t shake it. And I won’t use it. And it stings when I hear someone else say it, even if their kid does have Down syndrome.
That’s beside the point. Both kids had a blast climbing the massive play structure-and I do mean massive. It must have been 20 feet tall, basically it looked like a giant hamster activity center (the plastic ones with the tunnels). Ellie was pretty brazen for a little thing-she held her own with the three and four year olds no problem. I had a few heart pounding moments where I couldn’t spot either kid (I knew they couldn’t go far but it’s still not a mom’s happiest moment). And Leo is very fast. Thank goodness I did see him out of the corner of my eye sneak into the party room or there may have been far fewer cupcakes than the host had originally planned.
Leo pretty much sticks to himself at these things. He didn’t want to participate in circle time, wanted nothing to do with the jumpy-apparatus that was blown up after the dancing. Fine, whatever. He was content to climb and slide and climb and slide some more.
Both kids also had a great time with this contraption-not sure what to call it. It involved climbing a little ladder and then sliding while hanging. You get the idea. See an earlier post for a video, though the shot below does feature a lovely view of Leo's cute outie belly button.
And he was quite happy to go eat pizza in the party room but insisted on beginning his meal sitting under the table. I don’t know what it is, if it’s the noise or the crowds but he does this often when faced with a group of people. Just ideal for social situations! It was ok though. I mean, I’m over being embarrassed or self-conscious about it. Eventually he sat down and ate his pizza like everyone else.
Of course I would like Leo to be the Down syndrome poster child in these kinds of “typical” social situations and act like everyone else. Of course I think that invariably people see him doing something weird (eating his pizza under the table) and think that he’s being “weird” because he has Down syndrome and therefore people with Down syndrome are weird.
But like I said, Leo eventually came up from his subterranean position and joined the rest of the party. And he loved singing “Happy Birthday” (one of his favorite songs ever) and he clapped the loudest and longest of anyone when the song was completed. But then. After Leo was finished eating he jumped up and zoomed back out to the play space. I figure his thought process was “good food, now I’m full, let’s play some more!” Makes perfect sense, right? The only problem is, there was another party going on in the play space. And after we ate it was our cue to leave.
Our exit was a touch humiliating. As much as I can say it doesn’t bother me that Leo ate part of his pizza under the table, it does bother me that I had to wrestle him into the stroller in order to control him from running away from me. Without help and with Ellie in tow, that was the only way I was going to get us all out of that building in one piece. I’m sure the fact that Leo was exhausted didn’t help matters, it just would have been nice to not have to push my 4 ½ year old out of the party hysterically crying, in a stroller. But then I have to remind myself that Leo isn’t really 4 ½, developmentally. And I’m pretty sure we weren’t the only ones having party-exit-emotional-outbursts (though I honestly didn’t see any that were quite as vocal as ours). And there was a moment when I had to dash from the party room to the playroom to retrieve Leo when I left Ellie completely unsupervised so that was a little scary. It happened so quickly that I wasn’t able to grab a parent to see if they could look after her for a second while I attended to Leo. Not to be dramatic, I mean it’s not like she was playing next to a swimming pool or anything. When I went back to get her she was carrying someone’s mary janes around. That little girl likes shoes.
************************************************************
Later that day was the New York City Down syndrome parent group/play group. I knew some of the parents in real life, others I’d only exchanged emails with (a few were particularly helpful when I sent out the desperate “sleep problems for a preschooler” email a month or so ago). It was a nice mixture of ages of kids, I think the youngest was seven months old. It threw me a little when one mom, her son almost two, smiled at Leo as he barked like a dog on all fours inside a “house” made of cushions, and told me it was “great to see older kids who were doing so well.” Wasn’t it just last week that I attended my first playgroup with infant Leo, studying the faces and movements of the “old” (four and five year old) kids with a mixture of curiosity, tenderness and terror?
Sorry, gratuitous baby Leo picture. Since I didn’t have a blog when he was a baby I feel that he missed out on being shown off as a newborn. That baby I saw on Saturday looked an awful lot like this:
As an aside, I know that all sleeping babies kind of look alike but it’s really eerie to me how similar sleeping babies with Down syndrome look alike. The little 7-month old on Saturday that we met, when he passed out on his mother’s chest it was like seeing a sleepy infant Leo. It almost made me shiver.
In addition to the adorable sleeping 7-month old, there was a gregarious 8-year-old with a wonderful sense of humor. She told me “Babies (i.e. Ellie) are not allowed to play on boats” (there was a large boat climbing structure in the center of the playroom). She also reached over and while we were talking, sweetly (some might say I guess, inappropriately) tucked my hair behind my ear.
I met the mom of a toddler who told me her diagnosis story. We all have one, whether it was finding out on the operating room table (me) or prenatally and over the phone by a genetic counselor (her). She told me how insensitive her genetic counselor was, pausing to take another call and putting her on hold in the middle of the life changing news. Her description of the events in that phone call? “Retarded.” She said it with a straight face, and without missing a beat.
I waited after she said it, a second or two, expecting her to look embarrassed or apologetic. Wasn’t that word banned from “our” vocabulary? Ironically, I had just heard my beloved Dan Savage use “retarded” on a recent podcast and cringed. He quickly followed it up with a humorous explanation that only he could get away with. Ordinarily, retarded as an adjective is a deal breaker for me. In fact, I just had drinks with some old friends and one of them dropped the “R” bomb, knowing full well about Leo. I stupidly kept my mouth shut and haven't thought of this "friend" in the same way since.
