Merry, merry

 Hello, and greetings from the 23rd month of the Covid-19 pandemic, depending on how you count, and whether counting still feels worthwhile. When I began writing this blog, I waxed on about sleeping and feeding patterns. The pace and season of life have shifted. I still aim to capture something of each child in each post. We are still relatively green parents--Ellie is now 5 and Myles will turn 3 in April--but already we have witnessed many period of extraordinary transformation in each child. I hoped to keep an objective, detailed, consistent record of childhood for both children in this blog. I did not realize how difficult it may sometimes be to modulate my tone when I wrote through exhaustion, or a pandemic, frustration, sadness, disappointment heavy on my old shoulders. These are not all of the moments, but these moments are here, insistently, demanding their due. The start of writing anything is honesty.  

Perhaps I should not have chosen to write tonight. The kitchen has been fully cleaned thrice today and demands cleaning again. The floors, professionally cleaned yesterday, are inexplicably gritty. The laundry has yet to be put away. A dozen Christmas presents require wrapping. And a dark mood hangs inside me. A country that knew it was not quite healthy had been living as if it were collectively in remission from the COVID pandemic and word is arriving, for those who are listening, that another grisly wave waits in the wings. New York City recorded a record 22,000 new cases today. 

The research, the headlines, and the doctors we follow on social media are all over the place. We do not need a newly formulate shot for Omicron, or we do. The booster provides ample protection, or one third of Omicron infections have been found in boosted patients, who account for only 17 percent of the population to begin with. Omicron causes more mild illness, or there is no evidence to to support that conclusion. The booster is helpful, but only for the first two weeks after it is administered. And so on.

By the way, we still have two small, delightful children whose lives may possibly be upended again. Would they like to spend January alternating between watching television and sitting on my lap during Zoom meetings? But first, Christmas. A trip to Target today and shopping for a dress for Ellie to wear at the White House on Monday morning, as we plan for one of my brothers to fly in from California and the other to drive down from New York City with his girlfriend just after large Christmas gatherings with her family. When I scroll the news at night, my body clenches with dread and I realize we need to batten the hatches again. But I have not done it. It is like a diet that starts tomorrow. 

So this is is a part of the kids' history, too--living through a historic period that they may be curious about someday. You are welcome, future children, for capturing the terrified, exhausted zeitgist of the Covid-19 -- er 20, or rather 21, whoops 22 -- pandemic. 

However, a brief frolic away from my harbingering. (Isn't that lovely? Harbingering is actually a word, and the perfect one for the moment. I think it is a word. Maybe do not use it on a Scrabble board just yet.) The children:

Ellie rang in her fifth year with her first Covid shot at 9:30am on the morning of her birthday. She celebrated with a donut and a full school day. As I have mentioned, she is one of the big kids on campus this year. The big kids have named themselves Team Llama Shark Chompers, and go by Chompers for short. Ellie remains more reserved at school than she is with us, but she has grown out of her shell this year socially. She is besotted with her best friend, W, who she calls a "cutie sweetie," and spends much of the school day with. She is still often anxious and slow to warm up around children she does not know well, but over time, she does warm to new friends. 

We joke that Ellie is the third forty-ish-year-old in the house, and it seems apropos. Ellie noted recently that she had woken up feeling tired and immediately implemented a earlier bedtime for herself. Both her problem-solving skills and her resolve are admirable. She is well aware of the rules and finds it unsettling when they are stretched or broken, whether by Myles or a child at school. She has asked her Dad to set a 7:30am alarm for her so that she can dress herself and brush her teeth in time be downstairs by 7:45am so that she can have an omelet for breakfast. She writes thank you cards, with me dictating spelling, with admirable penmanship. And she is great at reminding me about all manner of things, including when it is time to fill our aging Honda Civic with gas. 

And in many ways, she is very much five years old. She sometimes boils over with intense frustration over slights that may seem small to an adult. She still puts clothes on backwards sometimes or wears her shoes on the wrong feet. She has the tremendous capacity for silliness that all five-year-olds should have. She carts her small Peppa stuffie with her most places, though Peppa waits in the car while Elllie goes on her adventures. 

She is excellent company in an older kid way these days. She loves to hit the consignment shop and run errands with me, and grab bagels with her dad on weekend mornings. She helps me put away laundry and clear the table. She shares her own perspective so articulately. I often wonder if I was as intelligent at her age. I doubt it.

And Myles, who I really should describe first more often. Myles began preschool in October and the first few weeks, as expected, were a challenging transition. Preschool must have felt like such a stark transition after being the sole charge of his Nani, a nanny, or a babysitter for most of his life--most of which was spent in very close proximity to Nitin and me. Myles is essentially an adaptable kid, as I suspect that second children are apt to be. He enjoys school--particularly the firetruck climber and his friend R--these days. He runs enthusiastically to Ellie and me at pickup, more so than Ellie did at his age. 

