What I Wish I Knew. Again.

End of year teacher gifts: (Erin's) homemade pepper jelly transformed (by my last minute aka the night before attempt at craftiness) into "Leo's Famous Red Pepper Jelly". Met with great enthusiasm by one of Leo's teachers, whose thank you card read: "Leo's gorgeous self on a jar of red pepper jelly? Must keep forever! He was so happy to give me this and I am so tickled by it...Leo is one in a million!"

As of last Tuesday, Leo is officially finished with third grade. Not sure how that happened. By all accounts, it's been a wonderful school year for Leo. This year marked his move to a new "placement" that has challenged him and enriched him. I don't think there is any question that he rose to the occasion, as we all hoped he would. He had a busy schedule, moving from a self-contained class for learning disabilities (he's the only student with Down syndrome in the class, a first for him) to general ed, and across the hall to yet another classroom for math. For the most part he was in charge of tracking his own schedule, knowing that, for example, at 10 a.m. he had music, at 11:30, P.E., and so on.

Hard to believe that when he started at this school back in kindergarten, this is the kid I feared would bolt from the school.

Last week, Ellie, Harry, Lucy and I were lucky enough to catch Leo in the school talent show where he was part of a dance routine, performed to Shakira's "Waka Waka," and yes, you heard that right. On my end, it was a bit of a disaster in that it happened to be in the middle of the twins' nap time, in other words: Babies Meltdown Central. And did I mention there was a thunder and lightening storm as I unloaded everyone from the car and I managed to temporarily lose my car keys when it was time to leave?. All in a day's work, my friends. Well, Leo could have cared less about all of this. What mattered to him is that we were there, in the front row, squirmy, whiney Harry and all, to see him in all his Shakira glory. 


"Leo had a wonderful year," Mrs. F, Leo's third grade teacher, wrote to me in an email early  last week. "Please keep in touch. I have been going to high school and college graduation parties of my former students-Invite me and I will come to Leo's!" 



How Leo keeps busy when I'm putting Ellie to bed: "Planets."



I am so grateful for Leo's cheerleaders, like Ms. F. For the teachers and therapists and "team members" who have always had faith in him, who have held my hand and reassured me when his route changed course. I get so attached to these teachers, I actually cry as I sit down to write the year end thank you cards. 

While I'm relieved and reassured by how well Leo is doing at school, at home, lately, things have been a little more complicated. OF COURSE if there is going to be any problem with Leo's behavior I want to have the "problem" that we have, which is that he seems to reserve all of his antics for home and for me, rather than school. Better of course, that he's the pride of Mrs. F's class (Yes, his teachers still look at me like I've lost the plot when I describe some of Leo's behavior at home. They see NONE of it). Wonderful! But it sure doesn't make life at home unchallenging lot of the time.

Lately and all too often I feel like I have absolutely no control over him. He never used to have a temper and he suddenly does. He frequently shows little regard to house rules and I find myself muttering to myself (out of his earshot, of course) "You just do whatever you want, don't you?" He wants to watch TV? He turns it on, even though he knows TV time is over. He knows the twins are not allowed in his room unless I'm in there with them and yet, he opens the door and in they scamper. He refuses to close the door and in a moment of frustration I hold it closed. He's so strong that I think in a moment of frustration he could break it down. 




A few times over the last couple of months, Leo has demonstrated a behavior unseen in him for years: refusal to leave a place. About a month ago it was the park, where he was having fun (which sort of made sense). A few weeks ago it was the community center where Ellie takes swimming lessons. He shut himself in a locker and wouldn't leave. That...made no sense. At age five, I could throw him (though not easily) into a stroller and call it a day. Now? He's almost nine years old and close to seventy pounds and his stroller days are long gone.

And yet. This is the boy that throws his arms around Erin and me when Erin returns home after working late and exclaims "Group Huz!" (Group Hug.) A few nights ago after an ugly altercation between Leo and me about his refusal to leave the twins' room at their bedtime, Leo took a particularly long time selecting a book for me to read. "Just pick one!" I pleaded, weary and beaten down by the power struggle and so eager to be finished with the seemingly never ending bedtime routine.

He handed me a picture book version of Charlotte's Web. 

