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."