I once had a friend who used the word a continuously. It bothered me and I finally said something to her about it. Her response? She didn’t think of Leo as retarded, therefore the term wasn’t any insult. To her.
Where am I going with all of this in, to borrow one of Amy’s expressions, this rather unblogosphere friendly length. I guess I just found the use of “retarded,” by the mother of a child with Down syndrome as interesting. But maybe some of us are like my friend, they don’t see our kids as retarded in that way. Our kids have delays. Our kids are different. Our kids do things in their own time. But they are not like, retarded. As babies, when they sleep they look like angels. They sing “Happy Birthday” louder and longer than anyone at a birthday party. They sweetly tuck hair behind an ear. To be fair they also have ugly fits when it’s time to leave a birthday party, but they are not retarded. Retarded is so school yard bully. So ugly. Maybe it’s that the original definition of the word has changed and been replaced by things like “special needs” and therefore retarded can be returned to it pejorative status, but not relating to actual people. Whatever. And they can say what they want but I hardly think we've come to the point as other minorities have in which we have "reclaimed" our ugly word (I'm thinking of the n-word, queer) into something that is no longer (at least to some) icky. Maybe I'm old fashioned but I still think it’s ugly and I can’t shake it. And I won’t use it. And it stings when I hear someone else say it, even if their kid does have Down syndrome.
Scenes from the Weekend
We baked banana bread. This time, Ellie wanted to join in (I think she’ll join in on anything that involves standing on a chair, this one). Fraidy cat took off and buried herself in Erin's arms when I got the mixer out. She is not a fan of loud appliances, i.e. vacuums, mixers, blenders.
Leo tried (and succeeded somewhat) to feed Ellie breakfast:
Leo discovered his love of this contraption, at the weekend birthday party:
Oscar Remorse, Dud Doctor, Home After Dark and Forward Facing Ellie
Every year I stay up to watch the Oscars and every year I ask myself why I do this, when the next morning I am beaten down tired and dragging You Know What. I have that feeling I remember having when I came home from a slumber party on a Sunday morning after staying up all night, or I guess more recently, of being up all night with a newborn. I just want to lay down here next to my desk. I’ve heard “Slumdog Millionaire" was a great movie but I didn’t see it so having it win every other award just felt hollow to me, personally (though I’ve heard it’s really really all that and more). My fault I realize, but still. It’s just kind of boring when it’s a blow out. Oh wait, it’s a blow out every year. Oh well. I guess we need to rejoin Netflix because there is just no way I am going to see it in the theater.
Having moaned about the sleep deprivation, Go Kate Winslet and Sean Penn! (Best quote of the night? “Well you commie homo-loving suns of guns!”) I didn’t see “The Reader” but Kate has been amazing for many years. Her performance in “Revolutionary Road” (which I did see! But it wasn’t nominated!) was extraordinary. And “Milk” is on my list to see. (The speech by "Milk" screenwriter Dustin Lance Black had both Erin and I wiping away tears.) So it wasn’t all for nothing.
Closer to home, I should report that the doctor on Friday afternoon was not any big deal at all. I think that’s a great policy, tell the patients it’s going to be a monumental, soul crushing wait so they can be pleasantly surprised when they are In And Out In An Hour. I came armed with apple juice and Cheese Nips (#1 health choice—purchased in rushed desperation at the bus station on my way home). The hooligans were more than happy with the MSG loaded treat and it helped passed the time splendidly. I made the mistake of having a few after they went to bed. My god, the salt. They were delicious. Anyway, the diagnosis was as Erin and I suspected, conjunctivitis. A bit of fluid in the ears, but not infected. Leo’s definitely goopy but his spirits seem fine. But can I just say how much I dislike this doctor? She’s just, I don’t know, off-putting. She has no sense of humor (an automatic shut-out for me) and just seems critical. She walks in the door and sweet Leo throws his arms around her. Her reaction? Oh, thank you for whipping your boogies on me. Way to put the kid at ease, right? I mean, seriously? She's a pediatrician. I have to think "boogies" are the least of what she sees. I do my best to keep Leo’s nose and face snot free but I literally would need to hook him up to a hose to keep it totally tidy. Sue me. I do the best I can. And of course for some reason this critical doctor alerts my Can’t Stop Talking reflex. I say things like:
Me: Well he went to school today and they didn’t call me about his eye, I was very surprised.
Dr. X: He went to school like this? They didn’t call you?
Me: Yea well I had to go to work and the regular school nurse is on maternity leave so maybe the new one isn’t as good I don’t know…
Maybe I’m too sensitive, but she just generally creeps me out. And it’s weird because I LOVE everyone else in the practice. I think if I met the nurse practitioner in a different context we could totally be mom buddies, so to have this weirdness…I’ve thought about having something in our file that says we don’t want to see this doctor. I’ve talked to other people that have done this. I’m just a chicken sometimes. I don’t like conflict. Not that I think anybody would care if we boycotted Dr. X.
In other news, maybe I am tired from the weekend itself. Don’t get me wrong, it was wonderful. Saturday is just the kind of day I like to have (ONE day out of the weekend). We left the house at 10 a.m. and didn’t get back until dinner time. And best of all there were no major meltdowns (by the kids or me). Erin had to work (which is rare for a Saturday). So it was just the hooligans and me at a birthday party at one of those indoor play spaces (not the one we usually go to). After the party we drove around while I tried to get them to take a nap (success) and then it was on to Manhattan for the playdate with the Down syndrome group (more on that and the party, in a later post).
