Five Fleming Rovers and a Dog

Jack's Montessori Birthday

2011-02-05T18:15:00.000-08:00

I've seen this birthday a dozen times played out in my classroom, and it makes me teary each time. The ceremony goes something like this:

We light a candle (in our case, on a beautiful wooden sun with a mirror/candleholder in the center); " to represent the sun, which gives us warmth, and light and life." The months are laid out around it, and the birthday child is given a globe. "You've been on the earth now for four years, and so you've traveled around the sun four times." The child begins to walk around the "sun, " holding the "earth."
The narration gets personal, and so in Jack's case went something like, "You began in Israel with two sisters,Kit and Gabby, and in the first year you sat up and began to speak; the second year (the child is circling again) you began to run, and use your words to get what you want and you moved to America! . . " etc. until the fourth circle, after which the teacher recites this heart-crunching prose that goes something like, " so you will never again be three or two or one . . ." and leads the child to a small music box (which takes some doing to wind, and you hear the plaintive struggle as the little hand turns and you hear the "Happy Birthday" song making its way). I've never seen any child look any other way than proud, illustrating Montessori's famous tenet, "The hand is the tool of the intellect." (Until Jack though, I never saw a child "dance" around the mat, so I am pretty proud of his . . . uniqueness . . . as long as it is joyful.) And then all the children sing, and pass out treats and have snack together. I asked Jack what he wanted, fully expecting Batman cupcakes and he requested "strawberries and gingerbread men!" Happy birthday, Baby.

(sorry I haven't figured out how to rotate the clip from iphone to imovie, at least not tonight)

Gabby and Jack's Birthday Splash

2011-01-31T19:12:00.000-08:00

Gabby turned 9 on January 23rd. Jack turned 4 on February 4th.

A Fleming Six-Month Catchup Part IV, the Last

2011-01-28T13:22:00.000-08:00

Accept our fondest Happy New Year! and delete, or pull up a cup of Joe and read on . . . in four parts.

Part IV Our Christmas Present

John came home, slipping through Europe's clogged air passages, a week before Christmas. It was just all good. Period. We jumped into the Christmas rush with Santa, and enjoyed a beautiful, Traditional Fleming Christmas*. It even snowed.

(Kit and Gabby demonstrating the We-Pod)

*Note: Yes, that's Southside Johnny (from the south side of the Bayonne bridge, that is) singing Gaelic Storm's gentle lullabye, "The Night I Punched Russell Crowe in the Head," our odd children immersed in sugar and their favorite presents . . books.

Two days later we left for the snows of New Jersey, and were not disappointed. We had to dress the kids in full snow gear in the van, and bail out on a main road by Grandma and Pop's directly into three feet of the white stuff: kids, dog, luggage and all, and make our way to the house.

Una held family Christmas a day later in Bayonne, the entire Fleming family making it in on cleared main roads for the festivities, including both dogs. It was a blast.

All 12 grandkids, from the top: Katie, Deidre, Hannah, Michael, Fiona, Finula, Gabby, Jack, Kit, Bella, Joey (the oldest) and Cora (the newest).

John and I escaped to romantic Long Branch for a couple of kid-free nights away, with yummy dinners at warm restaurants along a snowy beach . . .

. . . then made it home to Bethesda on New Year's Eve, (out of car, dress everybody, back in car to make it to Lebanese Taverna to meet Fran and Roger and Bella and Finula . . . see? Who needs transitions? ).

John left a week later.

Today is January 28th. There are 68 days left until John's next visit home.

Kit asked me what my hobby was, and while a sad, little spark zoomed through my brain that it would be running outside if only I could leave the house, I said, naturally, "writing," as it's always been since I was her age (7) and wrote my first successful research paper on the duckbilled platypus.

So, ok, then:

2011 New Year's Resolutions
~consider taking a breath between events
~meditate
~do more yoga
and
~just write already

Happy New Year!

A Fleming Six-Month Catchup Part III

2011-01-28T12:57:00.000-08:00

Accept our fondest Happy New Year! and delete, or pull up a cup of Joe and read on . . . in three parts

Part III Autumn

Although I could have tried one challenge at a time, it appears I attempted both single- and working- motherhood all at once.

For future reference, I'll have just the working motherhood, please.

Kit and Gab went into before and after care at the y, a huge success. They loved it and I won't fear it in the future. Jack began school with me at Apple Montessori, though not in my classroom of course, which is a great thing since the tantrums he'd been throwing at home were the same as the ones he threw at school in between telling people, "My dad's in Iraq. Sometimes they call it Baghdad," and thus began the fallout of John leaving. Forget Jack's tantrums; I began a curious habit of growing real horns and claws and scales around 8:30 every night. I was a walking cortisol pump.

By November, exhaustion turned into illness. I missed four days, then the kids got sick, then we all got strep. So I fired myself--told my boss she needed an employee she could rely on. Now I go into work, same as always, for those first few intense Montessori hours to fulfill my internship, with all of the same expectations and responsibilities, only now I don't get paid and I have to get the kids after school (no more aftercare ), etc. Sounds crazy, but knowing that I can prioritize the kids without leaving my boss shorthanded took some stress away. Not the exhaustion, mind you, just the stress. My honor and respect for single mothers now has no bounds. I know next year this will be doable with live-in backup (aka John). I have hope and an end in sight. Unlike many who do this every day, I am truly blessed.

Speaking of blessed, did I mention Gabby's teacher this year? I called for angels, even had one in my pocket with Gabby's fabulous aide returning, but . . . Christopher Higgins. Say it with a prayer on your breath. I think the guy must lay awake at nights thinking, "How can I best include Gabby in my lesson plans tomorrow? " His enthusiasm and creativity seem endless. I am truly in awe, and Gabby is thriving. I called to see if I needed to be available to run the Wyngate fun run with Gabby. No. Not only did he run with her, he wrote me and told me in detail what a blast he had. After a presentation she gave, he wrote me, "I am so proud of her!" I am so proud of him.

Mr. Higgins, and Gabby and Ava in the Halloween Parade

Kit just continues to build character, or to show me how it is done. She started soccer this year and is very excited about it. Unfortunately, i didn't see it coming, signed up too late, and she couldn't play with her school team. She was bummed, but determined to play the sport. After the first few practices she said, in complete innocence and joy,"You know what's really cool? I can make friends anywhere." Yes, Honey, you can. In the spring she has first choice of any team she wants. She could choose Wyngate and her best friend's team, but she chose to return to the team she started with. Games resume in March.