"Just like you read when you were a little girl," he announced. Leo knows I'm a sucker for Charlotte's Web. While it didn't occur to me at the time,  I really think that was his peace offering to me (in all the commotion of bedtime we had not resolved the argument he and I had in the twins' room). Leo has his own unique way of apologizing and he always does when he knows he's done something wrong.

The guilt gnaws away at me. If our house were less busy, if things were calmer, if there wasn't always a toddler whining in the background or Ellie needing something, would I have more patience? More time to stop and discipline Leo properly, to pay attention to his needs at that moment?

I think so much of his behavior, his anger and frustration at home, is attention seeking. We make every effort to give him as much as one on time as possible on the weekends. And as guilty as I feel? I firmly believe that in terms of Leo coming from a big family, the advantages (social, language, the list goes on...) far outweigh the disadvantages. Not to mention, this IS our life now. This is his life-he is one of four.

Enroute to visit Grandma Jerry in New Orleans last week.

Refusing to turn off the TV, not leaving a room or a place when asked, it's clear to me that it's all about power. I can only speculate that he feels he has none, or very little (I know the feeling, buddy). 

I know what my sweet boy is capable of. I see it on the mornings that he gets dressed without being asked and proudly waits for me at the bottom of the stairs in his favorite tshirt: Super Grover, declaring: "The World Is Mine." I see Leo's overwhelming capacity for empathy when he races to get Lucy's beloved stuffed Barney after she falls and skins her knee on the driveway. 

Only Leo would throw his sturdy arms around me after I place a steaming plate of scrambled eggs in front of him at dinner time, declaring me, "Best Mommy EVER!" 

When I consider how far Leo has come...how far I have come, well, I can only hope that someday I'll look back on all of this with a lot more wisdom than I have now. I know the answers will arrive. They always seem to. I still think of those early, befuddled, grief-filled days with newborn Leo, where I, still numb with the surprise diagnosis would stare at him with so many questions: What do  I do? Why did this happen?

All I can think is, if only I'd known then, that someday a teacher would write me a note declaring Leo, "One in a million." 

Because he certainly is.

Tricks

Lucy has a new one.

Hey, what's that you got there? A zipper? Hmmmm...

Who me? Right. SO innocent. And Harry? He is the perfect victim, crying and whining and collapsing into a little whimpering puddle of SAVE ME! whenever Lucy strikes. Which is...often. 

Yes, she's taken to attempting to disrobe her big brother. She had already started trying to strangle him pulling off his bibs (ouch!). Now, if the poor guy is in possession of a zipper (footy pajamas, coat), forget it.

She's also moved on to Houdini-like antics herself. Last night I went in to check on the twins before I went to bed and sure enough, she'd made good progress in unzipping her own sleep sack. It wasn't completely off but I did spot a little naked pink foot, so she'd clearly made some headway. This morning? There sat the sleepsack in a little pile. She's the first kid to successfully escape one of those sacks. She certainly won't keep a blanket on, so not sure what we're going to do about that.

Speaking of tricks, someone is very excited about his new keyboard. This is "his" musical instrument for the year and he gets to keep one at home to practice.

Leo's teacher emailed me in advance to let me know he'd be bringing it home and that it was just for Leo's use and to let me know if it was a problem having it in the house (does she know our crazy family, or what?). Leo was very good, waiting until after dinner to haul it out. He even performed a little "concert" for us. Note: I use the term concert loosely. Ahem.

He's especially a fan of the "outer space effect" (think 50's alien movie soundtrack) that his little keyboard features. He calls it "solar system" music.

He is very proud.

The Black Eye and the Bus

Our babysitter called me at work on Friday afternoon (and yes, I panic EVERY time I see my home number light up on my office phone). Leo came off the bus crying and very upset and yes, what every mom just loves to hear: bleeding.

His bus aid explained that Leo had hit the side of his head on the bus.

Huh?

Exhibit A (taken the day after the incident). It actually looked even worse on day three.

My first question (I had a lot) was, how fast was that little bus going? Was he strapped in? Tightly? Of course this happened on a Friday afternoon so there was no one for me to call. All I could do was watch Leo's face grow more purple as the weekend progressed. Monday morning, you can be sure I emailed Leo's (wonderful and very conscientious) teacher to give her some background on the shiner. I knew Leo would give her an earful but I wanted to make sure she was clear on how it supposedly happened.