In milestone news, we turned Ellie’s car seat around. She’s technically still able to be rear facing in the seat she has but she seemed to be very uncomfortable in it with her long legs. I can’t believe what a big girl she looks like when I turn around and see her facing me now. The pigtails don’t hurt either.
Having moaned about the sleep deprivation, Go Kate Winslet and Sean Penn! (Best quote of the night? “Well you commie homo-loving suns of guns!”) I didn’t see “The Reader” but Kate has been amazing for many years. Her performance in “Revolutionary Road” (which I did see! But it wasn’t nominated!) was extraordinary. And “Milk” is on my list to see. (The speech by "Milk" screenwriter Dustin Lance Black had both Erin and I wiping away tears.) So it wasn’t all for nothing.
Closer to home, I should report that the doctor on Friday afternoon was not any big deal at all. I think that’s a great policy, tell the patients it’s going to be a monumental, soul crushing wait so they can be pleasantly surprised when they are In And Out In An Hour. I came armed with apple juice and Cheese Nips (#1 health choice—purchased in rushed desperation at the bus station on my way home). The hooligans were more than happy with the MSG loaded treat and it helped passed the time splendidly. I made the mistake of having a few after they went to bed. My god, the salt. They were delicious. Anyway, the diagnosis was as Erin and I suspected, conjunctivitis. A bit of fluid in the ears, but not infected. Leo’s definitely goopy but his spirits seem fine. But can I just say how much I dislike this doctor? She’s just, I don’t know, off-putting. She has no sense of humor (an automatic shut-out for me) and just seems critical. She walks in the door and sweet Leo throws his arms around her. Her reaction? Oh, thank you for whipping your boogies on me. Way to put the kid at ease, right? I mean, seriously? She's a pediatrician. I have to think "boogies" are the least of what she sees. I do my best to keep Leo’s nose and face snot free but I literally would need to hook him up to a hose to keep it totally tidy. Sue me. I do the best I can. And of course for some reason this critical doctor alerts my Can’t Stop Talking reflex. I say things like:
Me: Well he went to school today and they didn’t call me about his eye, I was very surprised.
Dr. X: He went to school like this? They didn’t call you?
Me: Yea well I had to go to work and the regular school nurse is on maternity leave so maybe the new one isn’t as good I don’t know…
Maybe I’m too sensitive, but she just generally creeps me out. And it’s weird because I LOVE everyone else in the practice. I think if I met the nurse practitioner in a different context we could totally be mom buddies, so to have this weirdness…I’ve thought about having something in our file that says we don’t want to see this doctor. I’ve talked to other people that have done this. I’m just a chicken sometimes. I don’t like conflict. Not that I think anybody would care if we boycotted Dr. X.
In other news, maybe I am tired from the weekend itself. Don’t get me wrong, it was wonderful. Saturday is just the kind of day I like to have (ONE day out of the weekend). We left the house at 10 a.m. and didn’t get back until dinner time. And best of all there were no major meltdowns (by the kids or me). Erin had to work (which is rare for a Saturday). So it was just the hooligans and me at a birthday party at one of those indoor play spaces (not the one we usually go to). After the party we drove around while I tried to get them to take a nap (success) and then it was on to Manhattan for the playdate with the Down syndrome group (more on that and the party, in a later post).
In milestone news, we turned Ellie’s car seat around. She’s technically still able to be rear facing in the seat she has but she seemed to be very uncomfortable in it with her long legs. I can’t believe what a big girl she looks like when I turn around and see her facing me now. The pigtails don’t hurt either.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Goopy Eyes, A Needy Dish Washer, Sex Pod(casts) and Oscar
I’m currently waiting for a call back from the nurse practitioner. It’s been a whole three weeks since either kid has been on some kind of medication so it seems only to be expected that there will soon be a trip to the pharmacy. I think Leo has conjunctivitis. I’ll spare you the gory details but let’s just say his eyes are a mess. Also he’s been severely cranky the last few mornings. Probably not related to pink eye per se, but generally when there is something wrong and he doesn’t feel 100 percent well? He gets mean and fights me on everything. He doesn’t want to put on his coat. He doesn’t want to get in the car seat. And there are tears, lots and lots of tears. Sometimes from me too but luckily this morning my hormones seemed to be in check and I was able to stay dry eyed.
So we’ll see what the doctor says. And yes, #1 Mom here still sent Leo off to school. I mean, it could just be a cold. And his school is going to this really children’s museum for a field trip today.
I’ve had one of those there’s nothing that exciting to write here weeks and so I haven’t said much, even though I vowed not to do that. There are little things, I guess. Ellie continues to be Whine Fest 2009 every night. Between 6:45 p.m. when we walk through the door and 8 p.m. when we head upstairs for bed/bath, she is Need Fest. She wants to be held. Every other word is “Uppy” and “Mommy, uppy.” I can’t blame the girl. She’s fought for attention all day at daycare. She wants her Mommy, and so who am I to say no to this? And frankly, I want my Ellie. But I also need to unpack the lunch boxes, unload the book bags and read teacher notes, make dinner, feed dinner, keep house in some semblance of order. I could go on, but I won’t.
And so, I give you the latest way Ellie is kept happy when I’m not able to hold her.
Yes, she has fallen in love with the sink. And the dishes. Yes, I let her play with dirty(ish) dishes and water while I cook dinner. I am careful to hide the knives/glass/breakables, but there you have it. Sometimes she soaks the front of her shirt by pouring water on herself but she keeps surprisingly dry. And she is happy.