Jack is three. Ok, he'll be four in February, but I'll believe it when I see it. Never before have I met a man so articulate and so emotionally chaotic at the same time. In that he can't stop talking and in that he has a gift of colorful and varied vocabulary, I come to understand and witness first hand the inner working of child development. He can scream volumes about the unspreadability of blueberry preserves, the unwillingess of shampoo to rinse from hair . . . really, anything. It almost makes me look forward to age 12 when he will be reduced to grunting responses. His cuteness continues to save his life on a daily basis.

Sometime when it gets rough, I just have to kick the rest of the world out, and make sure we are all in, a quarantine of sorts. I love nothing more than just the three kids at home together, playing dress up, making up dances (Jack has a routine to Michael Bublé's "I've got the World on a String" that rivals old Hollywood numbers), building forts, and reading, reading, reading . . . the three of them are addicted to it.

A Fleming Six-Month Catchup Part II

2011-01-28T12:41:00.000-08:00

Accept our fondest, Happy New Year! and delete, or pull up a cup of Joe and read on . . . in four parts.

PART II Summer Vacation

And so I ended a sanctuary of order, and freedom within limits, and all that good stuff, and went home to . . . . laundry, broken sheetrock and . . . the rest of real life, and began preparations for the summer's big vacation: a whirlwind tour of Grandma's in Ohio then Deep Creek Lake.

It was perfect. We got a house across the street from a sweet neighborhood park on the lake. We celebrated Kit's seventh birthday early so she could have her big day with Daddy. Jack swam freely for the first time. We climbed on slippery rocks, and played and swam, in Swallow Falls. We even brought home a few monarch caterpillars. ( "Slinky" survived, and one afternoon just as Jack and I came home from school we got to witness his grand metamorphosis. Truly stunning.)

Enjoying the big open spaces of the rental house, John instituted a new Fleming pastime: Daddyfighting. All opponents respectfully bow and look deep into the eyes of their opponent (Daddy), then let him have it. Great spectator sport.

So, we arrived back in Bethesda, car full of kids, dog, sand, food (mostly scattered around the floor of the car) and a milkweed plant.

Yes, arrived just in time to meet Maureen and John who would babysit that evening while John and I met Una and John, and Fran and Roger, who'd taken the train into Georgetown so we could have dinner together before John left for Baghdad in five days. They were also there so Pop could paint the basement and help put it back together since the tile floor would be finished and I was starting my internship/assistantship the next day.

Did I ever mentioned we're not really good at transitions? I guess that's why we tend to skip the actual transitioning part of anything. (See: "consider taking a breath between events" just before "meditate" and "do more yoga" in 2011 New Year's Resolutions.)

The dinner was great. The basement floor wasn't finished, nor would it be, prompting me to take two personal days in my first month of employment just to paint the walls and move the furniture the contractor had complained was too heavy BY MYSELF. Don't mess with a woman who needs her playroom back.

And so that Friday, August 27th, John left at 9 pm. By 10pm I was in Suburban Hospital's friendly ER with Gabby who'd fallen off the swing at 5 and had us all convinced she had fractured her elbow, even the doc who casted her. By 2am I was home painting the wall in the laundry room where the new washer and dryer would be delivered the next morning, the old one having been deemed useless by the contractor when he moved it. (Long story short, Gab took the cast off two days later out in the baby pool in the backyard, threw the wrap in a heap, and went to climb the monkey bars. No I am not kidding. )

A Fleming Six-Month Catchup Part I

2011-01-28T12:27:00.000-08:00

Accept our fondest Happy New Year! and delete, or pull up a cup of Joe and read on . . . in four parts.

PART I Summer School
Let's see, where were we? Oh, yes, June 2010: knee deep in a basement full of water, John leaving for somewhere for two weeks, and me about to begin eight weeks of intensive academics in an effort to achieve my Montessori credential, during which time my kids would experience summer camp like never before.

Eight beautiful women and some truly gifted instructors filled my summer. It was very rigorous, just as my previous courses in Oman had been. I stayed until midnight many nights knowing I would not have a spare second to finish assignments in the fall once John left for Baghdad. My classmate from Israel was working diligently and late, too, since she had to translate everything, and so I made a great new friend. It was all very college-roomatey, except for the part about each of us with three children.

Exhausted, and about to trade the rigors of research for reintegration into full-on summer with kids, I looked forward to the last day, and the last instructor, who I could not wait to meet: Amy Beam. She runs a special nature program called Beyond the Walls, one of the primary reasons I chose Montgomery Montessori Institute. (Move over, No Child Left Behind; how about No Child Left Inside?)

One hour into the day, the Y called about Gabby. After eight weeks of holding my breath and thanking God things were going well, they had had enough. Or something. During the final swim show on the final day of aquatics camp, Gabby decided that she didn't want to do what they wanted her to do, she just wanted to swim, and so began diving into the pool wherever she felt like it and swimming away from anyone trying to corral her--a flight risk cum safety hazard. Try to imagine the scene and you can't help but set it to music in your head. Please note that a two-foot poster of Gabby is in the lobby of the Y under the proud heading, Our Inclusieveness, and you begin to see how far she must have pushed them.

Looking beyond the Institute's strict rules about bringing children with you, Amy pointed to a word on her whiteboard: "welcoming," and said "Besides, we're going to the woods." So I went and got my monkey daughter.

The rest is a surreal end to an otherwise serious experience. At the end of the lesson, we were in Seneca State Park, in an area where Amy's camp was going on (without her that day). There in the forest, Amy gave us a box of colorful scarves and showed us how to make a fairy arch by bending tall birches. Then she gave us a big box of fussy dress-up clothes to put on. In full frill, serenaded by the chanting of a sparky group of 3-to-5-year-old daycampers, we walked through the arch (thus symbolizing a passage of sorts) lead (as Montessori would only have it) by a child . . . Gabby.

. . . Which leads me to wonder, yet again, who distorts whose reality more, me or Gabby?

Where the Wild Things Are: 9516 Ewing Drive

2010-06-06T18:21:00.000-07:00

I am making myself write this down, because if I don't I'll block it and someday, when asked how our lives were at this time, I'll draw a complete blank. First, I looked at this week coming up as a miniature Fall of 2010 (when I will be starting work, Jack will be starting school, the kids will be starting before- and after-care to facilitate all of this while John leaves for Baghdad, all pretty much on the same day). At present, I am starting classes Monday, sending the kids to before care at the Y for just one week, Elle is picking them up after school, various sitters we love are stopping by to care for Kelbi (she is very picky about her people) just to facilitate John leaving for the week tonight. So just this week, while diving into the 8-5, eat-sleep-dream rigors of the Montessori course, I am going to have to negotiate end-of-year performances (I HAVE to go to Gabby's; Kit scored Hannah's appearance at hers) and a couple of yoga classes I am still committed to teach. This is followed by seven more rigorous weeks of insanity, but John will be in town.