Myles, like any two-year-old, also copes with his share of big feelings. He has an incredible capacity to get into things--quietly unwrapping and momentarily sucking on dozens of cough drops or tossing raw eggs at the floor one by one. He is enamored with the toilet--not using it for its intended purpose, but casually dropping a roll of toilet paper in, or simply flushing it repeatedly. In M's defense, we have been anything but consistently committed to potty training. We would like very much for M to be potty trained, but we have done little to bring it about. This may be an experiment regarding whether a kid eventually potty trains himself if his parents wait him out. Will report back with progress in next post.

The things I love about Myles are so distinctly Myles. His unbridled sweetness--he squeals "Mama!" when he hears the particular cadence of my footsteps on the stairs. The weight of his heavy head on my shoulder at bedtime--one consequence of the school transition was a stint of longer, more cuddly bedtimes which were hard on my schedule but good for both of our hearts. His cool guy dance moves, bouncing and gliding with rhythm in a way he surely did not inherit from Nitin or me. His lovely, lilting singing voice that somehow can already carry a melody. I admire his athleticism and am terrified of his bravery--he can scale a seemingly sky high climbing structure in no time. Ellie would have hung toward the bottom, possibly requesting help without fully being fully committed to climbing higher. 

A dear (adult) friend of mine who does not have children quizzed her parent friends about whether they really have a favorite. I do not, have not, could not. I never believed this from my own parents, and Ellie does not believe it either. It is hard to explain. I could say it would be like having a favorite eye or lung or kidney but that does not capture it; those pairs are indistinguishable to me, and my children are highly distinguishable and deeply known and specifically loved. There is no perfect analogy except this love that consumes me and that love that consumes me, equally and completely. 

And so those are the children. I wish I could be the holiday spirit for them and with them. I was shocked to overhear Ellie and my mom determining that Christmas is a week from today. We have visited the holiday trains, donned our Christmas jammies and sent 100+ holiday cards. Naturally the day itself must be near.  I have hardly listened to Christmas music this season. I used to guiltily begin sampling my favorites after Halloween. I have been whirring instead of pausing. Three items replace each task I strike off my list. The motion keeps the feelings at bay--the blue ones as well as the others. I feel less loving and lovable. I feel less. It feels difficult to really connect. 

The nights grow longer until Tuesday. We must sort out the holidays this week. I have not written very much about Nitin and me as ourselves. We spend most of our lives 20 feet from each other but opportunities to connect are scant while raising two small children, holding two demanding full-time jobs, and doing what each of us must to hold ourselves together. In his case, keeping his head down and running dozen of miles per week, and in mine, shorter runs and walks, audiobooks and novels, chats with friends and family, and the never-ending to do list. That is not precisely about the children but the state of the marriage of their parents is not especially not about the children, either. There is love there, and exhaustion. I could be referring to so many things. 

This is as good a stopping place as any. I finished my tea and warmed the chill that sent me to my desk and my heating pad to tap out these reflections. These are long days but I will remember parts of them in a rosy glow. 

Quotes

Ellie, for a time, took to calling me "Ms. Understandable Mama." Or "Misunderstandable Mama." Unclear, but said lovingly.

Myles, of the age of fecal obsession, began calling mosquitoes "poopy-squitos."

Ellie, chastising Myles for not sitting at the table: "Myles, in a rotten second, you'll be a villain!"

Ellie, while hiking: "Outside is a great place."

Ellie, to me: "Why don't you want a party on your birthday? Oh, I get it. You only want peace and quiet on your birthday. That's no fun."

Ellie: "I made a new best friend in the little class -- Myles!"

Myles, while learning his colors, would respond when we asked him what color something was: "Maybe...red. Maybe...green." A lot of maybes. 

Ellie, in a turn of phrase I know she'll grow out of, but hopefully not soon: "I'm interested of," instead of "I'm interested in..."

I served Ellie pho and raisins for lunch on a day she was home from school with a cold, and this conversation ensued:

E: Are these raisins my dessert?

Me: No, you can eat them whenever you want.

E: I am going to save them for dessert.

Ellie, when Nitin and I began bickering in the kitchen: "Here it comes, here it comes, now they don't like each other!" Excellent. Parents of the year.

E: Dad, why isn’t there air in outer space?

N: Fumbles for an answer, comes up with some kind of metaphor about how the earth and atmosphere are like a basketball filled with air, pivots to saying that it’s important that we have air to breathe.

E: Yes, if we didn’t have air, we wouldn’t even be able to have this conversation!

I asked Myles, mid-meltdown, if he was feeling frustrated. His accusatory response: "No feelings. YOU feelings!"

Ellie, to her dad: "Oh daddy, what are you doing, my hairy boy?"

Ellie, to her dad: "Are you teaching me wrong things?"

Ellie, to me, while taking her shoes off on the porch: "Can you stay outside so no one thinks I'm searching for a home?" Oh boy.

I asked Ellie if she wanted to be under the covers. Her response: "No, I get hot because I have such strong bones."

Myles calls pistachios "piss-cashews." He is, in general, on a culinary streak and loves playing with his toy kitchen at night. This does not mean he regularly finishes actual meals. 

Ellie, sick with a cold: "The good thing is, I don't have COVID!"

Ellie: "I don't want to have a bath. I smell clean as a noodle."