In other news:
Gratuitous cuteness with tights and Converse and a hat (that Ellie keeps on her head for about oh, 3.2 seconds):
Tomorrow is going to be a whirlwind. We have a birthday party in the morning (both kids) and then we are heading into Manhattan for a play date with the New York City Down syndrome parent “support” group. I am anticipating/hoping for some in-car napping en route to the play group, otherwise I am going to have some exhausted hooligans on my hands.
I am currently addicted to podcasts. My absolute favorite is Dan Savage (sex columnist for Seattle's The Stranger). I love the fact that I am sitting on the bus next to a buttoned up Wall Street trader and I’m listening to Mr. Savage swear like a truck driver and talk about, well, sex. Also wonderful (but it also makes me cry for some reason, no matter what the topic, which is really OK as I have established that I actually like to cry) is This American Life. But they only post the current show for free, the rest you have to pay for and since I’m all about Free Stuff right now I’ve only listened to one podcast so far (though I'm a long-time listener to the radio version of that show).
Let’s just say all the sex talk makes the commute fly by.
And I leave you with Leo’s latest costume. When he’s in a good mood (which to be fair is most of the time) he sure can assemble an outfit. The fixins' for this look are courtesy of Erin's mom who resides in New Orleans. We were thinking this was sort of warm up clothes for Mardi Gras but we're not really sure.
This one is entitled "Aw Shucks."
Lastly, I am shamelessly, ridiculously excited for the Oscars on Sunday night. I've watched them since I was a little kid and I still love the turning the TV on early (an hour or so before the event) and watching the red carpet arrivals. The glamour! The dresses! The mind numbing interview questions! When I was a little girl my mom and I used to make "Noodles Oscar" (which was basically rotini pasta, chopped meat and tomato sauce, with sprinkled parmesan cheese on top) and sit on her bed and watch the ceremony while eating this festive concoction. This year I will rush through through the kids' bedtime and set the DVR to record the red carpet arrivals. Maybe I'll even make "Noodles Oscar," for old time's sake.
Edited to add: Just heard back from doctor. Of course she said to bring him in (whenever I mention my fear that he has an ear infection they say this). Then again, I don't think there is much I could say that would prevent them from telling me to bring my kids in. They just seem to really really like my kids. Then the front desk appointment maker lady told me that I should know that they are triple booked and running about 1.5 hours behind and that she's telling everyone to bring snacks, a blanket, a pillow...
Sounds great, doesn't it? I can't wait to take both kids to sit with a bunch of sick kids in a waiting room for two hours. Honestly even though germs run amuck there I would rather be in the main waiting room. Being left alone with Leo and Ellie in an exam room while we wait to be seen is most definitely the Tenth Circle of Hell, as Leo plays with the stirrups on the table, wraps the paper around himself mummy style, searches through the trash for hypodermics...I'll stop there.
So my plan is, I will hit the bar on the way home and have a few drinks and then take them to the doctor. Oh I kid. Sort of.
So we’ll see what the doctor says. And yes, #1 Mom here still sent Leo off to school. I mean, it could just be a cold. And his school is going to this really children’s museum for a field trip today.
I’ve had one of those there’s nothing that exciting to write here weeks and so I haven’t said much, even though I vowed not to do that. There are little things, I guess. Ellie continues to be Whine Fest 2009 every night. Between 6:45 p.m. when we walk through the door and 8 p.m. when we head upstairs for bed/bath, she is Need Fest. She wants to be held. Every other word is “Uppy” and “Mommy, uppy.” I can’t blame the girl. She’s fought for attention all day at daycare. She wants her Mommy, and so who am I to say no to this? And frankly, I want my Ellie. But I also need to unpack the lunch boxes, unload the book bags and read teacher notes, make dinner, feed dinner, keep house in some semblance of order. I could go on, but I won’t.
And so, I give you the latest way Ellie is kept happy when I’m not able to hold her.
Yes, she has fallen in love with the sink. And the dishes. Yes, I let her play with dirty(ish) dishes and water while I cook dinner. I am careful to hide the knives/glass/breakables, but there you have it. Sometimes she soaks the front of her shirt by pouring water on herself but she keeps surprisingly dry. And she is happy.
In other news:
Gratuitous cuteness with tights and Converse and a hat (that Ellie keeps on her head for about oh, 3.2 seconds):
Tomorrow is going to be a whirlwind. We have a birthday party in the morning (both kids) and then we are heading into Manhattan for a play date with the New York City Down syndrome parent “support” group. I am anticipating/hoping for some in-car napping en route to the play group, otherwise I am going to have some exhausted hooligans on my hands.
I am currently addicted to podcasts. My absolute favorite is Dan Savage (sex columnist for Seattle's The Stranger). I love the fact that I am sitting on the bus next to a buttoned up Wall Street trader and I’m listening to Mr. Savage swear like a truck driver and talk about, well, sex. Also wonderful (but it also makes me cry for some reason, no matter what the topic, which is really OK as I have established that I actually like to cry) is This American Life. But they only post the current show for free, the rest you have to pay for and since I’m all about Free Stuff right now I’ve only listened to one podcast so far (though I'm a long-time listener to the radio version of that show).
Let’s just say all the sex talk makes the commute fly by.
And I leave you with Leo’s latest costume. When he’s in a good mood (which to be fair is most of the time) he sure can assemble an outfit. The fixins' for this look are courtesy of Erin's mom who resides in New Orleans. We were thinking this was sort of warm up clothes for Mardi Gras but we're not really sure.