With all that in mind, this weekend was about having all our ducks in a row, all the laundry done and outfits ready, food prepared, yard work complete, John packed up etc. so John and I could have a Saturday night date. So why is it 9:30 pm on Sunday, and I am standing in a veritable abandoned battlefield full of wailing and debris?

Yesterday afternoon at 5, Elle showed up to entertain the kids and I bolted upstairs to get dressed, John bolted downstairs to grab a shirt from the laundry. And that's when it ALL began. Only, we weren't really aware of the "ALL" part yet.

The washer hose, free of the sink it was supposed to be draining into was instead, filling the carpeted basement, turning it into one big, wet sponge. Every towel and blanket we could grab went to the floor, and every toy and book went into a very big pile on the "dry side" of the basement. Before six, with a yard full of towels and comforters, (and a very nice Persian rug draped over lawn chairs) we assessed the situation, grabbed a phone number of our trusted floor guy and the cell phone and said, "Let's go drink about what to do next."

This time, when I ran upstairs to grab my shoes, Gabby was busy with a paper towel and a spray bottle of Clorox Cleanup (read: bleach), "cleaning" our room: the dresser, our comforter, quilt . . .think little white dots and you get the picture. She was . . . cleaning. Undeterred, we said, well, the quilt could be turned over, and thank goodness she didn't spray the doorless closet with all of John's suits, and off we went. (One of my favorite yoga studios was throwing a soiree with gourmet chocolates and live music, and we were going to meet Geneva and Brian there, then head for margaritas.) In the car on the way we put our stories together and realized . . .Gabby had also been in the laundry room and freed the hose from the sink. Hmmmm...

But when we got home, everyone was happy and sleepy and we thought nothing more of it, until every time we left Gab alone for more than five minutes today . . . mischief (which is actually stipulated as a non-coverable cause under "water damage due to . . ." in our insurance policy. And so, by noon, after Gabby had broken her sundress strap at church, left us at same Mass to join another family (never met them before, but decided to stand between this chosen husband and wife and hold the lady's hand, and stand and listen like an angel as opposed to annoying her sister, slamming down the kneeler, whining, or reading while sitting on the kneeler); and at the Silver Diner, after she had ordered pancakes, fussed over how they were cut, refused them then insisted she wanted something else completely- something with french fries-then spent 45 minutes eating; and after returning home and moaning that her stomach hurt (really? why?) when I tucked her into bed she slithered out and slithered under my bed taking every dust bunny with her then spreading thick dust (that gathers quickly: the dog sleeps there) on our bed; and after I was trapped in the bathroom while outside the door I could hear her taking a picture and it's glass out of a metal frame, an act for which I drew ever so deeply to find the patience to bring her to the broken glass on the stair to show her that this was not a good thing only to have her step in a piece of it on the way and wail for 30 minutes (while I, Cruella, mused, "Huh. Just like the stove. Glass teaches it's own lesson.") . . . . well, I was not at that moment suitable for motherhood, Montessori and DEFINITELY not any thing yogic. So I gasp --- took her with me to Costco as punishment. ( . . or maybe it was self-preservation, because I knew if I left her with John and the others he would have to avert his eyes and then what? Would I have to unfork the dog from the ceiling?)

She was an angel, of course. Sat in the cart, used beautiful words to remind me of all the things we usually get: "Milk! Orange juice! Bread!" I was even beginning to like her again, and she, me.

It didn't last, of course. At home she turned the central ac to "heat" (it's like 90 degrees here), unplugged the ac in her room, hit her brother, threw cards at the ceiling fan . . .and these are just the things I know about. Finally, Kit and Jack and I stood at the front door saying our goodbyes to John (with Jack screaming, "No Daddy! Don't leave!") when we heard the final crash: forget Daddy leaving, she had climbed onto the counter to search for the chocolate chip cookies, thereby releasing, from great height, a full crystal sugar bowl.

Go ahead. Call social services.

John, my angel, my saint, stayed a few more minutes to sweep up the Barbie crystal sugarscape that the kitchen had become, and, as I love him so, I added another wet comforter and a few beach towels to the collection he took in large garbage bags, bound for a laundromat some evening this week after training (he's driving there). Now there's where this week's trip and Baghdad seriously diverge.

We all calmed down. The kids brushed their teeth, and I read them stories . . . rocked Jack . . . .and rubbed toes, and bellies . . . and pulled Kit's tooth out.

Her tooth! Her tooth! Finally! the second one! just when there was peace, she could not stop: "I am SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO exCITED!!!!!!!!!" she kept yelling.

. . . right. Pack four lunches, get books ready, write list for Elle (now bound to walk Kelbi AND stay for the flood repair people), do laundry, tear down barrier that was keeping kids from basement so flood repair people can get in, and, oh yes: don wings, sprinkle dust . . .

six

2010-06-04T18:35:00.000-07:00

"Girls! Girls! Girls!" I remember calling out, trying to restore order to the chatty-wild young ladies in my Sacred Heart classroom many years ago in Hoboken. And everytime I shouted, I remember amusing myself thinking, "Geeze-I sound like a Camden billboard." (Yes, sometimes Billy Crystal lives in my head.) Admittedly it is hard not to draw a line to sexual innuendo at every turn when you are the English/P.E. teacher to a bunch of high school girls who are trapped inside a boyless institution for hours on end. I had to be prepared because they drew that line every chance they got. I always thought, when my kids ask, I'll surely be ready to answer. And I am.

I thought of my readiness again when Uncle Pat (my Godfather, the best one there is, a fact that is important) sent me an email-giggle regarding one of Kit's cute little sayings. "The day is not too far off when you will be hit with the big question of where did I come from and how did I get here, etc." he wrote.

We were both wrong.

Instead, one night before bed, my darling six-year-old with her covers tucked up under her chin told ME where babies come from: "May said that to have a baby, a man . . . " shall I save you from her clear and correct description? (If you are trying to think what it was like to be me, make sure you insert those two, big, innocent baby blues looking at you for confirmation. Blink. Blink.)

First, I silently forgave May (who has teenage brothers and clearly academic understanding of biology), then aided by angels, I answered "Yes, but that doesn't decide that there is a baby. That's still up to God. It's a big mystery. That's why some people have lots of babies and some people have none. It's alllll up to God."

Still young enough to cling to all things magical, she liked that, and I hadn't heard from her since. Until early this morning, when she was reading a newspaper and asked, "What's sex again?"