After Myles and Ellie begin repeating after each other: "Uh oh, it looks like this episode of Ellie and Myles is called copycat!" Too much Bluey.

Ellie, whining to her Dad when he visited Myles at bedtime: "Daddy, you're supposed to be my babysitter!"

Ellie, misunderstanding where babies come from and afraid of a terrible accident: "What if I accidentally take the baby medicine???"

Hello, Fall!

The three months since my previous post passed in the blink of an eye. Which is saying something because summer is boiling and sweaty in these parts. It is very much the season we Washingtonians slog through and it seems to last half the year, but another half the year has passed. The phenomenon of having children will make your life and theirs zip by at astounding speed. They do not think so. I am at least young enough to remember that it is always ten years until Christmas for kids but for adults, fake Christmas trees are sprouting at Costcos across the nation and our kids are four or five mind changes away from a final Halloween costume decision. Apologies. I wax poetic on Sunday nights because I am wrung out like a sorry dishrag. Three separate playgrounds, two birthday celebrations, consigning and procuring fall clothing, and so many details in every single day--snack bars and Ellie's favorite sunglasses and two water bottles and wipes and sunscreen and Purel and honestly it used to be easier to pack for a weekend trip than it is to pack a backpack for a children's birthday party these days. 

E & M are both marvels. Ellie does not know the word for multiplication, but she has become curious about it. Breaking the silence in the car, she asks, are two sevens 14, and then a few minutes later, are 4 sevens 28? Her social emotional development is also underway, in fits and starts. She shrieked loudly at me this morning while I was speaking to the parents of a school friend at soccer practice, saying, "you're not allowed to talk to anybody but me!" I usually have no idea how to respond to these bald admissions. I might stammer, "I like talking to so-and-so," and then say more quietly, "One minute..." Excellent, podcast-worthy parenting skills. If and when I return to my parenting fails, it make take me 15 minutes to puzzle out what I ought to have said but no matter, I never seem to remember what I had arrived at the next time something similar happens. 

At bedtime tonight, she raised the issue again. She told me she had felt embarrassed when I talked to the other children and parents, and I asked her to tell me more and she stood over me (I was lying in her bed) and said, "I have to stand for this feeling." (OK.) Then she clarified quietly, "I think maybe jealous." So we talked about that. We clarified that she is my best girl. ("Not Zoe," Ellie crowed, and then looked around for the dog, hoping she had heard.) And that her classmates, though they are lovely, are not my best girls. And that I do not and could not love anyone more than I love her and Myles. I deserve to be deposed by my child; I subjected my own mother to the same. I should know there are no words that will soothe this for more than a few minutes a time. But I am happy to give her the words and hope that time will knit them into her heart--you are loved, loved, loved, always, completely, no matter what. I give a lot of hugs and kisses; this is why she nicknamed me, "sloppy mama," which seems ironic for a lifelong teetotaler, but there it is. 

So that is what I try my hardest to give her. The list of what I do not give her -- I do not give her enough time on weeknights, when work is pressing into my evenings. I sometimes run low on patience and ask her to just please stop doing that. I have not yet signed her up for Spanish lessons even though she wanted them. (She has an app.)

Ellie is more and more Ellie all the time. She is sharp, observant, and curious. She decided on her own that she wanted to learn Spanish and the words sink into her mind so easily. She still delights in any art project and produces beautiful, colorful creations. She definitely has the the capacity to be theatrical. She was demonstrating the mindful breathing techniques she learned in school this afternoon and it resembled a modern dance performance. She still feels reticent in social situations at times and she seems to gravitate towards other kids who have social differences---another child who is shy or a child who has especially strong feelings. Her likes continue to include Peppa Pig--she calls both me and Peppa her "cutie, cutie, cutie"--and cats, particularly orange cats. She likes her toast with peanut butter but frequently no jelly. Ice cream remains her favored treat. Green monster pizza is her favorite meal. I could write forever about by sweet, loving, thoughtful, sensitive, expressive, smart girl. I told her today she was one of my favorite friends, and it is absolutely true.

I frequently address Myles by his first and middle names -- Myles Kieran!! -- and this is both because it turns out I really love his names and because Myles has a penchant for mischief. In the space of twenty minutes, he may crack a dozen eggs, remove his pullup and pee in a lush carpet, and then slink off to a shockingly well selected hiding spot to chew on a box of matches. Nitin observed that Ellie's misbehaviors have always been largely performative--she carries them out loudly, in plain sight, in the hopes of capturing your attention. Myles is the opposite. He is better at hide and seek than most adults and he rarely does you the courtesy of telling you he is hiding. He sits so perfectly still, not responding once while you frantically call him until you find him with a devilish grin and with his hands over his eyes. It is utterly charming though. He is such a loving and delightful little imp. You can hardly hold anything against him.

