Cold Spaghetti

We got the official notice from ABC Nightline staff… tonight is the broadcast.

The Little Man.
TLM got himself into a bit of trouble last night when he, protesting a trip the shower and using a request for a cookie as a stall tactic, peed on Paul and the kitchen floor. Whoa. We had the “we love you, but your behavior is completely unacceptable” talk and explained that he had lost the privileges of a bedtime story and goodnight song. Shower time commenced and bedtime followed. Whether because of a need to know everything was “okay” with us, or because of a need to continue to test the waters, Will had a tough time falling asleep.

For the next hour, we found him:
– Quietly typing away at Paul’s computer
– Putting on shoes in his room
– Singing songs while hanging off the base of his bed
– Using the bathroom at least 3 times (productively, though… he actually had a bad bout of diarrhea)

He was obviously aware of his transgressions, instantly went back to bed without complaint when found, and clearly found humor in the odd assortment of activities he was choosing to surprise us with.

The last stalling technique was the most impressive. I was in the kitchen and heard his little feet nearing me from the hall. I turned to see a pants-free Will shuffling down the hall, eyes tightly shut, head tilted to the side resting on his blanket, mouth trying to suppress a mischievous smile. He was trying to fake sleepwalking… it was very hard to stop from breaking out in giggles. I had to bite my lip and force every muscle into a rigid set to position him back to bed and firmly assert that he was to not get out of bed again… and then rush out the front door to the porch where I could explode in laughter without fear of being heard.

ABC’s Nightline news show visited Abeona House last week. They took video of the house, the kids, and interviewed our director, Emmy. (Paul walked in during the interview and was introduced, but says he wasn’t filmed.) It was part of a short story they were researching involving the “increase in homicide” in New Orleans. We’re all sort of ambivalent and nervous about it… will be sensationalized? Will they get it? Tune in… it airs tonight: locally, it’s 10:35pm on channel 11 WGNO.

Things got rough early on and the anxiety became too much.
(Not that Kate, contentedly tearing up the house, noticed.)
We set off for the park. The neighborhood was silent — no cars, no kids at the playground. Neighbors came out to porches at times and gave us updates on the game.


THANKS, SAINTS FOR A GREAT SEASON — YOU GAVE US PRIDE AND HOPE! WHO DAT!!!

We have a running list of “reasons why living in New Orleans is like living in the developing world.” It’s quite a long list; the comparisons are uncanny. Today, we have one more to add to the list.

An athletic event can hold the hopes and dreams of an entire population, shutting down the normal functions of a even an entire city, to focus all energy on that game. Incredible challenges of daily life are completely forgotten and winning or losing becomes the ultimate symbol of the value and importance of an entire population.

This is what life in New Orleans feels like today. Today’s game — can there possibly be anyone in the United States, or even the world, who isn’t invested in today’s game?? — holds the hopes and dreams of our city. The desperation to win, to go all the way, has somehow gotten wrapped up in our personal survival. Something tangible that we can point to show that we matter.
I’ve thought hard on why even I am caught up in it all. Paul and I fell in love with New Orleans in the days before Katrina. But it was after Katrina, watching our city fall apart while others minimized the loss, rationalized the tragedy, and responded in passe, tacky ways (“Tell them about all the free stuff Katrina evacuees are getting!”) that were so arrogant and ignorant that it was hard to put into words how isolating and insulting it felt. (“It’s not like you lost anything, your house didn’t flood.” ) The stifling depression that set in after Katrina was perhaps more toxic than the sediment left behind by the flood. Paul and I, after experiencing the comparatively posh life of expats in Peru, came close to the cut-and-run. Life here, especially right after the storm, was intense. But when it came right down to it, we couldn’t leave. Our decision to stay was wrapped up in a web of emotion, experience, and pride too difficult to articulate. Perhaps one of the reasons we stay is for the shared understanding that everyone else here has gone through the same incantations. We can complain about the city, our taxes, our safety, the poor schools, the failing systems — but do so in a safe space where we know that the discussion exists within the context of incredible love for a place unlike any other in the world.
Community pride is important and I don’t mean to wax on, as us New Orleanians are known to do, boasting about the unique qualities that make our city such a gem. I imagine other folks in other communities feel pretty strongly about where they live, too. I don’t want to get into a pissing contest over which where is better… but I will say that I’ve never heard anyone sing “I know what it means to miss Centreville.”In the here and now, we are all in black and gold. On Friday, the kids has a Saints pep rally at Abeona. It was a serious affair. I spoke with Emmy at quarter to 8 Friday morning as we searched for black and gold facepaint and markers. Paul and I tore through our wardrobes for black and gold to wear (unless you’re Liberace, or a Hilton girl, who has gold in their wardrobe??) Other parents ran around town for fleur-di-lis patches and yellow sweatshirts. At school, the kids were eager to learn the nomenclature. When he got home Friday afternoon, Will told us that when you yell “Who Dat!?” you scare away bears. This morning, our street is filled with cars and pedestrians walking up to Whole Foods for King Cake and football snacks. Black and gold banners fly from cars; everyone is wearing their Saints best. I’ve bitten off all my nails and my stomach is in knots. We hear the kids next door, running around with excitement as game time closes in. It’s a big day in New Orleans.

