The debate over where Connor will attend Kindergarten has ended. Tuesday, we visited our local public elementary school. It's a lovely school. The class size is small and there is learning galore going on.
But the sensory overload - my goodness! Everywhere we looked, something covered the wall-- a counting line, letters, notes to the students about the day, discipline and reward charts, lunch sign-up, attendance, simple sentences describing pictures.
The teachers definitely seemed nice, energetic, and happy to be there. But it seemed they placed a high emphasis on seeking order. But this order seemed somewhat elusive. In the first class, children were asked to please raise their hands to speak and take turns. But someone always shouted out the answer before the child being asked the question had to wait too long. I almost laughed out loud as the children prepared to head to the library and were instructed to line up in alphabetical order, which they did - lucky Adele. In the next class, a specialist was discussing the art of sharing. Children waved their hands and practically burst as they wiggled to get noticed to give an answer. A few times, she said "OK, everybody give a clap" and then she would clap in a certain rhythym, and the children would mimic her clap and settle briefly, only to be wound up a few minutes later. Before she began to read her story, the main teacher put on her listening ears complete with sound effects and motions, then she zipped her lips, double-locked them, and thew away the key. Ed and I both thought this was a tad insulting. Of course, everyone was quiet briefly. And all of these requests are perfectly reasonable, and I suppose necessay to accomplish the goals that the school is trying to accomplish - teaching some concrete skills that can be easily tested.
And sure, the kids are fine. Most of them are probably even thriving. But does anyone stop to question whether they're focusing on a skill set that is just not appropriate to this age child? Does anyone question whether it is appropriate to ask a 5 or 6 year old child to sit still and be quiet? Does anyone ask why it is even necessary to try and coerce them to do so? Why are these children wiggling and making noise when you could hear a pin drop during a puppet show at Connor's current school? Is it possible that the material being taught in our public schools is not at all age appropriate? Should a child of 5 or 6 be drilled on counting? Is this the best use of their time?
We'll continue to ask these questions in this house, but for now, we're planning on sending Connor to Waldorf school for one more year. Unlike the school we toured today, Connor's school resonates with joy. I'm not saying that children in the public school aren't happy, it just doesn't seem as apparent as it is where Connor currently is. At a Waldorf school, children have all the tools they need to perform the work of Kindergarten, which in the Waldorf world consists of three elements: manual work (the activities done to create something or maintain the environment), the work of play (hopefully play that is imaginative and creative), and substantive work (the work done to form a cohesive unit). This contrasts starkly with the mental work so favored in traditional schools - work Waldorf schools view as appropriate for children age 7 or more.
And guess what? When we made the decision, I didn't even have to resort to crying!
Elaine
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Saturday, February 20, 2010
He Skis!
A video will come at some point, but here's an action shot of Connor from the mountain today. He lasted from 11:00 - 3:15, with only a break for lunch. He cruises, he turns, he stops, he loves it. As I shot this photo, he shouted "take a whole bunch, Mommy, so I can give one to all of my friends!"
I'm already looking forward to next year's ski vacation, and Ed is inspired to head out to Ski Liberty this season if weather permits. Give a shout if you want to join!
Elaine
I'm already looking forward to next year's ski vacation, and Ed is inspired to head out to Ski Liberty this season if weather permits. Give a shout if you want to join!
Elaine
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Winter Sleigh Ride
We took a horse-drawn sleigh ride tonight to dinner. After dinner, but before we headed back home, Connor was outside and saw the horses tied up. He looked up at Ed with a very mischievous grin and asked "Do you think if we say giddy-up, the horses will take off running?". He decided not to try it, so I suppose we'll never know.
On the ride back to the shuttle bus, he and his older cousin both got to take a turn at holding the reigns. Once we hit the van, Connor fell asleep. Apparently, learning to actually ski down the mountain is exhausting. After ski school today, he took four green runs with Grandpa Dick, Ed, and me. I'm definitely impressed at what a little instruction can do. Yay, Connor!
On the ride back to the shuttle bus, he and his older cousin both got to take a turn at holding the reigns. Once we hit the van, Connor fell asleep. Apparently, learning to actually ski down the mountain is exhausting. After ski school today, he took four green runs with Grandpa Dick, Ed, and me. I'm definitely impressed at what a little instruction can do. Yay, Connor!
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Swimming, in the snow?
I can't attest to ever doing it before, but I can report that today, the whole vacation gang went swimming. Outside. While it snowed around us. And as far as I could tell, everyone had fun. And might I add, that finding an activity that 9 people with ages spanning six decades all enjoy can be a bit of a challenge.
Probably the little people had the most fun as they kept begging adults to go and get them "MORE SNOW PLEASE" after the path to the snow became a bit treacherous for small legs to traverse, even when those small legs followed the lifeguard's rule and walked.
Next up? Snow tubing. This adventure seemed much more appropriate for the weather. Helen opted to hang out with my parents in the lodge and play with play-dough, while the remainder of the group hit the hill.
When asked to rate the outing, Connor gave it a two thumbs up.
Towards the end of our adventure, Helen told my parents that she wanted to come out and see us. She then decided she was ready to try it herself. The ride up the magic carpet was fine. While in line, she announced "I'm not quite ready to be done with tubing." When time to launch came, she announced "I'm all done now." For the first few yards of the downhill, she was fine. Then she got sprayed in the face with snow, and the rest of the adventure was not fun. She rated it two thumbs down.
Elaine
Probably the little people had the most fun as they kept begging adults to go and get them "MORE SNOW PLEASE" after the path to the snow became a bit treacherous for small legs to traverse, even when those small legs followed the lifeguard's rule and walked.