I decided to think animals, and came up with a cursory but usable definition for reproduction. I spoke slowly and clearly, with my heart stuck somewhere in my throat. Then I held my breath.
"No," she looked at me blankly. "I mean like here, it says "Sex:Female. What does that mean?"

Gabby's First Communion

2010-05-17T19:34:00.000-07:00

Not everybody gets a message wishing them "Mazel Tov on your First Communion!" so thanks, Mini, for your message of love from Israel on Gabby's special day!

And it was special, in so many ways! My Mom made it in, to help with all the last minute, frantic preparations. How were we going to entertain 30 people in this shoebox? I prayed. It worked. 70's and sunny, we spilled out mostly into the backyard. But not before we pushed out a few sweat beads in the church . . .

Gabby made her First Communion alone, not with her class. It was an option presented for families with other commitments, and we were happy to take it. On the official day, Kit and I had Girl Scout Encampment, and John, Gabby and Jack went to Connecticut to celebrate Bella's First Communion. This way, Gabby wouldn't be fussing in a sea of 50+ Communicants, we wouldn't be missing Fleming VIPs like Grandma and Pop, and Gabby would get to watch Bella, and anticipate her own big day. To add to that special weekend, Grandma Fleming took Gabby to buy a dress, and Bella passed on her veil.

Fr. Bill had met with us earlier in the week. That was a Fleming circus with all three kids running around the empty church. For single Communicants like Gabby, Fr. Bill usually invited them up on the altar for the Eucharistic Prayer. It was clear that Jack was only going to be happy if he got to go where Gabby was, and it was clear that if Gabby was going to be on the altar, the only place for her was in the pulpit. So we decided against that bonus. We were already infiltrating the service with Auntie Kitty set to be a Eucharistic minister, to give Gabby her first sip of wine (thus saving her from drinking the entire cup); and the little bouquet of cousins, Kit, Gabby, Fiona and Hannah taking up the gifts. With 14 family members expected to attend the church, we reserved two pews.

So Saturday night came, we welcomed everybody in from Jersey, sent them back to their hotel to change and made it to the church on time. Well, we made it, but . . . "They'll be here," we assured Fr. Bill, and Mass began. Gabby processed in with the altar servers and Fr. Bill but was clearly not happy that she did not get to continue up onto the altar. So she stood in the aisle and pouted, like a little miffed bride.

That of course, was not nearly enough drama for a Saturday night, so we continued with the operatic strains of Jack who just wanted to go! So John took him out, leaving me, my mom, Kit, and Gabby in two big long empty pews.

When Gabby's Catechism aide appeared (wasn't that sweet? I think she saw how empty our pews were and came to join us), I leaned back to her and whispered "I think you're going to have to take up some gifts!" Fortunately, right before the Gospel (which is as late as you can get and still have Mass "count") the rest processed in. Even John came back with Jack. It was close!

So, aside from Jack's continual whining, and Gabby the hostess working the pews, making sure she sat next to every single family member, the ceremony turned out great. The diamond moment came just after taking the bread and wine. Gabby settled herself back into the pew next to Nora this time and Nora said, "I'm so proud of you Gabby! What did you just have?"

Gabby answered, "I ate Christ."

No on had ever said those words to her. They were hers alone. Later, her Catechism teacher would say, "Leave it to Gabby, of all the kids, to get it." We have to believe, in some way, that that's true.

The lobby afterward was filled with Jack crying and us not getting photos and everybody talking and strangers congratulating Gabby, two in particular I will remember. They were young, and obviously sent over to us by their father who I turned to see was talking to father Bill. Couldn't Jack have just unleashed my leg for one moment? I guess I was not yet meant to meet Tim Shriver (Eunice Shriver's son, the man who is carrying Special Olympics forward). Maybe another Sunday . . .

The rest was a real summer celebration, with lots of children, wine and glowsticks. And just when it really didn't matter anymore, a perfectly happy Jack.

Gimme Three Good Reasons. Ok, Four.

2010-05-09T19:54:00.001-07:00

I asked a friend today, Is your name Mommy? Or, Mommymommmymommymommymommy? As usual, my life is too much chocolate cake. All good, just too much of good. It has been a long week! The anvil hanging over my head is that we are living like farm animals and have Gabby's First Communion next week. Lots of folks coming in town; John is out of town. Not sure how I am going to find the floors before then BUT. . . . in the meantime . . .

This week marked my first kids yoga classes at the Y . . .as in Yeah! They were fun, and the kids loved them. Thursday's 5-7 year old group gave me the best compliment: a big moan at the end. "It's OVER??" "That's IT??" "That was like . . 10 minutes!!!!" But I think it was all about the foot massage during savasana. I'll make it longer. All those little toes . . . They have just started to learn that they love to relax. I know I'm still working on that!

The best part about Thursday, though, leads me to another "Why I LOVE the Y" moment. Stuck without a sitter, in desperation, I signed Kit up for my yoga class (actually she asked); I signed Jack up for a soccer class, and Gabby, well, they were going to throw her into an aftercare classroom. Very nice of them. When I showed up for my class they happily grabbed all three kids and threw them in the office with a big pile of books (nirvana for Flemings). Kit showed up to my class on her own on time. That was easy enough. When I got done, I learned that in order to get a stubborn Jack to soccer, they had Gabby take him. They added a counselor-in-training to the soccer class, kept Gabby in it and everyone won. She has never lasted in an outdoor class. All that green space calling her to run. But somehow they knew she was ready for this one. The coach wanted her there, and they did the right thing getting a backup in case she headed for the park or the woods. They really get it. So she is now signed up for rookie soccer. With Jack. It sounds like money suckage until you do the real math here: everybody gets an activity and I STILL make 10 bucks. Did I mention I love the Y?

Then there was the Mother's Day yoga workshop I did with Geneva. I was so wiped out by Saturday, and sick of juggling it all without John (who went to London) I really just wanted to take the class. I got Jack a sitter; Gabby and Kit came with me. Gab is one amazing yogi. It was a lovely workshop though not my best teaching moment. A long day, but a good one: any day spent with the Wattenpaugh family is a good one! Kit and Amelia were all sprightly and giggly. Afterwards, Brian and G brought burgers and wine. Brian took over my kitchen, managed to find everything (amazing!) and basically took care of us at chez Fleming while the kids continued to run and run and run around the backyard. G and I just needed wine and decompression.

Note this date in history: Gabby mastered the monkey bars! I had heard a rumor she did it Friday at school, but I got to see it for myself. She has been working diligently at this for over a year. She is one happy monkey!

