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.

Greetings From a Very Grateful "Fifth Wheel"

Yes, this already happened. We may be a little excited.

I refuse to let a whole month go by with no posting.

Time marches on. Fall is a blur. We've already had our first snow fall.


Did I mention we had our first ever (that I can recall) white Thanksgiving?


Speaking of Thanksgiving, its spoils (the crafts and cards that the children bring home) never get old: Oh Leo, how I love YOU!


We are still trying to figure out Leo's placement for next year. More on that to come. I am in deep, deep (did I mention DEEP?) denial that this year is his last year of elementary school which is another way of saying that next year means middle school. Change is hard (for me). Leo has had a good few months, just finished up his first season of soccer on a special needs team and he's excited about the upcoming basketball season (same league).



I am ridiculously late to posting just about everything that happened in the last few months--this picture feels like a million hundred years ago but Ellie had a blast playing soccer this season. She was incredibly spirited and excited and I think just genuinely loved being a part of a team. She cried when the season ended ("I won't get to see any of the girls on my team anymore!"). She's devouring books (Dan Gutman is her favorite author) and leading us all in holiday craft time (my favorite of late is the ornament she made today, composed of red and green construction paper  that said simply: "2014: I was 7.")


This girl continues to push every button of my soul, even buttons I didn't know I existed. She barrels through her little life as her twin brother does, but in a different way. I've never known someone who could be so gleeful as she was being insistent. Often it seems like there simply are no rules in Lucy's life. When I tell her not to do something I'm met with, "Oh MOMMY," and I can almost hear her cluck her little tongue at me as she goes about her merry way, fetching her loaf of bread and jar of blueberry jam out of the refrigerator even though it's only 9:30 am, not lunch time  or even snack time and LUCY PUT DOWN THE STEAK KNIFE PLEASE. She's in that challenging "Uppy MOMMY!" phase--it's stunning how she can be so needy and yet so mind-numbingly independent at the same time. Case in point: Tonight I marveled at her ability to put on her own pajamas--she meticulously layed them out on the green shag rug and slipped each miniature leg into a sleeve of knit lavender polka dot legging. "I did it ALL by myself!" She squealed proudly.

And then barely missing a beat, she announced she didn't want to wear those pajamas. She wanted her CHEETA pajamas. Because, of course!!

Sometimes when I get truly desperate, I remind myself that she just wants attention--there's a lot of competition in our house and everyone has a different tactic in getting theirs. And just when I think she is going to throw herself on the ground or burst into tears and refuse to acquiesce, she'll shrug her tiny shoulders and say Oh, OK. Three year olds. They are just little mysteries aren't they?


Harry holds court at the traditional (preschool) feast of chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese.

Harry is thriving at preschool. His language is exploding and his sentences are becoming more complex. "Mommy, I want to go downstairs and eat my dinner. Pick me up!" (This is his command to me every morning--by the way, dinner=breakfast). He continues to have a predilection for falling head first off of chairs and spilling the equivalent of buckets of seltzer (Oh HARRY! is still heard several times a day at our house), but it's partly how he barrels through his little life that makes him so irresistible. When he and Lucy are not having complicated conversations about who has which body part, and disagreeing about who ate all the Pirate Booty, they are telling us they love us. In the last few months Harry and Lucy have become confirmed playmates (they have been all along of course but the "parallel play" has officially graduated into more detailed, organized activities and scenarios. Ellie is often the ring leader: "Let's play Superheros! Let's play Evil Fairies! Let's play Snow Queens!"

I've been meaning to mention this for the last oh, three months (sorry, blog): More and more I feel like the most giant Fifth Wheel in the history of wheels around these four. They play and play and oh sure, fight and bicker and squable and someone bursts into tears and then someone yells and then someone apologizes. And then they go back to playing Snow Queens.


When they asked to do Play-Doh this weekend I cringed inwardly (it usually takes longer to set it up and clean up the mess than the time it takes to actually play it) but with no better ideas to offer (it was 29 degrees outside), I agreed. What followed was an unprecedented TWO HOUR PLAY-DOH MARATHON. I know.

It's amazing. And I never thought I would like being "left out" out of anything. But the other day I took a shower in the morning while they were all downstairs, just playing. I think it's fair to say I never thought that day would come. Life, it does go on.

Middle School Trepidation, (Happy) Conference Tears and My Accidental 31 for 21 Post

The middle of October? GAH!

This is the first year since I've kept this blog that I have not participated in 31 for 21 (blogging for 31 days in honor of Down syndrome awareness/October as Down syndrome Awareness month).

I am not happy about this. I miss this blog. I miss reflecting on this crazy life. It's not that I'm NOT reflecting, I just don't have the same kind of time to compose my thoughts on said crazy life.



As I always do, I will blame them.



They are so helpful while raking leaves, said no parent of preschool twins EVER.



Fall is in full swing. Our neighborhood is awash in orange twinkly lights and porches are bedecked with pumpkins, hay and mums. There also seems to be a proliferation of zombie decorations this year (or as the twins call them, "b'zombies," to which I echo, "pastrami?"). Don't ask--this is what happens when you spend WAY too much time with two three year olds.

We are almost two months into school (what?) and this week was parent teacher conferences.