Next up? Snow tubing. This adventure seemed much more appropriate for the weather. Helen opted to hang out with my parents in the lodge and play with play-dough, while the remainder of the group hit the hill.
When asked to rate the outing, Connor gave it a two thumbs up.
Towards the end of our adventure, Helen told my parents that she wanted to come out and see us. She then decided she was ready to try it herself. The ride up the magic carpet was fine. While in line, she announced "I'm not quite ready to be done with tubing." When time to launch came, she announced "I'm all done now." For the first few yards of the downhill, she was fine. Then she got sprayed in the face with snow, and the rest of the adventure was not fun. She rated it two thumbs down.
Elaine
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Ski School
This morning, Connor reluctantly headed off to ski school. I had to promise him he could bring his own lunch, that I would check on him often, and that I would ride the gondola with him at the end of the torture. I also made a pact with Ed that even though ski school was costing us an arm and a leg, I would spring Connor at lunch if he wasn't having fun, because vacation is about fun, not about torturing the little dude. And since my parents are a rock-star entertainment committee (just ask Helen, who didn't even bat an eye when we left her behind today), he doesn't need to be in ski school in order for Ed and I to get in as much skiing as we want.
I met my end of the bargain - even though the ski school lady told us she did NOT recommend parents meeting their children at lunch, since it usually made their kids cry that they wanted to leave. Not so with Connor.
When I met Connor at the end of the day for his final release from ski school, and I told him that tomorrow was "Family Fun Day" (because life is always better with fabulous names - calling it a rest day seemed so mundane). He told me that maybe instead we could go skiing again, and he could be in ski school. He suggested a formula of two days of ski school for every one day of resting. We're still taking a break tomorrow and visiting some hot springs, the local library, and a tubing hill. Ski school involves 6 hours of time, four of which are on the slopes, and no nap. It doesn't seem like a wise move to me to do two consecutive no-nap days.
And just what can one 4 year old learn in a day? According to Connor, he learned to ski on the air, but he hit his head very hard when he landed and had to go get a new head. He doesn't quite remember how to ski on the air, so he couldn't show me, but he did show me how to make a pizza shape with his skis, turn, and eventually come to a stop (thank you, gravity and friction). His teacher commented on his remarkable balance, and said he could move to Level 2 lessons tomorrow, or 1+ if we waited a day.
Monday, February 15, 2010
A Teaching Moment
Airports have provided a wealth of opportunity for "teaching moments". When regulations forbidding various liquids on planes went into place, and Connor had to dump out a cup of apple juice, it was easy to answer his question.
"Why did they take my apple juice?"
"Because George Bush told them to."
This was logic passed onto me from a friend who had to explain the snatching of Burt's Bees chapstick to his son. Because really, allowing that sippy cup of juice would have been fine.
Regularly, Connor would parrot that George Bush took his apple juice when we were in airports. It made me proud.
On our flight to Denver, another such moment came up. We purchased tickets that flew directly from Dulles to Denver - non-stop. Only when I went to check in, I was told not only that they hadn't assigned me four seats together, but that the plane would be stopping midway to fuel. Of course, I told the airline employee that this was absolutely unacceptable. She would need to find me a new direct flight. I paid extra for this flight and I should get the flight I paid for. She corrected that this was still a direct flight, and of course, I rolled my eyes and told her NONSTOP, DIRECT. The next one? It would fly the next morning at 6AM. But of course, that was only what it was scheduled to be, not what it might actually turn out to be.
Connor, of course, sensed my great distress. He asked what was wrong. I told him that our trip was going to be two hours longer than we had planned.
"Why, Mommy?"
"Because they are a big corporation, and they do not respect our time."
"That's not nice."
"No, Connor, it is not nice. But we are small people, and this is a big corporation, and they have lots of power. Until we as small people stand up and refuse to take it, we'll keep getting more of the same. But as it is, we want to go on vacation, and our only option for getting there even close to on time is taking this flight, even if it is not the one we signed up for. We'll write them a letter."
Every person near me in the airport was annoyed at United. Some laughed when they heard Connor's and my banter, some nodded. I figured I had at least had the opportunity to plant a seed.
To be fair, the flight ended up only being delayed by a half hour. They made up lots of time in air and they certainly did get the plane up and going quickly when they refueled.
Elaine
"Why did they take my apple juice?"
"Because George Bush told them to."
This was logic passed onto me from a friend who had to explain the snatching of Burt's Bees chapstick to his son. Because really, allowing that sippy cup of juice would have been fine.
Regularly, Connor would parrot that George Bush took his apple juice when we were in airports. It made me proud.
On our flight to Denver, another such moment came up. We purchased tickets that flew directly from Dulles to Denver - non-stop. Only when I went to check in, I was told not only that they hadn't assigned me four seats together, but that the plane would be stopping midway to fuel. Of course, I told the airline employee that this was absolutely unacceptable. She would need to find me a new direct flight. I paid extra for this flight and I should get the flight I paid for. She corrected that this was still a direct flight, and of course, I rolled my eyes and told her NONSTOP, DIRECT. The next one? It would fly the next morning at 6AM. But of course, that was only what it was scheduled to be, not what it might actually turn out to be.
Connor, of course, sensed my great distress. He asked what was wrong. I told him that our trip was going to be two hours longer than we had planned.
"Why, Mommy?"
"Because they are a big corporation, and they do not respect our time."
"That's not nice."
"No, Connor, it is not nice. But we are small people, and this is a big corporation, and they have lots of power. Until we as small people stand up and refuse to take it, we'll keep getting more of the same. But as it is, we want to go on vacation, and our only option for getting there even close to on time is taking this flight, even if it is not the one we signed up for. We'll write them a letter."
Every person near me in the airport was annoyed at United. Some laughed when they heard Connor's and my banter, some nodded. I figured I had at least had the opportunity to plant a seed.