A lot of stereotypical boy interests. Wild for firetrucks and really anything with wheels. Can identify construction vehicles better than I can, but why?? "Myles, look at that big...truck thing..." I told him today. "A digger," he casually corrects me. I google imaged searched and he was correct. All of his favorite toys seem to have wheels, except for his beloved elephant. He is tremendously affectionate and I am determined to protect his huge, soft heart. With the caveat that you should never compare your children, blah blah blah, I am shocked by how naturally compassionate he is. He strokes Ellie's hair if she cries, "It's OK Ellie, it's OK." (She screams at him that she needs space and then I splice together praise about his compassion and my little stump speech about consent and bodily autonomy in a very awkward mashup.) When I lie on his bed at bedtime, if my eyes close, he gently tucks his blanket around me and wraps me in a big hug. I hope he is always so loving. He is also openhearted with new people, happy to befriend new children on the playground or sing a lullaby video for a new baby. 

I am so fiercely proud of both of these sweet, sweet humans. They are such good people. I can feel their kindness, their humor, their intelligence, and I am so grateful to be their mom. Yes, is is tiring to parent two small people. But I adore them so much. They are the part of my life I always feel sure of. I am tired, so I will stop here, except for a menagerie of recent quotes. I will try to write more soon.

--

Ellie, speaking to Nitin: ""look at that picture of your mom. She looks very i-told-you-a-tive."

Ellie, in a moment of surprise: "Gosh-ious gracious!"

Ellie, audibly whispering to Nitin: "Daddy, you know that I already took a shower, we’re just playing a trick on mommy."

Ellie, with a reasonable request: "Can you make Myles put on a diaper because I don’t want to see his penis."

Myles, holding a book at bedtime with Mama: "I am reading a book. Once upon a time..."

Ellie, after she fell, and Myles tried to console her: "Myles, stop. Boy touches will only make me sadder."

Myles, on a hike with Nitin, looks around the woods: “Something scary."

Nitin: “It’s okay little guy, you’re safe.”

“THANK YOU! You keep me safe.” (Side note: Myles is very enthusiastic about his thank yous. The emphasis is on the thank -- THANK you!) 

A little while later, points at rocks: “Look! It’s bear poop!”

A message from one of Ellie's teachers, Kathy: "Dear Bridget, Thank you so much for the lovely bag covered with birds! It's beautiful! Ellie holds a special place in my heart. She is kind to the utmost degree. A value I prize dearly. Her love of color, rainbows, everything pink, all sorts of drawing with any medium on hand, Peppa Pig, and her total immersion in nature's gifts be it sand, mullberries, or coral trumpet flowers always impressed me. She has been a gift to teach, grow, and learn from this past year! Love, Kathy" 

Ellie, who is not wrong to worry - "What happens when you’re riding a bike on your penis I wonder?" 

Ellie, in one of her daily gratitude lists on our drives home from preschool:"I’m grateful that everybody gets some love." We hope so, kiddo. Other frequent items include Pepparious Peppa Pig, assorted family members, whatever flowers she can see, and whenever it is approaching the end of the week. :)

Whoops! And then it was summer.

 Hello! Quite by accident, almost four months have passed since my previous post. We are emerging from COVID, in some ways--masks are coming off vaccinated adults, we are dining in our friends' homes and in restaurants, and I am less obsessive about monitoring daily COVID rates, because they have plummeted, especially in Arlington. Community spread has so diminished here that beginning tomorrow, kids will not need to wear masks outdoors at Ellie's preschool, and parents will no longer need to wear masks at pickup, to which I say, hallelujah. And also, naturally, teachers are still required to wears masks amid all this masklessness, despite being vaccinated across the board, because teaching, and particularly teaching young children, is the most thankless important job on the planet. And yet around the world, less privileged regions face crisis-level outbreaks, and in the US, children under twelve are still not eligible for vaccines. 

Whoops. An armchair epidemiologist took over for a minute there. Just in case anyone is curious five, ten, fifteen years from now about a time period that I assume (and hope) will seem strange and unimaginable after the fact. But back to notes on mothering my precious little beasts. 

Both children are growing like weeds. I feel that I should start with Myles, because in general, the family has a bad habit of not starting with Myles. Myles is still not a reliable mask wearer--we are failing at enforcing the mask habit in the same way we are failing at potty training, in both cases because life feels frenetic and the relentless consistency required is too much for us to muster. In a non-COVID world, he would have been in preschool or childcare or Shobha's building or whatever all along, trekking to the library for storytime, having playdates with neighbors and kids in Shobha's building, hanging out at Little Gym, which honestly may have closed by now due to the pandemic. 

In the odd realm of reality, Myles hangs out with his doting nanny, Jane, who is smitten with him. She calls him "big boy," which for whatever reason, I find a little cringe-y, but she truly does care for him as if he was her own grandson. We signed Myles up for Music Together classes, which he loves, and he has taken to begging us to ask Google to sing "Hello Everybody," the signature Music Together greeting song. I hear it in my sleep. We call Myles "little guy," and though his social circle is small, he a naturally social child. We had a playdate with a friend whose son is a similar age, and Myles took to him immediately, delighting in throwing bark chips and jumping on a tiny trampoline together. 