She returned my email immediately, told me she took a picture of Leo's eye and marched him to the principal's office to show her. Several emails were fired off to the superintendent and the transportation and special education department. (I had already emailed them all). They weren't messing around and I loved it.

Well. I was pleasantly surprised to hear from the director of special education almost immediately. Evidently they take black eyes from school buses pretty seriously. And by early afternoon I received the following email from her:

I contacted [the director of Transportation] when I received your email. She immediately reviewed the bus video from Friday afternoon and sent a copy to me. [The superintendent] and I carefully reviewed it as well. It showed Leo sleeping soundly on the bus, with his seat belt on. However, as Leo slept, his head moved back and forth which caused him to involuntarily bump it on the side of the bus. The bus monitor immediately rose and attended to Leo. Also, it did not appear that the bus was traveling above the speed limit.

Side note: My baby falls asleep on the bus! Poor guy.

I was pretty surprised to learn that school buses have video cameras. I didn't know this was standard though I guess I should, after watching enough episodes of "20/20" (who didn't see that grandma getting beat up, repeatedly, a few years ago?). I was relieved to find out about the cameras. Leo can definitely verbalize a lot more than he used to and there is no doubt in my mind that if someone hurt him or if something wasn't right, he would tell us. But still, sending your kid out in the world, any kid, let alone a kid who is difficult to understand and perhaps, a little extra trusting, well, it's a scary proposition. So I was mostly at peace with the original email, but I'd by lying if I said I was completely satisfied with the explanation. You can imagine my relief when I got this note, from Leo's (amazing) teacher:

[The principal]  let me see the bus video (since I am such a skeptic lol). I am happy to say that it is true! Leo was asleep his head rolled to the left hit the window (no speed bump, no speeding) and I am really pleased at the bus aides reaction. She jumped right up and comforted Leo!! All is GOOD! Have a GREAT day!

Aside from Leo's eye (which looks so much better, already), all is good. And I am further heartened to learn that Leo's teacher isn't afraid to ask a few extra questions. It takes a village for sure, and if a few of those village members are skeptics to boot? All the better.

Letters Home

I received this note from Leo's speech therapist this morning:

"I just want to mention something that was really touching during Leo's group session yesterday.
We were having a "tea party," a nice little vehicle for language exercises.
Just before everyone pretended to drink the "tea," Leo bowed his head and started giving "Thanks."
And so the rest of the students started doing the same. It was adorable.
He is a great boy."

Live, From Third Grade

Leo's math teacher sent me more pictures this morning.

I love that she does this.

I also love the expression on Leo's face in that first shot.

"He looks so proud!" I replied in an email, to Mrs. L's pictures.

"He Is," Mrs. L wrote back.


These show Leo using the class' new smartboard. The school was awarded a grant which gave one to every classroom in the building. For those who don't know-and I didn't until last week's parent-teacher conference-it's essentially a giant, interactive computer screen and has rendered televisions/DVD players and overhead projectors (here's where I show my true age!) obsolete in many classrooms.

Speaking of the parent teacher conference, Leo is doing well at school. His teacher thinks we made a wonderful decision placing him in this new setting (as of September, we pulled him out of the "cognitively delayed" classroom and put him in a "language and learning disabilities" class).

All in all, it was a pretty uneventful conversation with the teacher (which, I guess, is what you want?).

*He's making friends, adjusting to an increased amount of responsibility (for the most part, he's in charge of his own schedule, for example he knows at 9 a.m. he has "inclusive PE," with the rest of the third grade, at 11:30 he has art, and so on).

*He is, according to his teacher, Mrs. F., one of the best readers in the class.

*He's making friends. One of his most loved activities is the morning "Snack and Conversation" where the students sit in a circle (and yes, have snack) and talk about a prompted subject: "What I did over the weekend" or "The Best Thing I Did On My Summer Vacation." While the students do sometimes have difficulty understanding him, they all sincerely try to figure out what he's saying. As they get to know him better, it's becoming easier.

*Meanwhile, we are seeing a huge improvement in Leo's speech since the start of the school year and I can only presume it's related to the fact that he's surrounded by kids with much better speech and more sophisticated vocabularies. Leo's speech is becoming more natural, more, conversational. At night I walk in the door and he asks me "How was your day, Mommy?" It's little things: he's using words like "quietly" and "carefully."