To be fair, the flight ended up only being delayed by a half hour. They made up lots of time in air and they certainly did get the plane up and going quickly when they refueled.
Elaine
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Happy Month 54, Connor!
Dear Connor,
What can I say to sum up this month, except that you are an incredibly pleasant person to be around. At least most of the time. You shower me with affection, and regularly announce that when you are as old as me, we shall marry. And if Daddy would like to marry Helen then, he may. You nightly confirm that you are my ‘true love’, something you learned about when I sang you the 12 Days of Christmas over the holiday season.
“Mommy, what’s a true love?”
“A true love is the one person in the world who you love the most. No matter what this person does, you always love them. You can’t help it, they’re your true love.”
Thinking for a moment “you are my true love, Mommy”.
I doubt I will have “True Love” status forever, Connor, but it is a big wish of mine that you do, in fact, find your true love. Life can be really overwhelming sometimes, and life can seem really unfair, but life can also be uplifting, and fun, and full of excitement. I hope you find someone with whom to cherish all of life’s moments. After all, I will hold onto your past as long as I am around, but there will be a time that someone else will take hold of your future. And I truly hope that someone will be your true love. It’s not easy, but the payoff can be tremendous. You asked your dad recently about when our wedding anniversary was and after thinking about it a moment, he did get the answer right. We started dating on September 13, 1998. He still makes me laugh, takes my highs and lows in stride, and brings a smile to my face when I think about him. Even when I’m thinking about the way he steadfastly refuses to squeeze the tube of toothpaste from the bottom or put it back on the shelf when he’s done. Worse, if I try a two tube system, by day 2 both tubes of toothpaste have been squeezed from the middle and not returned to the shelf. But you know what, Connor, he’s my true love, and that means I have to forgive him, and remind myself that he also singlehandedly painted the hallway leading to the basement— which was no small task— while I hung out with Aunt Linda a few weeks ago.
You’ve begun to love going to other friend’s homes for playdates. One Friday, I was a few minutes behind the other parents picking you up from class and you instantly ran out of the classroom asking if you could please, please, please have a playdate. At this point, most of the class had gone home, but you swirled around and found Maya and instantly begged her to come over. As it turns out, her mom had plans that afternoon with her so she couldn’t come, but you did go to her house the next week. It’s an interesting contrast. On the one hand, you do not wish to be separated from me at all. On the other, you want to hang with your buddies.
I intended to tour the local elementary school this week, but instead I shoveled more snow than I care to think about while school was canceled for the day - and then eventually the week. As of now, DC has officially passed its highest recorded level of snowfall in a season since someone started keeping track of this statistic. And, I learned today that every state except Hawaii got snow this year. You were a trooper when it came to helping shovel snow, but I think you enjoyed our cave making a little more. We didn't attract any arctic foxes - but we were ready! And sometimes life is about the means, not the ends.
You also like to help out around the house. One evening, your dad and I painted the sitting room while you were asleep. When you got up the next morning, you burst into tears because we had been working without you. Strangely, it is the only time I have picked the wrong paint color, so we had to repaint the next day. Serves me right, I suppose. You were quite happy to help. You also fold laundry whenever you get the chance, carefully choosing all the napkins and making them into a square that will fit into the napkin drawer. I appreciate the help and the companionship in this job that is most definitely, not my favorite.
You want to be faster, first, and always get just a little bit more. From what I understand talking to parents of your peers, this is not unique to you. However, I have to level with you: it’s not that impressive to beat Helen in a race. But hey, I should also admit that occasionally when your dad or I outsmart you or Helen, we think we resemble rock stars. So, I guess I understand the celebrations.
Family date night was a huge success and you have already admonished Helen for opting to go to bowling instead of Build-A-Bear on our next one. I keep reminding you that it is not “Build-A-Bear Night” and we will not be going there very often, but a boy can dream, right?
You said so many things that made me laugh this month, and I intended to draft text around them, but it never happened. A sampling from these gems comes next.
One day while you were in the car with your dad you recalled "The other day when I was at school, I got my finger pinched by a chair. The other children wanted to see it. But there really wasn't anything to see."
While hiding in a toy oven, I turned it to make it impossible to open. You replied "Oh please don't leave me in here too long, for I shall surely burn if you do".
On our first night of vacation, you wanted to sleep with me and Dad rather than Helen. "Mommy, please don't make me sleep with Helen. She'll talk so much that she'll keep me up all night." And I should note, that argument almost won you a spot in my bed because it quite likely could be true!
Regularly, we run around pretending to be animals. If you get caught, you most likely say "please don't eat me, I'm much too small".
Your dad was lying in bed one night when you came in from going to the bathroom, and you began reciting the story of the 3 Little Bears and let your dad know he was supposed to run out when you came in and discovered him.
And...for your freaky accomplishment of the month:
While attempting to put your rainbow puzzle together, you figured it out by reciting a book that you haven't seen for probably two years. Weird. You do this so often though, that I should really stop thinking of it as weird, and start realizing you just have a freaky brain.
You make me and other around you laugh regularly, Connor. You show logic and reasoning skills that regularly impress.
Love,
Mommy
What can I say to sum up this month, except that you are an incredibly pleasant person to be around. At least most of the time. You shower me with affection, and regularly announce that when you are as old as me, we shall marry. And if Daddy would like to marry Helen then, he may. You nightly confirm that you are my ‘true love’, something you learned about when I sang you the 12 Days of Christmas over the holiday season.
“Mommy, what’s a true love?”
“A true love is the one person in the world who you love the most. No matter what this person does, you always love them. You can’t help it, they’re your true love.”
Thinking for a moment “you are my true love, Mommy”.