Myles believes the world is mostly delightful, and whatever small anxieties he feels in new situations are usually overwhelmed by this enthusiasm. Ellie still clings to me in situations with new people, which I genuinely empathize with and feel is reasonable. Myles's lack of trepidation is refreshing and a little bit shocking. He wants to go for a walk! He want to go in the car! He wants to put on his shoes! He wants to go the park! He loves things with wheels--the little activity cart, the scooter, the racecar-type thing we inherited from the neighbors, and small trucks and cars that can be driven on windowsills and the three remaining rails of his cribs. Another milestone--one side came off, transforming the crib into a toddler bed, and surprisingly, Myles usually ends up asleep in his bed, after wandering around the room, protesting and causing small amounts of damage to books and toys. 

Myles has had a language explosion, words suddenly tumbling out that we had no idea he'd taken in. He is particularly likely to remember any words set to a melody. And there has been some two-type tantrums, the throwing of a shoe here, the yelling of no there, and obviously a failure to obey almost any commands we give, regardless of the sternness of our tones. But for whatever reason, perhaps because this is the second time around, or because Ellie's twos were more intense--were they? or was I just a parenting wimp?--most of this seems pretty mild to me. Every few weeks he will put an entire roll of toilet paper in a toilet bowl full of urine or fill Zoe's food bowl with fresh, just purchased baby tomatoes. He'll say sorry very earnestly, as if it costs him nothing; and indeed, it costs him nothing, because these incidents have no bearing on his future behavior. This is unlike Ellie; he has already apologized more at two years old than Ellie has in all four and a half years. 

He is absolutely the baby of the family, snuggled relentlessly, cooed over, and excused--at least by me. But I have been trying to respect his autonomy, particularly his bodily autonomy, and so lately, I have been asking, "kisses or no kisses? huggies or no huggies?" And he might say very resolutely, "No kisses!" But then he will bury his head in your lap and give you twenty kisses. It seems important that this is his choice. He is such an affectionate sweetheart, truly a labradoodle in the body of a sweet, tiny human. I could go on, but I feel myself losing steam already, so I must pivot to my dear Ellie.

I could feel pages with the amazing things that Ellie says. I often want to turn and say to another adult, did you just hear that, what she said? And it can be so disappointing when I am the only one there to appreciate her marvelous commentary. She impresses me so much with her keenly made and thoughtfully articulated observations. I will include some of the quotes below.

I know, I know that I need to be careful about seeing too much of myself in Ellie. She is, after all, a completely different person. But I recognize the feelings that are sometimes two sizes too big for the girl they belong to. I recognize the anxious worries about talking to new people, using the potty in new places, being too far from her loved ones for too long. She often behaves like a miniature adult. And sometimes, in joyful moments, she gallops around like a little colt, and those moments are so joyful. She is coming into her own in some friendships, and we are learning more about what works well for her. She does better meeting up at playgrounds with a friend than she does with going to a home she is not familiar with, particularly since we have done so little of that during he pandemic. She does better with one-on-one playdates that group social dynamics. 

I know she will be a treasure as a friend. She already is a treasured friend to me, thoughtful, affectionate, and kind. I love to run errands with her, pick a special cheese for Nitin with Ellie at a neighborhood store, pick up a prescription at CVS with Ellie in tow. She is both fun and very funny. She is just good company. We drive around, listen to tunes, and chat about what we have done or what we will do. And now we have started to do yoga together in the evenings, a practice which I hope will have staying power. I love to share the things I love with this person I love so much. Perhaps this is why I am so eager to see her fall in love with reading, because I know it can bring her a lifetime of joy, solace in difficult times, companionship in lonely times, wisdom in confusing times. 

One way in which Ellie does not take after me, or Nitin for that matter -- her love of cats! She has been stalking the orange tabby, Murphy, who belongs to our neighbors and enjoys roosting under our porch. Thankfully, he is a friendly guy and weathers it well. We are dog people, through and through, but I wish that we could grant her wish for a kitten. I remember longing for a puppy more than anything as a child, and I remember thinking that when I was an adult, I would never deny a child such a fervent wish. Ellie said something similar to me recently, about when she is an adult, she will do what children want her to do--paraphrasing roughly. I understand. Childhood can be delightful, but it is also a powerless time, with a lot of guardrails for many contemporary kids and sometimes not as many choices as they'd like. A lot depends on the whims of your grown ups, and that can be quite a roll of the dice. 

There is so much to report about Ellie -- her love of artistic activities and her unexpected talent for them; her progress with swim lessons and her bravery in the water; her adoration for her scruffy Peppa pig stuffie; the strides she has taken with her rainbow streamer bicycle; her enjoyment of green monster pizzas; her long lanky limbs and the way she towers over classmates. But I'll let Ellie speak for herself in the quotes below! I wish I'd captured more. I'll always feel that way about both of my little loves.

-- Ellie, observing me chopping onions: "I'm glad that you know what you're doing"

-- Ellie, celebrating her heritage: "It's Sick Patrick's Day!"

-- Ellie, entering the kitchen while Nitin is cooking: "I'm covering my nose." "Why?" "Because I can't resist that smell!"

-- A signature phrase of Ellie's, utilized for begging -- "Tiny please!!!" 

-- Upon hearing something surprising, Ellie tried on another (incredulous) signature phrase: "What?!!?"

