Monday, January 31, 2011

After all, tomorning is another day...

Recently we attended our first parent/teacher conference at Esmé's preschool. We were excited to hear what Mrs. Drew, Esmé's teacher, had to say. Though I knew better than to expect a detailed report of her daily activities and academic progress, I was hoping at least to have a better sense of what these past 5 months of school have meant for our girl. Esmé is doing well. She's right on track with all her developmental milestones– she can gallop, hop, balance, use crayons, throw balls. She knows her colors and shapes and body parts. She can use scissors and is making great headway with buttons and zippers. She respects her teacher's authority, follows directions well and shows respect and concern for her fellow classmates. But more than all that, which I pretty much knew already, the juiciest tidbit of info was hearing how happy she is. She's always game, always cheerful. This is what I was hoping for, because this is her first taste of school, and I want it to be a positive one. I don't want her enthusiasm stifled-- there's middle school gym class for that. I want her to get off on the right foot. And I'm happier than ever with our choice of The Neighborhood House. It's warm and nurturing. But more than that, they go above and beyond to provide an enriching experience for the children. A former parent of the school volunteers weekly to come in and teach the children about birds, often focusing on the visitors to the school's bird feeder. There's a music program. A community garden out back where the school has a plot. She's made applesauce and latkes, the latter of which she hasn't stopped talking about. She's already attended her first play.

On Tuesdays we attend a French playgroup together where she's slowly building a French vocabulary too. In general her verbal skills have gone through the roof lately. She's adopted all sorts of idioms too, which just crack me up. "Is that the plan?" or "OK Mommy, the problem with that is..." "Actually" is a big word for her, primarily because she loves, loves, loves to contradict. But possibly my favorite Esmé-ism of all time (and I just can't bring myself to correct her) is "Tomorning." As in, "OK Mommy, I'll do that tomorning when I get up." It's an extremely useful little word, we've all adopted it here at TLGH.

Another thing that Mrs. Drew pointed out and that we also appreciate about our daughter is her active and relentless imagination. On any given day she will spring out of bed and announce that she is someone else. More likely than not, that someone is Karen from Frosty. And if she's Karen, then we all have to be ready to assume our assigned roles in her fantasy world. I'm Karen's mommy (I'm a little bummed to be the only member of the family with an off-screen role). Kristopher is Professor Hinkle (the villain--dum, dum, dum!) and Theo is Hocus Pocus, the rabbit who betrays Professor H. Frosty is not represented because he's with us already. He tends to hang in the garage. Where it's cold.

Just yesterday Esmé was pretending to be Kallyope. Even going so far as to curl up on the chair that Kallyope favored at the end and to announce that she was getting ready to die now. Gulp. I think this is really positive for her, though hard for us to hear on many levels. But we're trying to respect her need to work things out the only way she knows how. And I don't want to color her attitude about any of it.

Just this weekend we took our first excursion as a family to The Metropolitan Museum of Art. I wasn't sure exactly how much of the museum we'd be able to absorb and tackle, and in the end I was amazed at what we accomplished and how much fun we all had, Grandma included. Esmé was determined to see the Degas ballerinas and Jackson Pollack. In both cases as soon as we entered the correct gallery she made a bee line for the painting in question. I have Olivia to thank for that. I was particularly struck by how she responded to the modern art in general. The large scale, graphic pieces seemed to really resonate with her.

And Theo was great too. I really expected him to tire quickly of the whole thing, but he was such a happy camper. He's making some great leaps himself as well. He's on the cusp of crawling, and I do think he'll crawl unlike his sister who preferred scooting. He gets himself on his hands, and thrusts forward, but he hasn't quite gotten his bottom up, off the ground. He's finding the whole thing very frustrating. The funny thing is that he's able to move, somehow, though we've never actually seen it. I suspect he's doing a sort of modified scoot, but he always saves it for when I leave the room. I'll wander into the kitchen for a moment or two only to return and find him in a different location. So maybe he will give up and scoot in the end after all.

Theo has always had a thing for fanning his hands in front of his mouth. He'll often grab the spoon from whoever is feeding him, ram it into his mouth and then commence fanning as if he was stroking some unseen goatee. Recently he has found his lips and now whiles away the moments strumming his "mouth banjo." Here he is jamming...



Since 6 months he has said "Mama," sometimes in my general vicinity. This weekend I think I might have caught his version of "Esmé," but I'll have to get back to you on that when I'm more certain. He loves to imitate sounds in general. If I sing to him, he often offers a song in return. It's such a hoot to watch him try to purse his lips in a kiss. He even does his own version of the "MWAH" sound effect.

He's eating well (he especially loves pasta, must be his Italian heritage). Sleeping well. And getting ready to turn one. Wow! One thing I can tell you is that this kid absolutely will not wear a bib. It was a battle of wills this morning, and in the end, I lost. He has always had a bit of a temper. Even in the hospital, when he was just hours old, one the of the nurses made that observation. At the time, we dismissed it as a little too soon to make such a call. I mean newborns aren't exactly smiley types. But our boy does rage a bit when he's not happy with his situation. And to watch him yank and tug at that bib with such fury, I decided that with this kid, I am definitely going to have to pick my battles.

We'll see what tomorning brings.

Friday, January 14, 2011

Darling Kallyope


Kallyope has joined our beloved Rosie wherever it is cats go.
I hope it's soft and cozy, with tuna cans a-plenty and lots of loving hands for stroking. As Kristopher put it, "I may have chosen her, but she was your cat." And she was. She was my companion. For many years we even shared a pillow. Throughout my pregnancies she seemed to fuss over me, going so far as to try to lick my growing belly. After Esmé was born, she retreated to the basement and spent Esmé's first three months in seclusion. I worried about her, but was often too sleep deprived and spread too thin to do anything about it. However once those three months were up, Kallyope returned to us with a stoic acceptance of what was going to be the new norm. And she treated our daughter with a love and understanding that far surpassed my expectations. You see, Kallyope didn't like noise and ruckus. She didn't like people getting in her face or handling her too much. So you could imagine what life for her was like with Esmé the toddler. Though we did our best to curb Esmé's boisterous expressions of kitty love, there was often little we could do. And not once, not once did Kallyope lash out at Esmé. She never hissed. Nothing. (Believe me, there were plenty of others who weren't so lucky.)
And I loved her all the more for it. And so did Esmé.

At Esmé's preschool Thanksgiving banquet she said she was most thankful for her cat.

And when told that Kallyope was with Rosie now, Esmé said, "But who are we going to pet?"

Esmé is handling this well. Taking this sad lesson in stride. The other day she told me, "I'll be sad when you die, Mommy."

I didn't know how to respond. I just hate that the world is a little less perfect for her now.

As it is for us all.


You are lost and gone forever. Dreadful sorry, Clementine...