I doubt I will have “True Love” status forever, Connor, but it is a big wish of mine that you do, in fact, find your true love. Life can be really overwhelming sometimes, and life can seem really unfair, but life can also be uplifting, and fun, and full of excitement. I hope you find someone with whom to cherish all of life’s moments. After all, I will hold onto your past as long as I am around, but there will be a time that someone else will take hold of your future. And I truly hope that someone will be your true love. It’s not easy, but the payoff can be tremendous. You asked your dad recently about when our wedding anniversary was and after thinking about it a moment, he did get the answer right. We started dating on September 13, 1998. He still makes me laugh, takes my highs and lows in stride, and brings a smile to my face when I think about him. Even when I’m thinking about the way he steadfastly refuses to squeeze the tube of toothpaste from the bottom or put it back on the shelf when he’s done. Worse, if I try a two tube system, by day 2 both tubes of toothpaste have been squeezed from the middle and not returned to the shelf. But you know what, Connor, he’s my true love, and that means I have to forgive him, and remind myself that he also singlehandedly painted the hallway leading to the basement— which was no small task— while I hung out with Aunt Linda a few weeks ago.
You’ve begun to love going to other friend’s homes for playdates. One Friday, I was a few minutes behind the other parents picking you up from class and you instantly ran out of the classroom asking if you could please, please, please have a playdate. At this point, most of the class had gone home, but you swirled around and found Maya and instantly begged her to come over. As it turns out, her mom had plans that afternoon with her so she couldn’t come, but you did go to her house the next week. It’s an interesting contrast. On the one hand, you do not wish to be separated from me at all. On the other, you want to hang with your buddies.
I intended to tour the local elementary school this week, but instead I shoveled more snow than I care to think about while school was canceled for the day - and then eventually the week. As of now, DC has officially passed its highest recorded level of snowfall in a season since someone started keeping track of this statistic. And, I learned today that every state except Hawaii got snow this year. You were a trooper when it came to helping shovel snow, but I think you enjoyed our cave making a little more. We didn't attract any arctic foxes - but we were ready! And sometimes life is about the means, not the ends.
You also like to help out around the house. One evening, your dad and I painted the sitting room while you were asleep. When you got up the next morning, you burst into tears because we had been working without you. Strangely, it is the only time I have picked the wrong paint color, so we had to repaint the next day. Serves me right, I suppose. You were quite happy to help. You also fold laundry whenever you get the chance, carefully choosing all the napkins and making them into a square that will fit into the napkin drawer. I appreciate the help and the companionship in this job that is most definitely, not my favorite.
You want to be faster, first, and always get just a little bit more. From what I understand talking to parents of your peers, this is not unique to you. However, I have to level with you: it’s not that impressive to beat Helen in a race. But hey, I should also admit that occasionally when your dad or I outsmart you or Helen, we think we resemble rock stars. So, I guess I understand the celebrations.
Family date night was a huge success and you have already admonished Helen for opting to go to bowling instead of Build-A-Bear on our next one. I keep reminding you that it is not “Build-A-Bear Night” and we will not be going there very often, but a boy can dream, right?
You said so many things that made me laugh this month, and I intended to draft text around them, but it never happened. A sampling from these gems comes next.
One day while you were in the car with your dad you recalled "The other day when I was at school, I got my finger pinched by a chair. The other children wanted to see it. But there really wasn't anything to see."
While hiding in a toy oven, I turned it to make it impossible to open. You replied "Oh please don't leave me in here too long, for I shall surely burn if you do".
On our first night of vacation, you wanted to sleep with me and Dad rather than Helen. "Mommy, please don't make me sleep with Helen. She'll talk so much that she'll keep me up all night." And I should note, that argument almost won you a spot in my bed because it quite likely could be true!
Regularly, we run around pretending to be animals. If you get caught, you most likely say "please don't eat me, I'm much too small".
Your dad was lying in bed one night when you came in from going to the bathroom, and you began reciting the story of the 3 Little Bears and let your dad know he was supposed to run out when you came in and discovered him.
And...for your freaky accomplishment of the month:
While attempting to put your rainbow puzzle together, you figured it out by reciting a book that you haven't seen for probably two years. Weird. You do this so often though, that I should really stop thinking of it as weird, and start realizing you just have a freaky brain.
You make me and other around you laugh regularly, Connor. You show logic and reasoning skills that regularly impress.
Love,
Mommy
Friday, February 12, 2010
Happy Month 28, Helen!
Dear Helen,
I have heard more than once that a true test of someone's mettle is what they do in times of crisis. And this past month, we got a glimpse of just how wonderful you could be. I was putting together a picture frame that came in the mail. You were hovering over my left shoulder and Connor was hovering over my right shoulder. Because a screwdriver, in my hands, what could be more exciting than that? Connor must have rocked his stepstool a bit, and he plummeted to the ground.
Ed recalls that Connor screamed when he hit the ground (I do not remember this scream - but I do remember a terrible look), I instantly reached down to pick him up. Immediately after I had him in my arms and was waiting for a huge howl in my ear, he flopped backwards. I thought he was playing around. He was not. He had fainted in my arms. I screamed at Ed that Connor fainted. Ed yelled something about Connor having gummis in his mouth as Ed lunged towards me and Connor. I yelled he must be choking. Ed grabbed Connor. I made a beeline for the phone and dialed 9-1-1. It took them three rings to answer. THREE RINGS! In case you do not know how long three rings is (because by the time you read this, we might not even have telephones, we'll have some other crazy contraption to communicate with), it is an eternity when you are staring at your child and under the impression he is not breathing. T.H.R.E.E. R.I.N.G.S. By the time the woman answered, Connor had "come to" and Ed was telling him to spit the gummis out. Ed had definitely given Connor a thrust in the tummy, but in piecing everything together, neither of us think Connor was choking. But he definitely passed out. And he could have been choking on a gummi. We just don't know. (And did I mention it took THREE RINGS for 9-1-1 to answer? Which is actually remarkably fast service under normal circumstances, but when in a panic, it is not so fast.) I told the operator that my son had passed out but that he appeared to be fine. She asked if I wanted an emergency vehicle to come, but I declined, as each passing moment seemed to confirm that Connor was fine. I did, however, call my sister and ask for my brother-in-law's cell phone number because I had no qualms at all about interrupting his cigar event to figure out if I needed to get to the ER for follow-up or not. (And by the way, Ed and I were trying to remember just how many ER trips my brother-in-law has allowed us to avoid, and we couldn't- but we know it's more than a few! Thanks, Bill!)