I met with Leo's teacher first. It was...ok.  He's doing FINE. Math is still his biggest struggle and I'm trying to figure out if it has to be this hard. I mean, I'm not looking for some kind of miracle but I have to wonder if part of it is the way it's being taught. We discussed my interest in him using a more visual math program. I brought up (TouchMath) a program I'd heard good things about and was met with blank looks. I will continue to pursue this. One lightbulb moment though: I don't have to help Leo with his homework. In fact, according to his teacher I shouldn't be doing so. I can't tell you how huge this is. Up until this point I've been sitting with him, dictating some words when he asks, helping him form sentences. The teacher's response: Stop it. He can do it himself and SHOULD be. And guess what? She was right. Of course Leo is not happy about this new development but he'll get used to it.


Our annual visit to...the apple farm parking lot. Ha ha kidding. We did go apple picking, it was just so hectic that I forgot to ask Erin to take a picture until we were about to pack it up go home. Be assured it was scenic!

I can't go into too much detail here but I will say that I am getting VERY NERVOUS about the upcoming transition to middle school. Preparations are already beginning. We are touring a prospective school on Monday and another the following week. This is a time I've been dreading for years, leaving the safe, familiar comfort of his sweet elementary school. The rumor has always been, as one of my dear fellow "special needs" moms puts it, that middle school is "where it all falls apart." Let's hope (OBVIOUSLY) that's not the case. Stay tuned.


Ellie is really into Halloween. Talking about Halloween. Drawing Halloween (seen here: haunted house).

Ellie's conference felt decidedly lighter. When I walked into the room, the teacher welcomed me to a little table and announced that "this is a conference I've been looking forward to."

Swoon.

Of course I teared up. I almost always do at conferences. Yes, Ellie is doing well and fine academically. She's reading at grade level. Math-wise, she's right where she should be. But what her teacher remarked on is Ellie's sensitivity and helpfulness, her compassion and innate ability to recognize when other children need assistance. She detailed how Ellie will help another child, but do it in such a way that she's not drawing attention to herself or seeking out commendation, nor does she in any way make the child feel inferior because they need extra help.

Hmm. Wonder where this comes from? Could it be, that all those articles and studies about the benefits of growing up with a sibling with special needs might actually be true?



Another small example: Ellie's teacher told me that the other day she asked Ellie to bring something to the office and told Ellie she could choose a "buddy" to accompany her. All arms went up in the air. Rather than choose one of her little friends, Ellie, by her own volition, picked a child that is one of the most troublesome, who requires a lot of attention (for behavior). And Ellie's teacher thought that was a pretty impressive choice.

Last night Ellie was asking me about middle school (she listens to everything I say. When will I actually digest this?). "Will Leo and I go to the same middle school?" She asked. I told her no, that it wouldn't work out because of the age difference, but then I did the math and realized they could potentially be in the same high school (OMG. HIGH SCHOOL?).

"But we wouldn't be in the same class, right?"

I said no, not the same class. And then I paused and asked her why she thought that was. I wanted to know if she was going to say something about special needs (she does know the term and she does know about Leo's Down syndrome).

"We won't be in the same class because they don't allow brothers and sisters to be in the same class," Ellie announced with certainty and pride and just a tinge of irritation for my not knowing this.

Swoon again.

So there you go. And maybe this is my accidental "31 for 21 post."

5, 2, Pre-K, Pre-K: Ready, Set, Go!

And just like that, summer was over.



All in all, it was a good one. It was not without its complications of course (working part-time from home with four kids? Not for the faint of heart-By the way, I think I need to just go ahead and pre-order that line on my grave stone: Not For The Faint of Heart). But considering all there was to balance, I think it went well. It was the first I spent with the kids since The First Summer (that would be, when the twins were born and GAH I think I have basically repressed that by necessity). Needless to say life at home with four that includes twin three year olds is a little different than newborn twins (newsflash!).

I want to say this was our last "hard" year (stop laughing). Maybe next year I will be able to manage more daring outings solo? In the beginning and middle of the summer we were still haggling with naps so we were limited schedule-wise--oh but those days are all in the past now (SOB). Harry could definitely still use one, a fact which he makes particularly clear around 2:58 pm each day when suddenly all the Lego structures start falling apart and he wants cheese crackers right! Nowwwww! And whyyyyy can't he have MORE Batman Legos? But instead, he chose to fall asleep on the way to picking Ellie up from camp. For a whole ten minutes. On particularly long days, Lucy would usually snooze on the way home. Because, tandem naps? HA!


It was Ellie who had this genius idea when we went school supply shopping last week. Two carts! One for Twins, one for Stuff. Brilliant. Everyone was happy, reasonably calm and well-behaved. Also? Contained. WIN!


By Labor Day everyone was clamoring to get back to routine (or start one). This was at 7:30 in the morning. Ellie playing school with her eager students.


Ironically, the littlest one was the first to go back. Lucy started preschool last Wednesday (a day before the other three returned). So far (all two days), so good! Her teacher has picked up on her "stubborn streak" (a kind word for Lucy's tendency to uh, bulldoze her way through life), but we shall see how it all shakes out. She is certainly ready, that we know.


First day of second and fifth grade. No idea what was going on with this little love fest here. I think they were both so thrilled to soon be rid of each other that they decided to show a little last-minute affection.


I know, I know, Harry was in preschool for much of the summer but he was "off" the whole month of August and he had an official first day just like the big kids.


Day one had Ellie very excited to impress her new teacher (or maybe she was just eager to try out the Mr. Sketch markers I had to go to two different stores to find-they were on her supply list as "required.")


Ready! Set! Everyone say, Back to School!

And that's just what they did.