This one is entitled "Aw Shucks."
Lastly, I am shamelessly, ridiculously excited for the Oscars on Sunday night. I've watched them since I was a little kid and I still love the turning the TV on early (an hour or so before the event) and watching the red carpet arrivals. The glamour! The dresses! The mind numbing interview questions! When I was a little girl my mom and I used to make "Noodles Oscar" (which was basically rotini pasta, chopped meat and tomato sauce, with sprinkled parmesan cheese on top) and sit on her bed and watch the ceremony while eating this festive concoction. This year I will rush through through the kids' bedtime and set the DVR to record the red carpet arrivals. Maybe I'll even make "Noodles Oscar," for old time's sake.
Edited to add: Just heard back from doctor. Of course she said to bring him in (whenever I mention my fear that he has an ear infection they say this). Then again, I don't think there is much I could say that would prevent them from telling me to bring my kids in. They just seem to really really like my kids. Then the front desk appointment maker lady told me that I should know that they are triple booked and running about 1.5 hours behind and that she's telling everyone to bring snacks, a blanket, a pillow...
Sounds great, doesn't it? I can't wait to take both kids to sit with a bunch of sick kids in a waiting room for two hours. Honestly even though germs run amuck there I would rather be in the main waiting room. Being left alone with Leo and Ellie in an exam room while we wait to be seen is most definitely the Tenth Circle of Hell, as Leo plays with the stirrups on the table, wraps the paper around himself mummy style, searches through the trash for hypodermics...I'll stop there.
So my plan is, I will hit the bar on the way home and have a few drinks and then take them to the doctor. Oh I kid. Sort of.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Happy Heart Day
This was what our kitchen table looked like last night, much like the homes of families across the country, I imagine. Side note: There are FOUR Davids in Leo's class. That must get confusing.
I went with last year's leftover Elmos. Not too creative, I know but honestly, at their age, does anyone really even look at the valentines? I found this cool looking set at Tarjet a few weeks ago. They're all vintagey.
I think I'll save them for when the kids are a little older (who am I kidding? that's when they are actually going to care and not want my cool vintagey valentines). Anyway, they're punch out cards with little envelopes that you have to "make" (tape together). They are based on images from Little Golden Books, which I love.
These are the valentine themed art projects Ellie brought home. They had asked for a milk cartoon a few weeks ago and this strange little creature above is the result. I expected it would be for a mailbox for the valentines but...no. One of the cards was quite sweet, it was signed "To Mama Erin and Mama Maya." And I am always a sucker for anything with a hand print.
And of course, a holiday wouldn't be complete without me trying to get a group shot. Excuse Leo's evil red eye. Stupid iPhoto doesn't fix demon eyes very well (or maybe it's my lack of photo editing skills). By the way, I am all about the dressing up for whatever holiday it is. I realize the actual day is tomorrow but Leo is having a party at his school today (Ellie's was yesterday) and it's Valentine's Eve and there's no school tomorrow to dress up for, so there you go.
When he feels like it, Leo can really pose. Here he's doing his best to get his arm around Ellie. Most times she wants nothing to do with it.
Here's the best picture I could get of Ellie's Valentine's jeans. And if you squint you can kind of make out the heart buckle.
Whatever, Ellie. Look at hammy little Leo here in his Valentine (OK, it's a red t-shirt) outfit.
And me? I look forward all year to the day I get to wear these:
Monday, February 9, 2009
The Sleeping Pretzel and At Long Last, a Pony!
Sleep continues to be touch and go around here.
We've had some middle of the night wake-ups, but not too bad (knock on wood).
I still contend that the two hooligans meet nightly to discuss morning/middle of night wake-up plans. I can just hear them (in my fantasy they both speak in complete sentences, of course: OK, so who's getting up first? No, me!) Because it feels like invariably, when one sleeps in, the other is up at good old 5 a.m.-ish. Not so good.
This morning at 4:15, poor Leo woke up with some shall we say, leakage problems. I attended to them quickly and quietly and pretty much in complete darkness (still not sure how I pulled that off). So imagine my surprise and delight when he was back asleep in no time (I thought for sure he would be up for the day since it's close to his beloved 5 a.m.).
And then I heard the little girl wails. I brought her into bed with us and she was sweet and cuddly and playful. Of course there was no discussion on her part to go back to sleep.
So now I'm running on some serious fumes.
I leave you with Leo the Sleeping Pretzel:
I should document the positions I find him in for a glossy coffee table book. I assure you it would be riveting and thought provoking, as well as infinitely puzzling (how does he do it?)
And also, look closely. Is that a pony tail you see? (Look very closely as Ellie's hair happens to be almost the exact same color as our cabinets and floors!)
A real (little) pony tail? This is big. She won't let me do barrettes. She's not quite hairy enough for two pig tails. At this point I'll take what I can get.
Forgive me for this last one. No pony tail is visible. It's just some garden variety gratuitous cuteness.
Don't know where she got this thin, wispy little hair. None of my Jew-Fro for our girl. Yet.
We've had some middle of the night wake-ups, but not too bad (knock on wood).
I still contend that the two hooligans meet nightly to discuss morning/middle of night wake-up plans. I can just hear them (in my fantasy they both speak in complete sentences, of course: OK, so who's getting up first? No, me!) Because it feels like invariably, when one sleeps in, the other is up at good old 5 a.m.-ish. Not so good.