Through all of this chaos, Helen, you stood on your stool and watched silently - which must have been hard for you since you rarely stop talking when you are awake - even in your sleep you talk some nights. And that, my friend, is the absolute most helpful thing you could do. But once Connor was laying down on the floor on a pillow, and Ed was getting Tylenol for Connor's hurt head and a cool cloth, and I was talking to Uncle Bill, you pulled up right next to him, gave him a pat and told him "It's OK, little dude. Daddy will be right back. I'll be your friend." and you snuggled up next to him and put your little pink blanket on top of the two of you. That was possibly the sweetest moment of life I have witnessed to date. I wish I could save it in a bottle. I did think about taking a photo, but then decided it was more important to listen to what Uncle Bill was telling me.
After everyone was calm again, you proudly pointed out that you had stood on your stool without falling.
You also follow the wake-up light, and usually sleep well after it comes on. Here's the deal. Day 1, you stayed in bed until well after it had turned on. Your dad and I gave each other a swift high five and looked forward to more of the same. Day 2 - you unplugged your wake-up light and claimed it had broken. I let you in my bed because I didn't feel like arguing with you. Day 3 - wake-up light was never plugged back in so it was on the ground and you were in my bed in the middle of the night. Day 4 - I took you back up to your room only to have you protest that the light was broken. After you got back to sleep, I tried to turn the light on so that whenever you woke up, you'd see it and start to have faith in it. It was on the ground. Unplugged. I was confused. I plugged it back in. You woke up, unplugged it, came down and gloriously announced "I broke the wake-up light. It does NOT work." I took you back upstairs and indeed, there it lay in the floor. Our au pair had witnessed you messing with it when she came home that night so she helped us piece this part of the story together. Day 5 - I got a new light and told you it was not broken and reminded you that children in this house DO NOT TOUCH electrical plugs. Days 6 - 8, I returned you to your bed every night showing you the light was not on. You didn't actually protest, just went to sleep with a few pats and a brief song. Day 9, you enlisted Connor in your plot to convince me the light was on in the middle of the night. Since then, smooth sailing - sleeping until around 6:45 almost every day. Awesome. But here's the story behind day 9.
The night Connor hit his head, after he'd fallen to sleep in his bed, Daddy moved him down to our bed so that I could check on him constantly without having to walk up and down the steps each time. Connor's first words to you the next morning when you came into my room announcing "my wake-up light camed on!" were "Helen, I got to sleep in Mommy's bed ALL NIGHT! Daddy brought me downstairs last night when I was sleeping!" and you definitely gave me a look questioning the authenticity of this story. I didn't want to dwell on it knowing you would be completely offended, so I changed the subject. You must have digested it though, because the next night, rather than coming down to my room in the middle of the night to see if you could sleep in my bed (a strategy that had proven wholly unsuccessful), you actually went in and woke Connor up. Over the monitor I heard "Connor, my wake up light camed on! You can come downstairs with me!". Obediently, if not enthusiastically, Connor had begun following you. I met the two of you at the top of the stairs and told you the wake-up light had not come on, and Connor almost breathed an audible sigh of relief as I tucked him back in bed. You were a little more disappointed, so we sat in your chair for a few minutes before I put you back in bed. I guess sometimes you have to try and gather your armies, Helen, and since Connor had somehow managed to wiggle into my bed the night before, you figured he might make for a good ally.
You have enjoyed scissor privileges, though I can only guess they might be short-lived. I overheard you telling your au pair that you needed a haircut and when she said that you could talk to Mommy after nap you responded "I do it by self!" in your usual, emphatic way. I suppose you'll look super cute in a little pixie cut when you do finally go for it.
You spent the motnh perfecting your foot stomp that accompanies every important statement you make. The arm fold is a bonus, though not a necessary element of the routine.
One day during our recent snowstorm, Connor and I were out making a snow fort long after you had tired of eating icicles and playing outside. You had the best time snuggling up with your dad reading the Dog book over, and over, and over. You even got to sit right beside him instead of on his lap, something you claim to not get to do very often.
You only occasionally truly enjoy the snow, but I suppose if I the snow was up to my shoulders, I'd be a bit leery as well.
At the Super Bowl party we took you to, you quite enjoyed playing with a little rocker and refilling your water cup. You didn't even spill it until we were leaving, and since our neighbor is the most laid-back person in the world, it didn't cause much concern. Every neighbor in attendance commented on your rock star vocabulary as they tried to reconcile your small stature with your use of the word "occasionally" and other multi-syllabic words in context. You remain a performer at heart, excitedly pronouncing TOUCHDOWN with your hands and arms in the air when cued.
Your fashion sense continues to surprise, if not impress. The green sweater you're wearing here is referred to as your "New Jersey". I believe that phrase comes from your au pair calling it a jersey, and you hearing "New Jersey" in reference to Cape May, a vacation we relive often (which is good since we're repeating it this year).
