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."