In our house, everyday is an adventure. It is like we are tip-toeing across a mine-field, trying out different steps, listening for hints of a pending explosion, enjoying small celebrations when we are able to stand firmly with both feet planted.
We spend much of our days muddled over exactly what to feel: Do we hug him or throttle him? For help in this decision making, I’ve turned to child development literature. Unfortunately, I seem to be following much of this information already, so I am left with the realization that there is no silver bullet. What IS helpful, however, are things that help me understand my child’s personality so that I can better predict his moods. The best book on this (suggested to me by a Child Development Psychologist as “the best parenting book out there”) is “Raising Your Spirited Child.” The book gives a lot of insight into determining how your child handles their energy, what drains them, what recharges them, and how to help your child recognize their own limits and needs. Whether or not “spirited” is a term that applies to all children is debatable; the book argues that a “spirited” child is one that is simply MORE. (There is no question that this applies to Will; my fear is that if Will is more, I am terrified of the challenges I face with Kate.) Another parent of a child who clearly fits the “spirited” category said that “normal” kids must be the ones that don’t stick out. So that the labels that he gets now will grow into assets as an adult: tenacity, audaciousness, persistence, sensitivity, intensity. The book has been particularly helpful in its discussion of the extrovert versus the introvert. I realized through the reading that Will is probably not the extrovert I’ve assumed him to be; he has many more qualities of an introvert. He is shy in new situations, holds on to his personal space, needs periodic time alone, shares his thoughts and feelings with difficulty, and has a hard time transitioning from one activity to another. I had taken his energy, enthusiasm, and friendly disposition as signs of his being an extrovert (like me). In reality, though we share a similar intensity and persistence, I believe that Will is introverted like Paul. This information has changed how we schedule and interact as a family. After leaving school, Will would often want to go to the playground — this worked well since it left the house quiet for me to make dinner. But afterwards, Will would struggle through dinner and shower time. Now we’re making sure Will has down time after school, rather than going off to another stimulating environment. We’re still trying to learn his cues, but I’m hoping that being more aware will help.Will seems to be potty trained. We have to give him reminders, especially when getting ready to leave the house. We’ve had several “emergencies” but so far he is doing really well with “holding it.” Will is really sensitive to smells and we teach him to pull his shirt up over his nose before entering restrooms. He has also suddenly and without warning begun to pee standing up. This was a bit dramatic at first: how to do it without dribbling? The solution was that Paul taught him to lean up against the bowl, which is something I never would have done… I can’t think about him doing this in other places! (Paul assures me that he picks Will up or puts down paper.) Will is extremely proud of his toileting. We started a sticker reward system but found that it was completely unnecessary. He literally just picked it up overnight and was simply ready to do it. It has probably been the easiest parenting and developmental milestone we’ve had yet.Will is still our thoughtful and sensitive guy. In the picture above, he’s holding the “beautiful sun” he made for me. He’s got some new quirks that are notable. For example, he has a very strange relationship with his socks. While he is adamant(!) about picking out socks to go with his outfit each day, he is equally committed to ripping them off at every opportunity. We find them all over the house, in his bed, and tucked in the furniture. He is also bothered by tags in his shirts. He insists on keeping the tags flipped up so that “he can breathe.” We haven’t asked how exactly the tag sticking up helps him breathe, maybe we’re afraid of answer.