This morning at 4:15, poor Leo woke up with some shall we say, leakage problems. I attended to them quickly and quietly and pretty much in complete darkness (still not sure how I pulled that off). So imagine my surprise and delight when he was back asleep in no time (I thought for sure he would be up for the day since it's close to his beloved 5 a.m.).
And then I heard the little girl wails. I brought her into bed with us and she was sweet and cuddly and playful. Of course there was no discussion on her part to go back to sleep.
So now I'm running on some serious fumes.
I leave you with Leo the Sleeping Pretzel:
I should document the positions I find him in for a glossy coffee table book. I assure you it would be riveting and thought provoking, as well as infinitely puzzling (how does he do it?)
And also, look closely. Is that a pony tail you see? (Look very closely as Ellie's hair happens to be almost the exact same color as our cabinets and floors!)
A real (little) pony tail? This is big. She won't let me do barrettes. She's not quite hairy enough for two pig tails. At this point I'll take what I can get.
Forgive me for this last one. No pony tail is visible. It's just some garden variety gratuitous cuteness.
Don't know where she got this thin, wispy little hair. None of my Jew-Fro for our girl. Yet.
Friday, February 6, 2009
The Pickle We're In
So there has been some talk about the video I posted yesterday, of the young man with Down syndrome on the basketball team in Maine.
I guess when I said get your tissues, I wasn’t kidding. I didn’t say much about the video, mostly because when I see things like that, I’m not sure what to think. I think I’m just always a little hungry for glimpses into the future, of what Leo will look like, be like, act like (which I know is absurd, as if just because someone else has Down syndrome Leo will be like that person).
These kinds of videos usually make me cry (to be fair, it doesn’t take much). And I think they make me cry for a lot of different reasons. They make me cry because they make me both happy and sad. This particular video made me happy because the kid looked genuinely happy to be doing what he was doing (not really fair to judge him based on what I saw but he seemed pretty enthusiastic out there on the court and would he be playing with such intensity if he didn’t want to be there?).
It also made me happy because I thought it was pretty great that the kids on his team and the kids at the school were being exposed to this young man. To his dedication and tenacity. It did bug me that he’d been on the team for nine years filling water bottles and this was his first time on the court at a game? Really? Had he expressed an interest to play? Was there a reason he hadn’t been allowed? But also, as a journalist myself, I know about sloppy reporting. It is completely possible that some “facts” had been overlooked to make the story more convenient and “wrapped up in a bow.” Would it have been as compelling if it had not been the first time he had played? So we may never know the full story.
So the water bottle and the nine years part made me sad. And of course it made me sad that this kid couldn’t play basketball and score a basket and just be like everyone else, that it had to be some grand, big thing that he got to play in a game and all because he has Down syndrome.
Oh and throw in the dad who had just had a stroke who almost didn’t make it to his kid’s game?
I still don’t know. And I totally get what Amy says about the prom queens/kings. I want our kids to be included and recognized, but not as charity cases. I want Leo to fit in because he does, not because someone feels sorry for him. But let’s be honest. Leo is never going to be the Cool Kid. At least not in that way. I don't doubt that he will have friends and be well-liked. I'm not saying he's going to be some kind of pariah just because he has Down syndrome. But he's not going to be the effortlessly cool one, the one who always wears the right thing, says the right, dates the right person, drives the right car...but guess, what? Neither was I! I led a pathetic high school life on the edge of cool, friends with cool people but never an A-lister myself. I starved myself. I let people use me. I was the worst kind of not cool person: the one who cared that she wasn’t cool. I don’t wish this on anyone, especially my own kids. That’s part of why I dread the teen years, Down syndrome or not. Because I know from experience you don’t need that extra chromosome to not be cool.
Anyway, I am not being all that articulate here, partly because I am a bit all over the map on this subject (if you couldn’t tell). I think about how when Leo was born (as has been the experience of many other parents reading this), of all the well-meaning people who told me about the “always smiling young man (with Down syndrome, of course!) who works at McDonald’s greeting customers and bussing tables.” Those stories made me want to crawl into a hole and die. Could my son aim just a little higher? Please? But then sometimes I get mad at myself for thinking thoughts like this. Leo is a really friendly person. He also loves to help. Maybe he would love a job like that at McDonald’s? And who I am to say it isn’t good enough? (to be fair, he is only 4 ½ so it’s fair to say his “interests,” being “friendly” and “helpful” might change by the time he seeks gainful employment).
I want Leo to be happy. I want Leo to feel included and recognized. I don’t want that inclusion to be fake, but it may have to be sometimes. But what I don’t want is for him to know that it’s fake. It's almost like I'm saying I want him to be smart but I don't want him to be too smart. And this puts us in, what my mother used to refer to as “a bit of a pickle."
I guess when I said get your tissues, I wasn’t kidding. I didn’t say much about the video, mostly because when I see things like that, I’m not sure what to think. I think I’m just always a little hungry for glimpses into the future, of what Leo will look like, be like, act like (which I know is absurd, as if just because someone else has Down syndrome Leo will be like that person).
These kinds of videos usually make me cry (to be fair, it doesn’t take much). And I think they make me cry for a lot of different reasons. They make me cry because they make me both happy and sad. This particular video made me happy because the kid looked genuinely happy to be doing what he was doing (not really fair to judge him based on what I saw but he seemed pretty enthusiastic out there on the court and would he be playing with such intensity if he didn’t want to be there?).