-- After peeing in the woods one day, Ellie broke down in tears in the car, jealous that boys can pee more easily because "they have a long thing with a small hole, and girls have a big hole"

-- We repainted the library sea salt, my favorite paint color, and Nitin asked if she liked it: "Yes, I do. It's a little bit greenish, and it's a little bit like a baby room color." 

-- After Myles disappointed Ellie one day, she said, "It's OK, we love Mylesy no matter how he is."

-- Myles tries to work around his parents' distractedness by dragging a gallon of milk to us when he wants a refill. Message received, little guy.

-- Myles loves to sing "Brown bear, Brown bear, what do you see?" and "Twinkle, Twinkle." He also has a keen ear for fire engines. 

-- About a month ago, Myles began giggling and squealing "that tickles," during diaper changes. Still not a lot of interest in the potty, though!

-- Myles is not a huge fan of being restrained. The moment he finishes a meal, he implores us "I want to get down chair."

-- Myles gnawed through a bag of brown sugar and very quietly (so stealthy, this one) ate sugar while I was checking work emails one morning. Because he is a labrador.

-- Ellie and I tell each other what we are grateful for on our way home from school. Ellie's are hilarious and amazing, always. I want to record them, but I cannot, because I'm driving. Example: "I'm grateful for the trees, my family, and my bones." 

-- I cannot remember if I've discussed the Elliefish Jellyfish stories here. I tell Ellie stories about a little jellyfish named Elliefish ("Once there was a jellyfish, named...Elliefish Jelly fish) who coincidentally, has a lot of the same concerns and favorite activities as Ellie. Ellie sometimes tells her own: "Once upon a time there was a jellyfish named Ellie fish who could not use the bathroom so a Dr gave her pooping medicine and it made her poop like CRAZY!"

-- An exchange between me and E. "I like being with you." "I like being with you too, I guess we're friends." "Yes, we're friends. You can still be my friend, even though you're a member of my family."

-- When I try to use the bathroom by myself: ""I'll give you some company."

-- One night at bedtime, after a half hour of talking: "I have so many things to say!"

-- Ellie, complaining about water desensitization exercises at swimming lessons: "Why do we put buckets on children?"

-- Myles makes a pigeon noise when he is excited. It is amazing and hard to describe. Yes, we have recorded it.

-- Ellie named the middle part of a pretzel the "deedledum." I could not love her more.

-- More Ellie gratitudes: "I am grateful that no one hates me, that no one threw up, for that tree, and that it's Friday." This is my kid, folks. This is so my kid.

-- I told Ellie I was grateful for tea one day, and she called me a "fancy hydrater."

-- "Where's my ridges?" She meant her ribs, but actually this makes sense.

-- Ellie, looking at a map: looking at map "What does N-E-W-H-A-M-P-S-H-I-R-E" spell? N: "That's New Hampshire." E: "New Hampster."

-- E: I am grateful for the shapes I find in the clouds. B: Like what? E: A dragon fish? B: A what?  E: The fish with a curly tail. A dragon fish. B: A seahorse? E: I call it a dragon fish. 

- Last night, she made a pile of books she had read and a pile of books she still needed to read, "so I can stay focused." 

Is that you, Spring?

 Oh, hello. The pandemic continues and -- you will scarcely believe it, the time has passed so quickly -- the one-year anniversary of COVID-19 upending everyone's life will soon be upon us! Or maybe it has already happened? Difficult to pinpoint, especially given the intense wave of brain fog that has rolled in with the pandemic.  

But every school day, Ellie and I take turns sharing what we are grateful for, and in turns out that we have treasures left to count -- the crocuses are surfacing, Daddy is whipping up special breakfasts on Saturday morning, and Spring is around the corner. All three grandparents have now been vaccinated -- Hallelujah does not come close to expressing our joy and relief -- and Ellie has once again been spending time in Nani's apartment, and is looking forward to a visit from Grandma and Grandpa this weekend. COVID is very gradually releasing us from its grip, having clenched its jaws around us and shaken us vigorously, like the rare dog who finally catches a wounded squirrel. I tip my hat to our resilience. We come out of hiding slowly -- half days at preschool have turned into full days; refundable plane tickets to Chicago for Independence Day have optimistically been booked; a dental appointment is tentatively scheduled for June. 

This is supposed to be about the kids, and it is, because the effect of living in this altered universe during such formative years will, I suspect, be profound. Myles has very little idea that any humans who live outside this house, besides his nanny, are anything more than cardboard cutouts. He has not been within an arm's length of any child besides Ellie since before his first birthday, and we will celebrate his second birthday in several weeks. He has no idea what he might be missing, and it shows. He boisterously pushes a little learning cart with squeaky around the first floor. He still delights in playing peekaboo and climbing on Zoe as if she were his own personal jungle gym. A testament to his near-complete isolation, I can count on one hand the times that he has ever been ill -- I very much feel I am jinxing us, and I am sure illness will descend at the first opportunity, but as of now, this is how it stands. He is an uncommonly joyful fellow, with countenance marked by an easy smile and frequent, unrestrained laughter. 