You have finally gotten to enjoy being Daddy's helper in the paint department. You must have been up in Connor's room for over an hour helping him with your small brush and small "paint tray". Daddy had a fun time.
Your million smiles still light a room, my dear.
Love,
Mommy
I have heard more than once that a true test of someone's mettle is what they do in times of crisis. And this past month, we got a glimpse of just how wonderful you could be. I was putting together a picture frame that came in the mail. You were hovering over my left shoulder and Connor was hovering over my right shoulder. Because a screwdriver, in my hands, what could be more exciting than that? Connor must have rocked his stepstool a bit, and he plummeted to the ground.
Ed recalls that Connor screamed when he hit the ground (I do not remember this scream - but I do remember a terrible look), I instantly reached down to pick him up. Immediately after I had him in my arms and was waiting for a huge howl in my ear, he flopped backwards. I thought he was playing around. He was not. He had fainted in my arms. I screamed at Ed that Connor fainted. Ed yelled something about Connor having gummis in his mouth as Ed lunged towards me and Connor. I yelled he must be choking. Ed grabbed Connor. I made a beeline for the phone and dialed 9-1-1. It took them three rings to answer. THREE RINGS! In case you do not know how long three rings is (because by the time you read this, we might not even have telephones, we'll have some other crazy contraption to communicate with), it is an eternity when you are staring at your child and under the impression he is not breathing. T.H.R.E.E. R.I.N.G.S. By the time the woman answered, Connor had "come to" and Ed was telling him to spit the gummis out. Ed had definitely given Connor a thrust in the tummy, but in piecing everything together, neither of us think Connor was choking. But he definitely passed out. And he could have been choking on a gummi. We just don't know. (And did I mention it took THREE RINGS for 9-1-1 to answer? Which is actually remarkably fast service under normal circumstances, but when in a panic, it is not so fast.) I told the operator that my son had passed out but that he appeared to be fine. She asked if I wanted an emergency vehicle to come, but I declined, as each passing moment seemed to confirm that Connor was fine. I did, however, call my sister and ask for my brother-in-law's cell phone number because I had no qualms at all about interrupting his cigar event to figure out if I needed to get to the ER for follow-up or not. (And by the way, Ed and I were trying to remember just how many ER trips my brother-in-law has allowed us to avoid, and we couldn't- but we know it's more than a few! Thanks, Bill!)
Through all of this chaos, Helen, you stood on your stool and watched silently - which must have been hard for you since you rarely stop talking when you are awake - even in your sleep you talk some nights. And that, my friend, is the absolute most helpful thing you could do. But once Connor was laying down on the floor on a pillow, and Ed was getting Tylenol for Connor's hurt head and a cool cloth, and I was talking to Uncle Bill, you pulled up right next to him, gave him a pat and told him "It's OK, little dude. Daddy will be right back. I'll be your friend." and you snuggled up next to him and put your little pink blanket on top of the two of you. That was possibly the sweetest moment of life I have witnessed to date. I wish I could save it in a bottle. I did think about taking a photo, but then decided it was more important to listen to what Uncle Bill was telling me.
After everyone was calm again, you proudly pointed out that you had stood on your stool without falling.
You also follow the wake-up light, and usually sleep well after it comes on. Here's the deal. Day 1, you stayed in bed until well after it had turned on. Your dad and I gave each other a swift high five and looked forward to more of the same. Day 2 - you unplugged your wake-up light and claimed it had broken. I let you in my bed because I didn't feel like arguing with you. Day 3 - wake-up light was never plugged back in so it was on the ground and you were in my bed in the middle of the night. Day 4 - I took you back up to your room only to have you protest that the light was broken. After you got back to sleep, I tried to turn the light on so that whenever you woke up, you'd see it and start to have faith in it. It was on the ground. Unplugged. I was confused. I plugged it back in. You woke up, unplugged it, came down and gloriously announced "I broke the wake-up light. It does NOT work." I took you back upstairs and indeed, there it lay in the floor. Our au pair had witnessed you messing with it when she came home that night so she helped us piece this part of the story together. Day 5 - I got a new light and told you it was not broken and reminded you that children in this house DO NOT TOUCH electrical plugs. Days 6 - 8, I returned you to your bed every night showing you the light was not on. You didn't actually protest, just went to sleep with a few pats and a brief song. Day 9, you enlisted Connor in your plot to convince me the light was on in the middle of the night. Since then, smooth sailing - sleeping until around 6:45 almost every day. Awesome. But here's the story behind day 9.
The night Connor hit his head, after he'd fallen to sleep in his bed, Daddy moved him down to our bed so that I could check on him constantly without having to walk up and down the steps each time. Connor's first words to you the next morning when you came into my room announcing "my wake-up light camed on!" were "Helen, I got to sleep in Mommy's bed ALL NIGHT! Daddy brought me downstairs last night when I was sleeping!" and you definitely gave me a look questioning the authenticity of this story. I didn't want to dwell on it knowing you would be completely offended, so I changed the subject. You must have digested it though, because the next night, rather than coming down to my room in the middle of the night to see if you could sleep in my bed (a strategy that had proven wholly unsuccessful), you actually went in and woke Connor up. Over the monitor I heard "Connor, my wake up light camed on! You can come downstairs with me!". Obediently, if not enthusiastically, Connor had begun following you. I met the two of you at the top of the stairs and told you the wake-up light had not come on, and Connor almost breathed an audible sigh of relief as I tucked him back in bed. You were a little more disappointed, so we sat in your chair for a few minutes before I put you back in bed. I guess sometimes you have to try and gather your armies, Helen, and since Connor had somehow managed to wiggle into my bed the night before, you figured he might make for a good ally.