So finally, after weeks of daily obligation, we had our first Sunday morning without anything to run to. (Sunday school is over for now.) And the kids were SO wiped out, I could see they were going to sleep for a good long while. Ahhhhhhh. Then someone's car alarm went off at 3 am. Undeterred, I fell back asleep. Until 6:30, when Kit woke me with the news that it is MOTHER"S DAY! And she JUST MADE BREAKFAST! She also made me a DOUBLE ESPRESSO!!!!
Jack and Gabby slept until late. Then Jack got up to give me his Mother's Day present: He said "I wanna go to church." And do you know, the little bugger made it all the way through Mass?! Too bad for him there were no donuts, so after a couple of passes on the monkey bars at Our Lady of Mercy, we headed to Dunkin Donuts (blechhhh!) bought an entire dozen, and went home for Mother's Day Brunch: Donuts and bowls of vegetables, with big cups of milk. See what John is missing?

So now it is heading toward midnight. Delays, I fear. We'll see just when he gets his volcanic ash home. Baby #1 needs a walk!

Ommmmmmm My. Dear. Child.

2010-04-15T18:57:00.001-07:00

Geneva and I are having a Mother's Day Mom and Me Together Yoga Workshop. This is Geneva's baby. (She has been amazing about pusuing her yoga teaching.) In any case, she is promoting it and holding it at the studio where she rents space. It will be a fun, relaxing, mother-child partnering affair. I'll assist, then take the kids in the end for a craft and more kid yoga, leaving a lucky bunch of moms in the hands of Geneva. (Geneva walks into a room and I feel better already.)

It's the craft we're still working on. We've been working on this idea of weaving words (using alphabet beads) into hemp bracelets. At one point we thought it would be meaningful to gather words from each mother and child, a special word, perhaps one that comes to mind when, say, the child thinks of the mother or vice versa.

So I took that idea to our R&D department for testing (that would be Kit, located conveniently on our swingset each and every afternoon). She loved the idea. What a special gift for mother's day! And you get to make it right there!

"What words might you choose?" I asked her. "What makes you think of me?"

"Oh, Grocery Store. Tired. Yelling. Like that."

Slap that one on a Hallmark Card and send it to your Momma.

Happy Easter!

2010-04-04T10:39:00.000-07:00

Love from all of us with wishes for lots of springtimes blessings!

Easter Bunny

2010-04-02T19:01:00.000-07:00

Redeemed!!!!! 3/6/2010

Gabby had her tear-duct tubes surgically removed on Wednesday. Once again, she had no fear, was patient in the doc office, a darling for the medical staff. Last time I whispered a little fantay/ meditation story that went with the bubble gum anesthesia as she drifted off on the table. Something about Barbie. This time she chose "orange!" as she scrambled up onto the operating table and flipped onto her back, like anesthesia gas is a treat or something. (Then again, if someone offered me a really good nap I might just get excited, too.)

But that's not what this story is about. It's about a moment of clarity in the car on the way there. Sometimes Gabby is so clear in her speech, and when it is, you get this glimpse inside her head. It must be fun in there.

"Mommy, you know what?"
"What."
"I think Daddy is the Easter Bunny."
"Really! Why is that?"
"He has pink ears."

I marveled at all this cognition and then realized she must have been looking through the family photos. Still, John does make a fine Easter Bunny.

Catechlysm

2010-03-05T19:42:00.000-08:00

Dear All: I promise promise promise to catch up someday soon. Snowmaggedon has us a bit behind, but I couldn't miss writing tonight, not with the very few of you I blog, all of whom I thought might appreciate a little Lenten Oy Vey.

Gabby is receiving the sacrament of reconciliation tomorrow. It isn't a big-white-dress affair, in fact as with the Jewish Yom Kippur, the Church has kept this sacrament solemn, private. In a way, recognizing your wrongdoings, and then learning that these can have eternal ramifications, is pretty heavy stuff. Of course, learning that there is a way to salvation through reconciliation with God is bigger still. One of the ways to get to this understanding is to pray "Stations of the Cross." Kids in Catholic school do them often enough. John remembers well being a Roman soldier gambling for Jesus' clothing in a passion play. If you've ever walked the Via Dolorosa in Jerusalem, that's the real trail. In every Catholic church, you'll find artwork depicting the 15 stations from Jesus' initial sentence to death through falling, being forced to carry His own cross, meeting His mother, all the way until they find His tomb empty. It is a heavy meditation.

Tonight, our church had a family pizza party followed by stations of the cross. If it sounds casual, it was. Our church does a nice job of nurturing, especially young children who do not attend the school (and this really was for us "public school" kids). There were about twenty kids and as many parents. Ponytail-ponytail-ponytail, Gabby, Kit and Caroline followed Fr. Don to each station. So this is great: Fr. Don will hear Gabby's first confession tomorrow, and they are getting to have a nice moment praying together tonight.

But this is better: the fireworks going off over Kit's head. She is reading now, and praying aloud at each graphic depiction of torture one can't imagine, each meditation and prayer revealing a horrific act and the soul-wrenching lessons we are to take from it, made all the more real since these are child-centered: "Lord, let me see you in every person, even those I don't like or who bother me . . ." This all sounds dark, but she was actually excited. She had about a million questions ranging from "If Jesus is the only one who ever rose from the dead, then why was Elijah and that other guy [that would be Moses] there at the mountain? "(i.e., Tabor, during the Transfiguration. What, weren't you listening last Sunday?) to "Wait . . . is there a big lake there?" (confusing Jerusalem with the Galilee.) And the clincher: the my-best-friend-is-Jewish-so-now-what-do-I-do response to "Why did they kill Jesus?"

Me: "Well, the Jews didn't believe that Jesus was God's son."

Kit: "Oh, no! Shouldn't we tell Riley?!!"

Me: {dead silence/muffled snicker/silent prayer]

Kit: "Well?"

Me: "Did you know your father studies religions all around the world? (phew!) Let's ask him."

Me silently to self: Weren't you the kid who corrected my "Alleluia" way back when when you were two ? "No, Mommy, it's Allah Rabi!"

Home and the Holy Land

2009-12-27T17:33:00.000-08:00

Christmas eve, 2007 -- We rush to the sea at sunset and bring a lantern, light a candle "Happy Birthday, Jesus!" At home, standing outside, I listen to the deceiving sound that sounds like rain, the rush of palm fronds in the wind.

Christmas eve, 2009 -- we shush up an icy path to Mass, sing carols and pray loud and happy prayers. The snowy trees out side are dense and quiet.

It's so amazing to see God in all of it.