His use of language has ballooned in recent weeks, with Myles often prancing around on his tiptoes announcing imperiously, "I need, I need," and often even finishing the sentence: "I need that duckie. I need blanket. I need milk." He is an incorrigible splasher in the bathtub, so I have finally (begrudgingly) transferred him to baths in my deeper bathtub upstairs. The child has never dipped a toe in a swimming pool, so this seems the least we can do for him, and he is grateful for experience of being submerged in six inches of water. 

Myles continues to count off the stairs, accurately, as he descends and ascends, and can sing most of the alphabet, though not with complete accuracy. He also continues to delight in music, so I often mix musical books like Snuggle Puppy and Brown Bear, What Do You See? into this bedtime story mix. He enjoys eating just about everything we put on his tray, from tomatoes and cheese chunks to pizza and broccoli. I think he has a real affinity for tomato-based foods.  If you ask Myles what his name is, he will tell you it is "Mom-els," which Nitin does not think I should encourage, but watch me. It is adorable. He'll outgrow it.

Did you see that I finally manage to provide updates about Myles before Ellie, who often demands the first (and more generous) helping of our time and attention? Ellie's language skills have also made a few recent leaps, especially in the context of written language. She enjoys writing out short messages by asking us how to spell each word and her penmanship is actually completely understandable and fairly neat, though she does not yet put spaces between words and cares very little if about splitting a word between two lines because she ran out of room. 

I do not know what it say about us as parents, nor does it necessarily matter, but we have observed that the more time Ellie spends in school, the more she seems to thrive. It is almost as if we cannot, in our home environment with two harried working parents, her little brother, and her (very kind and caring) nanny, we cannot replicate the spirit of community and opportunities for social and emotional learning that exist in her preschool! Ellie was described (lovingly, I think) at her most recent teacher conference as a "little plant that is still trying to grow." That commentary related to her social habits, and in particular, her tendency to gravitate toward adults and to sometimes prefer observing other children than playing with them. But I am seeing her confidence and her comfort with her peers growing and it is understandable that a brainy, cautious kid would take a while to feel fully socially immersed after rejoining her class following a period of months away from school.

She delights in art project, the messier the better, and seems to feel very comfortable expressing herself that way. She is also fully capable of expressing all kinds of things verbally. Her language skills are advanced, and she uses them to communicate in a way that makes clear that her thinking is also complex and perhaps mature beyond her years.  We are very proud of her for working to overcome her cautious nature when the situation calls for it. When she transitioned to full days back at school again, she was able to transition to using the potty at school, following a week of my keeping her company on the school potty at pick up to build her comfort. She climbed a net of ropes affixed to the side of a tall tower on a playground on Saturday, and I was wowed how she pushed past her fear right to the top of the tour. Her persistence brings me comfort. Whoever can keep trying has such a natural advantage. 

I am naturally forgetting to recap all kinds of things -- Ellie likes to sleep in a small IKEA tent on her bed and Myles loves playing with trucks ("cucks"); their skin is so sensitive that even ketchup around their mouth during dinner produces redness and irritation; Myles loves to walk great distances and Ellie is learning to steer a bike; Ellie picks her clothes, right down to her underwear, based on what day of the week it is; Ellie receives phone calls from Peppa throughout her school day on a phone that she creates with thumb and pinkie, and carries on lengthy conversations with her; Myles' hair is growing past his eyes again and how often am I going to need to schedule backyard haircuts for him? I wish that I could record it all, but recording childhood is an offshoot of parenthood, and my parenthood mantra, which applies as well to any staggering endeavor, is -- this will not be perfect, but make your best effort and you must, you must let that be enough.

Quotes

Ellie, after Nitin has, say, sliced grapes or assembled a PBJ -- "We have a chef. His name is daddy." 

Ellie, looking for items that will be attracted to magnets she brought home from schools: "I want to find more magnificent things!"

Ellie, grousing because a parent is nibbling on her ear or cheek: "Don't eat me, because you love me! You can either eat me, and half zero booboos, or not eat me, and you'll still have one booboo."

Ellie, simulating childbirth with her favorite Peppa stuffie tucked under her shirt: "We're at the hospital and my tummy is rumbling, she could come out any time now!" The stuffie pops up and escapes under her collar. "This is Gongo! Daddy, you have a new baby sister."

January, January (You happen every year)

 It is January folks, which no one ever said with enthusiasm. And the pandemic shatters new death records daily but that is below the fold news, because insurrectionists breached the Capitol and delayed the certification of Joe Biden as the winner of the presidential election last week. So it has not been a light news stretch, but here in the Shoyce household, it is business as usual except that Nitin is still working constantly and we are still under partial lockdown because of Covid. We are all eagerly awaiting Inauguration Day next week -- by which I mean the grown ups are, and the kids are oblivious -- and the kids have been unusually chatty lately, so I thought I'd write up a post before I forget the context for their witticisms. Yes, I said kids, plural -- our Myles has more to say these days, beyond "meow" and into the brave new world of "chickpeas," "truck," "popcorn," and "blanket." 