*The subject Leo continues to struggle the most with is math. I'm quite confident this is genetic and has nothing to do with extra chromosomes since I was an absolute disaster in math too. "Is he doing third grade math?" asked Mrs. F. "No, we're going much slower for him because it's taking longer for him to figure certain concepts out. But that's just fine and he's progressing and that's exactly what we want to see."

*His favorite day is still Friday, when Mrs. L., the math teacher brings in her "therapy" dog Finn. The children read to Finn and visit with him. Leo is his Number One Fan (and yes, Mrs. L. promised to send me a picture she next time Finn makes a visit). Stay tuned.

Patterns: The World Is His

Leo's math teacher emailed me some pictures this morning (How awesome is that? I love a little window into his academic world.)

"Look at the patterns Leo made using triangles and diamonds!" wrote Mrs. L.

Leo is so funny. Whenever he is particularly proud of something that he's showing you, he does this funny little thing where he puts his hands on his hips and crosses one leg in front of the other. I have no idea where he learned it. He's a show-man, that's for sure.

He's also, as you can see, clearly quite modest.

He also, thankfully, boasts a fantastic sense of humor.

A few other bonus school-related photos:


A perfect spelling test (last week)! I'm seeing a definite improvement in Leo's handwriting.


And, the requisite Columbus Day project. He was very proud of this, and gave us quite the lesson about Columbus and all his "accomplishments" over dinner. He told us about each ship, to which Ellie responded: "The Nina, the Pinta and the Pizzeria?"

You With the Stars in Your Eyes

Leo, presenting his latest version of the solar system. I feel like he's made a lot of progress since his last version.

Leo continues to be fascinated with all things space. If you ask him about space? Make sure you have some time. Because he will talk. A lot. He knows that Jupiter has a big red spot on it. He loves to talk about saturn's rings (made from ice! And rock!). And he feels very bad for Pluto, who, as everyone knows, was demoted.

You may recall this interest began in the spring, when his class began studying the solar system. We're doing what we can to encourage Leo. Superheros are fine and good but space exploration in eight year olds is something I can really support.

Erin bought him a special "space" issue of National Geographic, which he absolutely devoured. He'd been asking for "space dvds." We found some on YouTube (who can forget "Interplanet Janet?") but a little more research on Amazon presented us with this jewel. Ellie positively groans when Leo asks to watch it but I think she secretly enjoys it.

Back in July, Grandma and Grandpa bought Leo these for his birthday (they hang from the ceiling).

I'm just impressed all those planets (except for Earth, which unceremoniously came crashing down on Leo's bedroom floor sometime in August) are still intact. Speaking of home decor, while searching for an image of the ceiling planets, I came across this, which would be abso-stinking-adorable in Leo's room:

I curse you, overpriced Land of Nod bedding, for all the the fantasies (and at $229 for a full-size quilt, I do mean fantasies) you plant in the heads of well-intentioned parents everywhere!

And Then I Cried

We picked up a couple of extra kids on our recent trip to Oregon. (Just kidding, these belong to some good friends of ours in Portland.)

I'm starting to think every entry here could very well just read something like I went to [fill in the blank] and did [fill in the blank] and then I cried.

Before you lose complete patience with me, I'm not sad. I'm not depressed. It's just--life right now is so very full. And it just feels like it's all going by so dang fast. The littlest, most mundane things (a seemingly dry description of Ellie's kindergarten reading program) feel somehow, poignant.

Last night was Back to School night for Leo and Ellie. Since they are at different schools, Erin and I divided and conquered, with Erin at Leo's school while I went to Ellie's.

I love Ellie to pieces, but I knew Erin got the better deal. (To be fair, Ellie's been at her school all of four weeks and she's on the bottom of the totem pole whereas Leo? He's a big, bad, known entity of a third grader! Look out!)

First of all, any visit to Leo's school is a huge mood lifter/self-esteem booster as a parent. I don't know how we got so lucky with this kid but teachers, therapists, school secretaries, the aides to the aides, nearly all of them seem to love Leo. I'm not fond of the mayor analogy (so many kids with Down syndrome get called the "mayors" of their schools or towns--but hey, those cliches come from somewhere, right?). But I can definitely see how someone would could call Leo a "mayor" of sorts. Of course, this wasn't a parent-teacher conference meant to tell us how Leo was doing but more a way for us to familiarize ourself with his new teacher, class and curriculum.