Prelude to a Letter about a Year

With all my best intentions, Shana Tova! has turned into Happy New Year! speeding through Thanksgiving, Hannukah and Christmas with nary a letter written to our family and friends. I thought I'd write two letters, one to our friends in Israel, one to our friends at home, but I have been having such a hard time separating our life in this way. Why, with a wonderful home and neighbors and life, do I feel . . . homesick? One answer revealed itself to me at our neighbors' home, at dinner. We two families live in twin houses (the neighborhood is full of these little cape cods) and we always talk about how we live in them, what we would change or not. In the end, John and I talked about not knowing where we'd end up, and they talked about never leaving. "Of course you wouldn't want to leave, " I commented. "You've spent most of your married life here, your two children were born here!" . . . and then it dawned on me. Of our ten years of marriage, half of it has been spent in Israel. Two of our children were born there. Kelbi our beloved dog is Israeli! I struggle to distill what it is I miss into one single thing: our friends? the people? the weather? the culture? salad for breakfast? a good afouk? Ok, it's all of that, but . . it's us . . . So far, geographically speaking, there is nowhere else we -- as a family - - can call home so much. But here we are . . .

2009

If during the course of our move, 2008 became a blur, the clarity gained by 2009 was not pretty. I cannot remember much about the beginning of the year, except being angry. Really, really, poisonously angry. Gabby had been moved (due to much work on my part) in autumn 2008, from one special needs classroom at a distant school, to another in a school nearer us, but it was clear, this wouldn't work either. Gabby's behavior was abysmal. She acted out in every way possible. Unlike her previous years, she had no typically-developing friends, and if it wasn't for one awesome neighbor / classmate, I hate to think what disconnectedness she would have felt.

I had had it. Our principal had long ago said our neighborhood school, Wyngate, would not be appropriate. Now I understood clearly: Wyngate was for high-achieving students and did not want to ruin its test scores. Nor did it care to add to its hard-working staff, more . . . um . . . hard work.

TOO BAD.

My mountain? The principal at Gabby's school said, according to her observations, "Gabby was unavailable for learning". (Yes, those are her words.) No way could she be included in a regular classroom. She was disruptive, unattentive, completely non-compliant. They did not even know that she knew how to read because she refused to read for her teacher.

My guide? The principal at Gabby's school also said, "If it wasn't for the reports from her former (Israeli) teachers, I could not believe that she has ever been able to handle herself in a classroom." Those reports, painstakingly written, professional in detail, with love oozing out between the lines.

My support? An amazing group of parents here in Montgomery County who have fought for the same for their children. The bonus of this group is their children, many of whom are Gabby's age and are girls. She's got peer friends all over.

I did not hire a lawyer. The law to me was crystal. Evidence? Previous success in an inclusive environment. Proof? Reams of reports and recommendations for inclusion from Montessori Oman, The American School in Muscat, AEIP and, most importantly, AIS Israel.

I did not hire an advocate. Who could believe in Gabby more than I could? I made art out of quotes and reports from teachers at AIS. I printed pictures of Gabby engaging with friends, and performing in Go Fish! I printed out flyers about the law and about the research: "Students with Down Syndrome develop best in an inclusive environment." I called for another mediation at Montgomery County Public Schools. I spread my art pieces--those beautiful and true words of Maala's and Geelit's and Amy's, and pictures of my daughter--on the table. Those teachers from Israel who knew her were present. Gabby was present. When I wasn't speaking, they were.

In the end, the Wyngate pricipal made sure Gabby got the best aide out there, and all the bells and whistles MCPS could offer. Gabby started in April. In less than two weeks,(after nine months of awfulness) Gabby was back on track. She is the poster child for inclusion. She became happier at home. She made friends quickly. The kids in the neighborhood started treating her with new respect. Her speech improved dramatically. She can walk to school. The really cool thing was that her aide had worked at the previous school with another child, but she knew Gabby, so she got to witness the magic transformation. If any of you from AIS are crying that all your work had been lost, it is absolutely the opposite: she carried you with her the whole time, picked right up from the tail-end of kindergarten. And all the while this spring, you were busy going on about your business, completely unaware that I was clinging to your work with her, and those words you had written, like a lifeline, and they pulled me through it all. We carry you with us . . .

*deep breath* It's over.

And just like that it was May . . . Blessed with an unbelievably cheap airfare, Gabby and Kit and I took a trip to California to see the Perlmans and welcome new baby Grady. Grandma and Pop came down to help John with Jack (Jack requires a zookeeper, really). We had the best time ever. The girls are such great travelers. (Watching Gabby take herself through a security checkout -- get the bin, shoes off, coat off, backpack in, walk through the doorway, coat on, shoes on, get my backpack -- is a stunning tribute to learned routine. ) World-traveller Kit asked, "So how many planes are we taking?" and at LAX said, "That's it? That was quick!"

In June we roved up to Deep Creek Lake, a two-hour car ride that took us four. On the Fourth of July we celebrated a real hero's return: our next-door neighbor came back from a year in Bahrain. His twin five-year-olds were ecstatic (but not as much as you can imagine their mom was)! I didn't know just how happy I'd be about the whole thing until I discovered that he is a gourmet cook -- and he likes to share! So while I found myself scrambling to make chicken nuggets for dinner, he would pop over with snacks like melon wrapped in prosciutto. Gee, why hadn't I thought of that? John, of course, is VERY appreciative! And so we were blessed with yet another good friend and neighbor.

Throughout the year I have been trying to gain teaching experience in the hope of getting a job, or at least being worth my salt when one comes along. I took a Dalcroze / Musikinesis workshop, and an Arts Integration workshop at The Lucy School (amazing!), and finished a Yoga for Kids certification in November. With Jack so small, I can't really take on anything full-time, but the Y and Montgomery County Recreation are very interested in the Yoga project, and my friend Geneva is in it with me. The Y preschool is also talking with me about a part-time preschool position. Tune into 2010 to see how that all pans out!

John's big news is his assignment in Iraq which begins next autumn. Right now the Middle East is keeping him busy. Actually, nothing is keeping him as busy as his children are (he's on - -notice the quotes -- "vacation"). And I believe that our children are also as perplexing and cranky and volatile as those parts of the world can be, particularly since they've been out of school unexpectedly due to the snowstorm. John is also busy fixing up just about anything in this house he can get his hands on that needs fixing or updated, which is pretty much everything. We recently added a little sunroom to the back of the house. Of course I love it. I did not agree to it, but it is nice. Oh, and it's leaking . . . This is that house.

Kit is just this beautiful ethereal thing that floats around, helpful, perfect . . . and then she's this loud, obnoxious thing we can't turn the volume down on. She's been living life as a buffet, tasting everything, and is presently taking Irish dance lessons and looking forward to cheerleading in January. She is a voracious little reader, and we can no longer spell in front of her by way of talking in parent-code.