Ellie, for her part, has stopped mispronouncing some words, such as "bananas," formerly called "bo-mamas," to our great sorrow. We know she probably cannot enter adolescence still calling them bo-mamas, but these things happen with so little warning. Fortunately, she has started calling french toast "friendship toast," and she insists that "am-ent" is a word -- it is a contraction that she invented, combining the words am and not, so for instance, if I ask why she is crying, she will sob, "No I am-ent." She also calls eyebrows "e-brows" and I am not going to correct her because it is so funny and sweet and I think we can get away with it for a while. 

She is plucky and observant and socially experimental. One day, she made up a song about some task that she was completing while we were in the kitchen together, and then looked up and asked, "did that make you cheerful?" And I did not explain that children are not meant to make nonsensical songs to make grown ups cheerful on purpose; it has supposed to be a happentstancial byproduct of something they do for their own amusement. But it did still make me cheerful.

When I run on the treadmill midday during workdays, Ellie will frequently make a short visit. One day, noticing my new shoes and remembering a complaint about my ankles from a week or two ago, she asked whether my new running shoes were making my ankles feel better. 

I drive Ellie to school every weekday, using various tricks to get her out the door in approximately a half hour, including dressing her while she is still tangled up in her bedsheets and half asleep, and bribing her to come downstairs with the prospect of chocolate chips in her cereal. Mary Poppins I am not. On our way to school, Ellie and I trade off telling stories about an eponymous protagonist, Elliefish Jellyfish, and her sidekick, Peppa Pig. Last week, Ellie told a story about how Elliefish and Peppa both caught the germs, and there was no one to take care of them because everyone in their families was sick; but I always make sure that we keep telling the story past the anxious moment when fear materializes, and by the time the story ended, everyone was able to cuddle on the couch and watch Sesame Street, and they were feeling better. Six years of therapy to learn to keep telling the story past the frightening moment, but well worth it. 

When we arrive at school, if we are on the side of the playground where the kids can play with chalk, I draw two hearts, one for each of us. Ellie picks the number of parting hugs and kisses she requires every day and she tells me very seriously to save a very special kiss for when I pick her up, also reminding me to "recharge my kisses." For whatever reason, this ritual works, and her days at school are good ones, without reports of noticeable separation anxiety these days. 

When I pick Ellie up, I ask her about her favorite thing that happened today, and it is nearly always whatever activity she was doing when I picked her up. But I do not trust her account, because actually, school has been transformatively wonderful for her, so I doubt that the best part about it is that it every day, it ends at some point. One day, she reported that she felt grateful when an aide who taught her last year said I love you, my sweetheart. She relishes unambiguous demonstrations of affection. Like me, I think she hates not to know where she stands, which is why both of us ask our people repeatedly to make sure. For both of us, trust is not necessarily the thing. 

Nitin noticed that Ellie seems to have a lighter appetite these days, which I think is correct. She does still appreciate a decadent dessert, and her favorite treat is ice cream, in a cone, with sprinkles and whipped cream. Ellie acknowledged recently, "ice cream doesn't make you grow big and strong, but it puts a smile on your face." 

We still get some pretty regular sass from Ellie, which is to be expected. While we were driving home recently, Ellie mentioned that the big kids at her school did not have problems, and I seized the opportunity to talk about how everyone has problems, but we can ask for help and take steps to try to solve our problems. I was so pleased with the hard-earned wisdom I was transmitting; I learned this basically in the last twenty minutes, and Ellie could learn it at four years old. But Ellie interrupted me and said, "Can we skip the things that you're saying?" Yikes. I think I said that was not very nice, but I did stop talking.

When she had a crummy listening day last week and started off the following morning on the wrong foot, I said that I hoped today was not going to be another day like yesterday. Ellie replied instantly, "Another day like yesterday, coming right up!" 

And sometimes she is just funny. She was discussing skin colors with Nitin and me one night and said, very seriously, "Mama has white skin, Peppa has pink skin, and Daddy has fur skin." To his credit, Nitin also thought this was hilarious. 

Myles paints a contrast with Ellie in many ways. His appetite is so robust that I swear he can house most of a box of macaroni and cheese by himself. Having Ellie around can feel like having another neurotic mid-30s conversation partner, but Myles is neither neurotic nor remotely adult in his conversation patterns. He derives great joy from trotting around naked on his tiptoes, and he is frequently naked, because he tends to shed his clothes just because even though it is January and the temperature in our house seems to hover around 66 degrees. Myles is terribly interested in his toothbrush, sometimes demanding to carry it around the house, and frequently stepping up to the sink in search of his toothbrush. This is fortunate because little guy also has a sweet tooth; he often chants cookie, cookie, cookie for no reason in between meals. 

Myles is also a great mimic. We make strategic use of this. If you ask Myles whether he wants something, the response tends to be no, no matter what you have asked about. But if you suggest "yes, please" in a singsong voice, he usually relents, repeating "yes please" and accepting whatever item was offered. But, be warned, he repeats everything. For example, Nitin was relating some public health conversation he had had with someone and said, within earshot of Myles, "...people will die." Myles chanted "die, die, die" gleefully for the next several minutes, but thankfully, the new vocabulary word does not seem have stuck. 

That is all for now, and now there is nothing that I can do to further procrastinate cleaning the kitchen.