You have enjoyed scissor privileges, though I can only guess they might be short-lived. I overheard you telling your au pair that you needed a haircut and when she said that you could talk to Mommy after nap you responded "I do it by self!" in your usual, emphatic way. I suppose you'll look super cute in a little pixie cut when you do finally go for it.
You spent the motnh perfecting your foot stomp that accompanies every important statement you make. The arm fold is a bonus, though not a necessary element of the routine.
One day during our recent snowstorm, Connor and I were out making a snow fort long after you had tired of eating icicles and playing outside. You had the best time snuggling up with your dad reading the Dog book over, and over, and over. You even got to sit right beside him instead of on his lap, something you claim to not get to do very often.
You only occasionally truly enjoy the snow, but I suppose if I the snow was up to my shoulders, I'd be a bit leery as well.
At the Super Bowl party we took you to, you quite enjoyed playing with a little rocker and refilling your water cup. You didn't even spill it until we were leaving, and since our neighbor is the most laid-back person in the world, it didn't cause much concern. Every neighbor in attendance commented on your rock star vocabulary as they tried to reconcile your small stature with your use of the word "occasionally" and other multi-syllabic words in context. You remain a performer at heart, excitedly pronouncing TOUCHDOWN with your hands and arms in the air when cued.
Your fashion sense continues to surprise, if not impress. The green sweater you're wearing here is referred to as your "New Jersey". I believe that phrase comes from your au pair calling it a jersey, and you hearing "New Jersey" in reference to Cape May, a vacation we relive often (which is good since we're repeating it this year).
You have finally gotten to enjoy being Daddy's helper in the paint department. You must have been up in Connor's room for over an hour helping him with your small brush and small "paint tray". Daddy had a fun time.
Your million smiles still light a room, my dear.
Love,
Mommy
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Lucky Day!
It seems, sometimes, that life comes down to luck. Some people seem to have it in spades. Some folks wax on about how hard work can overcome anything, and much of the time that sentiment has legs, but other times, it just seems that it comes down to luck. How else to explain how some women produce what seems like gallons of milk right after birth while others struggle and never produce as much as their children want.
I know I'm lucky. Almost ten years ago, I went through a winning streak that landed me tickets to a Lucy Kaplansky show at The Barns of WolfTrap, incredible seats to Beauty and the Beast at the Kennedy Center, and the week after that performance, I married Ed. Of course, thinking back on this same period, I now remember I also had the flu - during which I lost about 10 percent of my body weight - and my piece of crap Ford Escort finally rolled over and died, even though it didn't have that many miles on it. But two tranny replacements in 13 months? No, I don't think so. But in general, I think I'm a lucky person - and maybe that says more about my focus than my actual lot in life.
I've tried to instill in my kids the sense of randomness that comes with luck. I don't want them to ever feel too entitled to anything. I want them to relish the surprise that comes with life. Regularly, the kids find coins around the house and announce "it's my lucky day!", and I smile every time. Mostly, I want them to know that when someone isn't well off, it might just come down to the fact that they didn't happen to get lucky - nothing more, nothing less.
A few weekends ago, we headed off to go to a massive train show. I would post a photo, but my computer crashed, and I have yet to get the photos recovered. (But because I'm a lucky person, I'm pretty confident they will be recovered at some point.) On the way, we decided to stop at a nearby German bakery. Always, always, always, when we go to the bakery, the chef is there handing out goodies. In fact, Connor commented on the way "If they don't have cookies out today, I will simply ask for one." because if he doesn't prefer the cookie being handed out, they'll happily reach behind the counter and give him his choice.
But man, oh man, did we hit the jackpot. As it turns out, they were giving their twice annual bakery tours that day. While on the tour, we walked away with a loaf of bread, several cookies, fresh donuts, cupcakes that each of the children got to decorate, muffins, cookies freshly dipped in chocolate (milk and dark!) and probably more stuff that I'm just forgetting. Connor and Helen got to help make muffins and cookies, which impressed them greatly (and me too!). This was, indeed, a lucky day!
At 28 months, Helen seems finally to be weaning herself completely. We still nurse at night, but for the last few nights, she's nursed for about 10 minutes, announced that she was done, and moved on with the rest of our bedtime routine. Last night, it was probably closer to 5 minutes. It's been a great ride, and I'm so lucky to have been able to nurse her for so long, and end on such a high note. With Connor, breastfeeding was always a struggle, and I felt inadequate a million times over. We made it to month 19. At that point, I was sicker than I care to recall, pregnant with Helen, and it was obvious to me I just couldn't support three lives. And thus ended our nursing days. It was totally peaceful, to be sure, but not exactly the end I imagined. With Helen, everything was easy, easy, easy from start to finish.
Elaine
I know I'm lucky. Almost ten years ago, I went through a winning streak that landed me tickets to a Lucy Kaplansky show at The Barns of WolfTrap, incredible seats to Beauty and the Beast at the Kennedy Center, and the week after that performance, I married Ed. Of course, thinking back on this same period, I now remember I also had the flu - during which I lost about 10 percent of my body weight - and my piece of crap Ford Escort finally rolled over and died, even though it didn't have that many miles on it. But two tranny replacements in 13 months? No, I don't think so. But in general, I think I'm a lucky person - and maybe that says more about my focus than my actual lot in life.
I've tried to instill in my kids the sense of randomness that comes with luck. I don't want them to ever feel too entitled to anything. I want them to relish the surprise that comes with life. Regularly, the kids find coins around the house and announce "it's my lucky day!", and I smile every time. Mostly, I want them to know that when someone isn't well off, it might just come down to the fact that they didn't happen to get lucky - nothing more, nothing less.