I've said it before and I'll say it again, Jack's adorableness is his only defense. He is so very two, and now I worry only about the onset of three (in February). His voice slays me: it is so high, and he is so articulate, with a rich vocabulary. It is fascinating to hear what goes on in a two-year-old's head.

And Kelbi? Still the best dog ever. So much for her Israeli roots, there is nothing she loves more than snow!

And that brings us to Christmas! My mom was here for a week, driving down early so we could spend three days together before the kids got out of school, but the snow closed school, and chaos reigned. The best part of Christmas was Mass with the children-- no, really. I have never been to a better formal celebration of Christ's birth. The girls sang in the Cherub Choir before Mass (Kit is very serious about this!) Venite Adoremus Dominum! Then, the priest invited all the children to sit with him for his sermon. About 60-plus children scrambled up to sit with him at the foot of the altar. He was so patient with them, and listened to them. His actions alone were a beautiful message. Then he "took them all to Bethlehem" to bless the creche.
Many children went back to their parents, about ten remained (including Kit and Gabby). Then Fr. Worch went into the congregation and took an 8-week-old baby, whose father had been killed in Afghanistan earlier in the year. He held this baby as he consecrated the Host, with now many kids crowding around the altar (and few dry ieyes in the congregation, as you can imagine). The baby was a calm cucumber, the kids were well behaved. If God would let me have him for a weekend, I'd hire this guy to watch our three.

We're looking forward to 2010, though for what reasons we're not sure yet. It just seems like the surprises are very interesting around here! We love you and think of you often. Whether you are sitting in snow or sand or traffic on the beltway, have a very blessed New Year!

Chris John Gabby Kit Jack and Kelbi

Up to Our Dog in Snow!

2009-12-19T15:18:00.000-08:00

Can you pick the happiest Fleming? Can you pick the Fleming that refused to go out in it (leaving me stranded inside missing all the fun until about 4 o'clock)?!!!! In any case . . .if you were dreaming of it, here it is . . .SNOW!

2009 Turkey Chase

2009-11-27T12:46:00.000-08:00

Our day was full of turkey chase, and not one bit of race. Now for that we are most thankful! Oh . . . how does one chase a turkey? Well, there are a few methods:

We hope your Thanksgivings are full of blessings! We love and miss you all. xxxx

Gabby Fleming's Day Off

2009-11-23T18:36:00.001-08:00

Last Tuesday Gabby went in for her surgery: new ear tubes; eyetubes that will increase the size and efficacy of her tearducts; and sinus work. She was in surgery for three hours.

Gab was a champ from the get-go, charming all of her doctors and nurses along they way, ready for her big adventure. We have been blessed almost 100% of her life with very warm medical professionals, and she gives them love back, expecting only the best from each next one she meets. She is a dream patient. And although, well, who wants surgery? in some odd way waiting rooms provide us an opportunity for special one-on-one times to draw and snuggle and just be. (There is something to be learned here, right?) For anesthesia, Gabby put the mask on her own face to show them how Jack does his nebulizer, and then I got to tell her a story -- a little meditation -- to send her off on a bubble-gum scented adventure.

Her ENT says he should charge extra, her left ear was so difficult to manage getting glue out of, much less a tube into, and her eardrum is misshapen, so that is a challenge. The eye doc had a similar problem - really small portals! And only three tearducts instead of four! His job is to lace the tube up through her eyelids and down through her nose to provide proper drainage. I have some sport shoes with knots I should send him. I am truly in awe of these people. Back to the ENT, he shrunk her turbinates in her sinuses so there will be more room there as well.

One week later, Gab is healing nicely, certainly hearing better, and talking more. The surgery was Tuesday and she returned to school on Friday. Amazing.

But that's not the best part of the story. The best part was how missed she was at school. Her aide said by the end of the day (on Tuesday) the adults were all calling her Ferris Bueller, because rumors and concerns of her whereabouts had escalated into myth among the students. MInd you, there are over 600 kids in this school. Poor Kit, I walked her home from school on Wednesday, her backpack full of cards from Gabby's friends and our ears full of two fifth graders who had entirely too much to say about surgery. She just rolled her eyes and trudged on. I got one email from a mom of a boy in her class who needed to know before he went to bed if she was ok. The next day she sent this message:

". . . When I was in the car yesterday with Eric, he told me he missed Gabby. He then told me some children at Wyngate had formed a "Gabby fan club" and that yesterday it became the "we miss Gabby club" and he joined the club. "

The "cards" - - scraps of white paper with markers, obviously not teacher-directed, thank goodness -- are so beautiful, telling how they felt she was so brave, and wishing her well, and that they missed her. Ava signed "Love, your only best friend, Ava." (That child is getting a little territorial these days!) Gabby could read them, too! Over and over, she read them out loud to us. Even Jack's preschool teacher who has kids at Wyngate, not in Gabby's class, said her daughter came home concerned because Gabby was not on the playground on Tuesday - -and did she know why?

Of course, as a parent I am touched, but when I look at this with my outsider's eyes, my teacher eyes, I am most moved to see how these kids regard her - - and I am so proud of them. What truly beautiful souls they are to care for her so purely. We are so blessed by them. Now the challenge is for Gabby to learn how to give it all back, in whatever way she can. In return for the cards, I suggested she make a Thank You card. She took a huge pice of paper and traced the letters of "Thank You " that I had written for her. The rest was on her own. She made a hand turkey (which she has just figured out how to do and can't stop doing. We have turkeys everywhere! ) Among a sea of sticker choices, she chose heart stickers and kid-face stickers, so I know she gets this. She certainly values her friends, anyway. A nurse gave her a stuffed bear in the hospital; she wasn't too excited about it, and left it with me. But when the nurse strapped a big, red id tag on her wrist declaring her allergic to Augmentin, she got downright giddy about that big capital A. To every doctor who checked it she gave a knowing smile, and said "Ava."

Greetings from Cloud #8

2009-11-16T07:12:00.001-08:00

This past Saturday, Wyngate Elementary had a sock hop, and true to this community's mode d'emploi, it was sweet, good clean fun. Just the girls and I went. We walked there with the neighbors.The gym was hot and loud. The dj was crowded by a wall of 8-10-year-old girls screaming at that pitch that girls scream at. Young boys were sliding and running around the floor. Kit hooked up (literally) with a few friends right away. They linked their glow-stick necklaces and made a glowing rope, and wound their way in and out of the crowd for about an hour of endless fun. Gabby surveyed all of it pretty quickly, sat on the floor, then headed out the door. She wanted air and the PTA snack table full of goodies. More than that, she wanted to go home.