Kate was less than 24 hours into her 8th month when her teacher, Miss Gladys, greeted me with this expression when I went to pick her up: “Miss Holly! Let me TELL you about YOUR DAUGHTER.” This is generally a conversation that does not introduce a discussion of a child’s glowing behavior.As I understand it, Kate has developed some interesting past-times at school that present challenges to her dear teachers. For example, she likes to climb on the cribs of her sleeping classmates and poke them awake. She also is determined to roll off the changing pad. One of the other teachers overheard Miss Gladys changing Kate:
“Kate, where are you going? You’re going to hurt yourself rolling around like that.”
“KATE. Now be still.”
pause.
“Ohhhh my goodness, WHAT IS THAT FACE? I can’t believe you are giving me that face!”
(in enters another teacher): “Gladys, can I help..? OH MY GOODNESS, Kate! What IS that face?!”
“I know! Have you ever SEEN a baby give you that kind of face?!!”I apologized for Kate and her face. I know it well. With it, she very clearly explains that she is Ready. To. Go. and how DARE any of us try to keep her in one place when it is obvious that she is WORKING HARD on something VERY IMPORTANT. Lucky for me, the teachers have seen Kate in her element and know that I am not to be blamed for having such an energetic, rough-and-tough, confident, and ready-for-the-world baby girl.

I am to be pitied; they know I am done for.

In the past week, Kate has not slept for more than 15 consecutive minutes. I know this because in the past week, I have not slept for more than 15 consecutive minutes. On a good day, it takes a Herculean effort to get her to sleep (luckily, I’ve had 3+ years of practice with Will). This past week, it’s taken a Herculean effort plus drugs. Better living through chemicals — thank you Motrin! While lubing up her sore chops with Ambisol this morning, I noticed the sharp, rough bumps of a tooth just starting to poke through. Her first tooth. It is the lower middle tooth on the left. I can only barely make it out, although she hasn’t been keen on a full exam for me to get a really good look. The excitement is bittersweet; I miss the baby she leaves behind.One thing about the tooth: it explains the popularity of her ‘where’s my dentures?’ face.
Kate loves to explore our kitchen. With Will, nothing was baby-proofed. No outlets covered. No cupboards locked. We did have a few baby gates to limit his exploration to rooms of the house without powertools and nails on the floor, but that was about it. Nothing has changed — although it better start changing soon (note picture below). Kate doesn’t quite seem cognitively ready for the level of curiosity and ability she possesses.
(Don’t worry. No baby was hurt in the taking of this picture.)

Yesterday, we had the A/C on. It was working hard to keep the house somewhere between 72-73 degrees.

We turned the heat back on last night, knowing it was going to get chilly. It did! Having an hour or more this morning without power did not help us keep the house toasty warm. But we got everyone warmly dressed, the power came back, and the temp outside is 42 — with a “feels like” temp of 35! Yowza! Here’s our super little man, just a little while ago…And his sister, flying to the door to watch her brother off to school! (Only 2 more weeks until Kate starts full-time at Abeona, too!!)

So much has been going on that I’ve missed updates on the mundane, yet so interesting when looking in retrospect, moments of our home life.
THE BINKY…
… is gone. Back in November, Will’s primary source of soothing developed a small tear at the tip. Paul encouraged the plastic to spread a bit more, changing the suction effect. Right away, Will lost interest in the wounded Bink. So, when he asked for a binky we could give it to him, making him “choose” that he didn’t want to use it. For the sake of documenting what really happened, I should add that this was a seriously controversial affair. The start of the ear-infection, antibiotic, diarrhea, swollen-member mess were big complications. The miserable guy was left with a binky that didn’t quite give the right relief while he was dealing with so much discomfort. Feeling in the middle of a battle, I encouraged cuddles and helped him to quickly transition to other means of comfort (a blue blanket.)

POTTY TRAINING…
… happened overnight. All that stuff about when they are ready, it will happen overnight? IT WAS EXACTLY RIGHT. While we have accidents every once in awhile, Will is basically potty trained. He has had a few days when he asked for pull-ups, not underwear (interestingly, these tend to fall on weekend days) and we’ve just let him be in control over that choice. In our experience, using success as a reward in itself was definitely the way to go. We sort of introduced a sticker chart leading to a special treat, but honestly, his excitement over succeeding by himself was all that was necessary. I don’t think we’ll be moving on to nighttime underwear for awhile, though. This still scares us quite a bit.

Only two words necessary: WHO DAT!?