A few weekends ago, we headed off to go to a massive train show. I would post a photo, but my computer crashed, and I have yet to get the photos recovered. (But because I'm a lucky person, I'm pretty confident they will be recovered at some point.) On the way, we decided to stop at a nearby German bakery. Always, always, always, when we go to the bakery, the chef is there handing out goodies. In fact, Connor commented on the way "If they don't have cookies out today, I will simply ask for one." because if he doesn't prefer the cookie being handed out, they'll happily reach behind the counter and give him his choice.
But man, oh man, did we hit the jackpot. As it turns out, they were giving their twice annual bakery tours that day. While on the tour, we walked away with a loaf of bread, several cookies, fresh donuts, cupcakes that each of the children got to decorate, muffins, cookies freshly dipped in chocolate (milk and dark!) and probably more stuff that I'm just forgetting. Connor and Helen got to help make muffins and cookies, which impressed them greatly (and me too!). This was, indeed, a lucky day!
At 28 months, Helen seems finally to be weaning herself completely. We still nurse at night, but for the last few nights, she's nursed for about 10 minutes, announced that she was done, and moved on with the rest of our bedtime routine. Last night, it was probably closer to 5 minutes. It's been a great ride, and I'm so lucky to have been able to nurse her for so long, and end on such a high note. With Connor, breastfeeding was always a struggle, and I felt inadequate a million times over. We made it to month 19. At that point, I was sicker than I care to recall, pregnant with Helen, and it was obvious to me I just couldn't support three lives. And thus ended our nursing days. It was totally peaceful, to be sure, but not exactly the end I imagined. With Helen, everything was easy, easy, easy from start to finish.
Elaine
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
The Writing Was on the Wall
A few nights ago before bed, Connor and Helen decided they would perform puppet shows. Before beginning, Helen announced she would perform two.
First, she took her beloved toy cat that she pilfered from Grandma Lynn and covered her with a little cloth. She then removed the cloth in a very mysterious way (mimicking how Connor does this, which is how each puppet show at his school begins).
“Once, there was a cat.”
Cat walks out.
“It said ‘meow, meow, meow;”.
Not much on plot, but she is only two.
Next, she repeated the ritual with her “crying bunny”. Crying bunny is an adorable soft toy that my friend Kerri gave Connor when he was born. The eyes are little blue stitches. Connor steadfastly referred to the bunny as sleeping bunny, but Helen has decided it’s crying bunny.
“Once, there was a crying bunny.”
Bunny comes out.
“It said” and then Helen looked a little confused “hop, hop, hop”.
Now it was Connor’s turn. Helen sidled up next to him so she could have a very close viewing spot for the upcoming performance. Connor wanted her to sit in more of an audience spot as opposed to practically on stage, but he finally decided he could start the show without her moving.
Connor covered his dog Pugsley.
“Once there was a dog named Pugsley. He liked to eat cats and bunnies.”
At this point, a very worried look washed over Helen’s face. She tried to conceal cat in her palm and shove bunny under her legs, but it was no use. Puglsey came over and started going “chomp, chomp, chomp”.
Helen: “No Connor, Puglsey CANNOT chomp baby kitty and crying bunny”.
Eventually, Ed ended the torture, only to have Connor repeat it instantly as his second show.
I’m not sure Helen will sit quite so close to the action next time.
Elaine
First, she took her beloved toy cat that she pilfered from Grandma Lynn and covered her with a little cloth. She then removed the cloth in a very mysterious way (mimicking how Connor does this, which is how each puppet show at his school begins).
“Once, there was a cat.”
Cat walks out.
“It said ‘meow, meow, meow;”.
Not much on plot, but she is only two.
Next, she repeated the ritual with her “crying bunny”. Crying bunny is an adorable soft toy that my friend Kerri gave Connor when he was born. The eyes are little blue stitches. Connor steadfastly referred to the bunny as sleeping bunny, but Helen has decided it’s crying bunny.
“Once, there was a crying bunny.”
Bunny comes out.
“It said” and then Helen looked a little confused “hop, hop, hop”.
Now it was Connor’s turn. Helen sidled up next to him so she could have a very close viewing spot for the upcoming performance. Connor wanted her to sit in more of an audience spot as opposed to practically on stage, but he finally decided he could start the show without her moving.
Connor covered his dog Pugsley.
“Once there was a dog named Pugsley. He liked to eat cats and bunnies.”
At this point, a very worried look washed over Helen’s face. She tried to conceal cat in her palm and shove bunny under her legs, but it was no use. Puglsey came over and started going “chomp, chomp, chomp”.
Helen: “No Connor, Puglsey CANNOT chomp baby kitty and crying bunny”.
Eventually, Ed ended the torture, only to have Connor repeat it instantly as his second show.
I’m not sure Helen will sit quite so close to the action next time.
Elaine
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Snow...
It's very hard not to obsess about the snow when you have approximately one Helen's worth surrounding you.
On the other hand, we weren't all that sad to see our street wasn't plowed. After all, until it's plowed, we can take the kids out to ski without worrying about traffic! In case it wasn't obvious, I'm looking on the bright side here.
The kids also enjoyed some time on sleds.
On the other hand, we weren't all that sad to see our street wasn't plowed. After all, until it's plowed, we can take the kids out to ski without worrying about traffic! In case it wasn't obvious, I'm looking on the bright side here.
Helen's first time up on skis. She's annoyed because Ed won't let her just ski by herself.
Connor actually has the balance down pretty well. The stopping? Not so much.
The kids also enjoyed some time on sleds.
Friday, February 5, 2010
In answer to your question...
My dad called from Kansas tonight to see if the reports were right, that we had snow.
I missed the call because I was out cross-country skiing with Ed. But in answer to your question Dad, yes we do have snow.
I missed the call because I was out cross-country skiing with Ed. But in answer to your question Dad, yes we do have snow.