It also made me happy because I thought it was pretty great that the kids on his team and the kids at the school were being exposed to this young man. To his dedication and tenacity. It did bug me that he’d been on the team for nine years filling water bottles and this was his first time on the court at a game? Really? Had he expressed an interest to play? Was there a reason he hadn’t been allowed? But also, as a journalist myself, I know about sloppy reporting. It is completely possible that some “facts” had been overlooked to make the story more convenient and “wrapped up in a bow.” Would it have been as compelling if it had not been the first time he had played? So we may never know the full story.
So the water bottle and the nine years part made me sad. And of course it made me sad that this kid couldn’t play basketball and score a basket and just be like everyone else, that it had to be some grand, big thing that he got to play in a game and all because he has Down syndrome.
Oh and throw in the dad who had just had a stroke who almost didn’t make it to his kid’s game?
I still don’t know. And I totally get what Amy says about the prom queens/kings. I want our kids to be included and recognized, but not as charity cases. I want Leo to fit in because he does, not because someone feels sorry for him. But let’s be honest. Leo is never going to be the Cool Kid. At least not in that way. I don't doubt that he will have friends and be well-liked. I'm not saying he's going to be some kind of pariah just because he has Down syndrome. But he's not going to be the effortlessly cool one, the one who always wears the right thing, says the right, dates the right person, drives the right car...but guess, what? Neither was I! I led a pathetic high school life on the edge of cool, friends with cool people but never an A-lister myself. I starved myself. I let people use me. I was the worst kind of not cool person: the one who cared that she wasn’t cool. I don’t wish this on anyone, especially my own kids. That’s part of why I dread the teen years, Down syndrome or not. Because I know from experience you don’t need that extra chromosome to not be cool.
Anyway, I am not being all that articulate here, partly because I am a bit all over the map on this subject (if you couldn’t tell). I think about how when Leo was born (as has been the experience of many other parents reading this), of all the well-meaning people who told me about the “always smiling young man (with Down syndrome, of course!) who works at McDonald’s greeting customers and bussing tables.” Those stories made me want to crawl into a hole and die. Could my son aim just a little higher? Please? But then sometimes I get mad at myself for thinking thoughts like this. Leo is a really friendly person. He also loves to help. Maybe he would love a job like that at McDonald’s? And who I am to say it isn’t good enough? (to be fair, he is only 4 ½ so it’s fair to say his “interests,” being “friendly” and “helpful” might change by the time he seeks gainful employment).
I want Leo to be happy. I want Leo to feel included and recognized. I don’t want that inclusion to be fake, but it may have to be sometimes. But what I don’t want is for him to know that it’s fake. It's almost like I'm saying I want him to be smart but I don't want him to be too smart. And this puts us in, what my mother used to refer to as “a bit of a pickle."
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Down syndrome on the "Today Show"
Just wanted to make sure everyone saw this about a high school basketball player in Maine with Down syndrome. Get your tissues.
Click here to view it.
Click here to view it.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
A Good Boy, New Kicks and Lots of (Fun) Yelling
It’s already Tuesday, so a weekend report feels dated, but here goes. Also some info that is not weekend-related.
I spent a lot of nice quality time with Leo this weekend. I am always amazed by how well behaved he is when it’s just the two of us. He holds my hand in the parking lot. He doesn’t kick me in the face and go rigid when I try to put him in his car seat. He walks calmly with me to the potty and doesn’t protest when I tell him it’s time to go. It’s so encouraging and refreshing. My little boy can be good. My little boy is growing up.
On Sunday Erin had work to do from home so while Ellie napped (well, that was the plan, she ended up waking up five minutes after Leo and I left the house) Leo and I went to a nearby indoor play space that he adores. There’s all kind of cool stuff to climb on and over and through. Plus it’s fun to see him interact with other kids and there are always some moderately friendly and sometimes downright annoying but humorous other parents there to either talk to or eavesdrop on.
After playing Leo was my shopping partner in crime. I went to Target ostensibly for diapers but of course, couldn’t just buy diapers. I simply had to get Ellie these:
How very Kurt Cobain of her, no? I guess you didn't know it but Ellie is a real hipster. OK so now you now.
Can you believe these are her first pair of sneakers ever? I wanted to get Leo a pair too but they didn’t have his size.
Later that evening Leo loved yelling along with Erin, as we watched the Superbowl. There was a time when Leo would cry at loud sporting events on TV (he hated any kind of loud, sudden noises, period—oh the tears) but those days appear to be long gone. NOW WE CAN YELL AS LOUD AS WE WANT! Yay!
And also:
Ellie has two new words:
“Uppy” (Up)
“Out”
It’s snowing here. Again. The daycare is closing early. Again. They are oh so sensitive to the needs of working parents, aren't they? Frankly, I'm losing my patience with them. I'm sorry, but the roads are not going to be that bad. I get that public schools have to close early because of buses, etc. but this is daycare folks. OK, rant over. Anyway, I fear a hellacious commute home (as everyone panic and scrambles to leave early) but look forward to hopefully being home in time to cook a real dinner, you know not Annie’s and not a Trader Joe’s frozen stir fry kit. Mom of the Year.
I spent a lot of nice quality time with Leo this weekend. I am always amazed by how well behaved he is when it’s just the two of us. He holds my hand in the parking lot. He doesn’t kick me in the face and go rigid when I try to put him in his car seat. He walks calmly with me to the potty and doesn’t protest when I tell him it’s time to go. It’s so encouraging and refreshing. My little boy can be good. My little boy is growing up.