But lucky for us, people at Leo's school (especially Leo's teacher new Mrs. F) like to talk. And they seem to like to say mostly good things about Leo. So we'll take it.

Photo by Rick Regan

I absolutely adore Mrs. F. She exudes enthusiasm and energy, is no-nonsense, has a great sense of humor and she likes to use the word "Oy." Yes, she had me at "Oy." This year already feels so different than last. Leo's in a true third grade, as opposed to a split. Rather than coming home with homework that requires cutting and pasting, he's reading paragraphs and answering complex comprehension questions. Every night we sign his Homework Planner.

Photo by Rick Regan

Did I mention I almost had a panic attack when I realized Leo only has two more years (after this one) of elementary school?

Photo by Rick Regan

On the Ellie front, I bring her to school every morning but haven't actually stepped foot in her classroom since last June's orientation, so it was fun to sit at her little desk last night and get a peek into her day. It's funny to say, but you get a little spoiled when you have a kid in special ed. There's just so more communication. Emails home, little notes in his folder. Aside from a wave and a passing "Hello" in the morning when I drop her off, I've had no real contact with Ellie's teacher (which, I'm told by my friends who have kids without IEPs, is just pretty much how it goes.) I mean, I'm sure I'll have a bit more meaningful contact, but probably not to the extent that I have with Leo's teachers and therapists.

In any case, I think I now officially know why she is such a blubbering hot mess by 6:20 every night. My oh my, they keep those little people busy. Ninety minutes of language arts? Math Centers? No wonder most nights she actually asks if it's time to "go upstairs."

I was relieved to hear there are "only" twenty kids in her class. I can hardly handle one five year old so I'm still trying to wrap my brain around how one person can even handle twenty, but still, twenty seems far more human than 28-30 (which I've heard of for kindergarten).

And yes, my eyes welled up a little as Ms. M. went over the different reading and math and social studies and science programs. How did we get here? To Kindergarten? Will Lucy and Harry pad into this same classroom in three and a half years? Time just marches and marches on. And then it seems to march on a little faster.

Sunrise, Sunset: Back to School

Aaaaand we're back from the Great Oregon Vacation (otherwise known as Sleep is for the Weak).

And our return means one thing: School.

Leo, first day of third grade

Ye Annual First Day of School Portrait by the Front Tree. Can someone please tell me where these giant children came from?

Walking Ellie to kindergarten (OMG, OMG, Breathe--that's me I'm talking to--she was of course, cool as a cucumber). This photo, blurry as it is, really sums it up for me. It could have been taken from a merry-go-round, which, I'll admit, is sometimes how life feels, spinning and spinning, sometimes (often) a little out of control.

Time, it flies. It just keeps marching on and on and on, ready or not, like it or not.

Ellie, first day of kindergarten

I was a little unprepared for how emotional I felt this morning, when I gave Ellie a hug and a kiss and a squeeze and an "I'm so proud of you, I can't wait to hear about your day!"

After all, I've been dropping her off at "school" for more than four and a half years but this...felt different. This is an entirely new beginning. The door on Ellie's baby and toddler and preschooldom has been slammed shut forever. It's wonderful and inevitable, of course, but it stings a little. The beginning of this new life for Ellie is thrilling but yes, it does leave me humming "Sunrise, Sunset." Because really, where does the time go? I know that I will be turning around in a few years as I drop Harry and Lucy off at kindergarten, asking myself the same damn thing.

This morning I lingered for a few minutes in the school yard after Ellie and I said our goodbyes, careful that she not see me. I wasn't sure what to do. Should I stay and watch her go inside with her class? A lot of the other parents seemed to be staying. Ellie fidgeted with the straps of her supply-laden backpack and peered in the window of one of the classrooms and finally, when I realized I had done everything I needed to do, that this was Ellie's experience to have, I turned around and started toward my bus.

Deep breaths.

***

I leave you with this. A teaser of our amazing, exhilarating, exhausting and altogether wonderful trip to Oregon.

More soon.

And here's hoping your back to school season, whatever that might entail, is off to a good start.