On Sunday Erin had work to do from home so while Ellie napped (well, that was the plan, she ended up waking up five minutes after Leo and I left the house) Leo and I went to a nearby indoor play space that he adores. There’s all kind of cool stuff to climb on and over and through. Plus it’s fun to see him interact with other kids and there are always some moderately friendly and sometimes downright annoying but humorous other parents there to either talk to or eavesdrop on.
After playing Leo was my shopping partner in crime. I went to Target ostensibly for diapers but of course, couldn’t just buy diapers. I simply had to get Ellie these:
How very Kurt Cobain of her, no? I guess you didn't know it but Ellie is a real hipster. OK so now you now.
Can you believe these are her first pair of sneakers ever? I wanted to get Leo a pair too but they didn’t have his size.
Later that evening Leo loved yelling along with Erin, as we watched the Superbowl. There was a time when Leo would cry at loud sporting events on TV (he hated any kind of loud, sudden noises, period—oh the tears) but those days appear to be long gone. NOW WE CAN YELL AS LOUD AS WE WANT! Yay!
And also:
Ellie has two new words:
“Uppy” (Up)
“Out”
It’s snowing here. Again. The daycare is closing early. Again. They are oh so sensitive to the needs of working parents, aren't they? Frankly, I'm losing my patience with them. I'm sorry, but the roads are not going to be that bad. I get that public schools have to close early because of buses, etc. but this is daycare folks. OK, rant over. Anyway, I fear a hellacious commute home (as everyone panic and scrambles to leave early) but look forward to hopefully being home in time to cook a real dinner, you know not Annie’s and not a Trader Joe’s frozen stir fry kit. Mom of the Year.
A Letter to Ellie
Dear Ellie,
I know you have an ear infection. I know your ear hurts. I know you are cranky. I know that medicine that you have to take is disgusting. Just the smell makes me gag, so I can imagine how it tastes. And do they have to make it so thick? It’s like bubblegum scented gravy. Geez. With all of the advances we’ve made—the iPhone, ibuprofen, Frappuccinnos, there just has to be another, better way.
But for now, there isn’t. And since I’d really like for you to not get, oh what are we on now, ear infection #7?--I’ve lost count—but anyway, since I’d like to stop you from getting another one or at least to get rid of the one you have, will you please, please take the medicine?
I know it’s just an ear infection, but last night Ellie was horrifically cranky. It seemed like she still wasn’t feeling any better, even after four solid days on an antibiotic. She does this new thing now where when she wants me to pick her up she cries and whines and stands at my feet and actually holds on to my legs and tries to turn me around to face her. But there are moments, say when I am cooking her and her brother dinner when I just cannot hold her.
I wish she would understand that we can help her. That if she'd just take that dreadful muck she would actually feel better. There's nothing more frustrating (well, I can probably think of a few more things but you get my point...) than knowing there is a way that you can make your child feel better, and yet they fight you on it. She is a willful little one, this girl. She turns her head and locks her jaw, and then when you do get the medicine in, watch out for the Oscar worthy perforance of dramatic gagging and coughing (what's next? Her head spinning around?).
Yesterday morning she woke up at 5:30 a.m. and didn’t nap too long so by the time I had her she was m-i-s-e-r-a-b-l-e. She did pull a bit of a Woody Allen in "Annie Hall" (the scene where he’s too sick to perform but still manages to work up an appetite for white meat chicken) when I presented her with a bowl of Annie’s mac and cheese. She ate it voraciously, followed by her other favorite: grape tomatoes in vinaigrette. I would like to think that because she still has an appetite that she is getting better.
I. just. wish. she’d. take. the. medicine.
I know you have an ear infection. I know your ear hurts. I know you are cranky. I know that medicine that you have to take is disgusting. Just the smell makes me gag, so I can imagine how it tastes. And do they have to make it so thick? It’s like bubblegum scented gravy. Geez. With all of the advances we’ve made—the iPhone, ibuprofen, Frappuccinnos, there just has to be another, better way.
But for now, there isn’t. And since I’d really like for you to not get, oh what are we on now, ear infection #7?--I’ve lost count—but anyway, since I’d like to stop you from getting another one or at least to get rid of the one you have, will you please, please take the medicine?
I know it’s just an ear infection, but last night Ellie was horrifically cranky. It seemed like she still wasn’t feeling any better, even after four solid days on an antibiotic. She does this new thing now where when she wants me to pick her up she cries and whines and stands at my feet and actually holds on to my legs and tries to turn me around to face her. But there are moments, say when I am cooking her and her brother dinner when I just cannot hold her.
I wish she would understand that we can help her. That if she'd just take that dreadful muck she would actually feel better. There's nothing more frustrating (well, I can probably think of a few more things but you get my point...) than knowing there is a way that you can make your child feel better, and yet they fight you on it. She is a willful little one, this girl. She turns her head and locks her jaw, and then when you do get the medicine in, watch out for the Oscar worthy perforance of dramatic gagging and coughing (what's next? Her head spinning around?).
Yesterday morning she woke up at 5:30 a.m. and didn’t nap too long so by the time I had her she was m-i-s-e-r-a-b-l-e. She did pull a bit of a Woody Allen in "Annie Hall" (the scene where he’s too sick to perform but still manages to work up an appetite for white meat chicken) when I presented her with a bowl of Annie’s mac and cheese. She ate it voraciously, followed by her other favorite: grape tomatoes in vinaigrette. I would like to think that because she still has an appetite that she is getting better.
I. just. wish. she’d. take. the. medicine.
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