I chalked it up to the overstimulating environment and wrangled her along as we reentered the gym so I could get my coat. I mean, it was a pretty obnoxious atmosphere (and could not by definition be any other way). Then Ava (Gabby's self-appointed best friend) appeared out of nowhere, grabbed Gabby by both hands and leaned into her face, speaking so clearly and excitedly, ""C'mon Gabby! Let's dance!" . . and off they went.

I learned a lot about Gabby right then. What she minded was not seeing a friend right away. She didn't mind the noise or the heat or the darkness or the swirling disco lights. In fact, she and Ava loved them, and pointed at them and danced and jumped and smiled and got soaked with sweat for over an hour. I was disappointed when Ava told me her mom wasn't there--someone had brought her-- because this is the kind of thing a parent should see: the purity of your child. They danced in a big embrace during the "mother and son" dance (to Louis Armstrong's "It's a Wonderful World," in case I wasn't teary enough already).

Gabby always has been loved and accepted, and has always had friends. I just know, as kids get older and the activities get more complicated and the expectations greater, that pure friendships will be more difficult to come by. We are in a good place right now. The reason we moved her along to second grade was because of the relationships she had built with that group of kids. They get her, they genuinely like her, and they help her to learn how to be a kid in school. But these moments, when there is no pressure, when everyone has a free choice about what they want to do and with whom, can you blame me for experiencing an overwhelming feeling of relief and joy?

At the end of the night when my neighbor and I were herding our cats to leave, and I still had Ava with us, I asked where the adult was that she had come with. Then out of the blue appeared a mom to claim her. She offered a hand to introduce herself, and I said "Hi! I'm Christine, Gabby's Mom," feeling as though if I was wearing the tiara at this prom. She offered her name as well, adding, "I'm Sara's mom."

And then I saw it all.

There was Sarah. And where had Ava been all night?

And how could I ever have seen Gabby on this side of the fence? It is a totally new view that I will have to remember to consider.

(Gabby and Ava, on her left in red.)

Our New Assignment

2009-11-08T04:07:00.001-08:00

Baghdad. September 2010. For one year.

We knew it was coming, but you still can't prepare for how it is going to feel when you get that news.

Mysteries of Halloween

2009-10-31T20:17:00.000-07:00

Scary is . . . Mommy in a witch hat, but . . .

not scary is . . . Jack's preschool phys ed teacher, Ryan, who by the way is as big as a Mack truck and quite imposing out of costume.

How could our simple playground turn into pumpkin patch? Why is Jack the only child in his class with the destructive tendency to roll the pumpkins down the slide?

Why can't Gabby stay with me when we go anywhere, but she can freely walk a mile from and back to school in a Halloween parade? Why can't my daughter look at me for one photo?

Why is it that class parties, a trip to the park, and the YMCA Spooktacular, all in one afternoon, cannot beat a pile of leaves in your own front yard?

Why can't our Daddy be Darth Vader like the neighbors' Daddy?

And, finally, we need to know: can Halloween get any better than this?

Happy Halloween!!

Octoberfast

2009-10-31T19:27:00.000-07:00

Octoberfast

I have tried very hard not to succumb to the American RUSH. I say "no" alot. I help support everything, but I am not a room parent, a girl scout troop leader or a stage mom. I teach Catechism every other week and run away to my cello lesson/sanity therapy on Saturday morning when Gabby has speech therapy. Kit has soccer and piano lessons; Gabby has her drama class. None of these commitments last more than 45 minutes once a week. In other words, without shutting off the valve of life-as-an-all-you-can-eat-buffet, I left room for childhood desserts: playdates, walks in the woods and dance parties in the living room (John throws the best feis!), all in an effort to alleviate stress in our lives.

Do you think that worked? I have 192 photos in my October file, as if we went on vacation. We actually had one week in there with seven days straight of top-to-bottom booked days, all gloriously happy events and visits, and all I can say for having "prepared" for it was . . . no one got the flu! And what can I say about that? Woo hoo! A few choice moments:

In an efffort to get Jack out of his sisters' tutus and that Supergirl dress, we upgraded our dressup box to include Jack. The first thing he did as Knight Jack was slay that nasty Fisher Price dragon in the basement. (Once in costume he said, "Now where's that dragon?") In fact, the whole neighborhood is safer now.

Kit achieved solid reading status, so we put her to work.

Wyngate Elementary had their fun run and you can bet the Fleming girls were fast! Their prize? Uncle Matt Perlman came for dinner that night! We were over the moon! (Poor Matt, if he thought he could get a break from a spouse with a camera and three small, relentless children, he came to the wrong house . . !)

Next morning? Off to the Buddy Walk for Down Syndrome! Gabby's best friend from school, Ava, came to walk with her. Ironically, Gabby was in constant motion through this very exciting event (and barefoot, in the rain) save for the walk itself, where she got a ride from Daddy. Gabby is about 50 pounds.

Kit and Ava

We got home in time for our block party, made it to Sunday school early the next morning, and just when we were about to take a deep breath, realized that that very night we had tickets to Gaelic Storm (our long-awaited anniversary date). That's pretty sad, isn't it? Thanks to Buffy the amazing babysitter we made it! What's the Rumpus?!

Cousin Jane flew in that week, too. In a random act of serendipity her Air France plane landed just as John's flight delivered him from Boston. They both called to tell me they were in at the same time. John picked Jane up and whisked her home to us for pizza and beer and lots of storytelling.

John and I split up one weekend to cover one of Gabby's best friends, (Devin's), birthday party at a bowling alley . . .

. . . and the Christening of Cora (our newest niece!) in New Jersey.

We skipped the YMCA dinner, but are heartfully thankful they've made us famous around town (another story, see ymcadc.org if I never get around to it).

And did we mention Halloween? Guess we'll take a break in November, somewhere in between the sunroom construction off the kitchen, Gabby's eartubes/sinus/tearduct/adenoid surgery, my yoga certification workshop, Fleming Bogus Thanksgiving, and real, real, real, couldn't-be-any-more-reason-to-celebrate Thanksgiving.

Waiting for Montessori

2009-09-16T19:50:00.000-07:00

. . .and we are first in line on the waiting list, but in the meantime, Jack is going to a local preschool. I like the teacher. I thought I liked the aide. Then this morning, just when we entered the classroom . . .

Jack spied a small, brown moth on the floor. He crouched all the way to the ground as only rubbery children can, to inspect this gorgeous creature. The aide spied the bug, smashed it with her foot just under Jack's nose, and walked away, leaving the oozing pile of wings while she got a tissue to mop it up.

We'll be right there, Maria!

Kit's Sixth Birthday

2009-09-09T18:58:00.000-07:00

Today Kit turned six. It was what most would call a good day, not a grand day, but that Kit considers it a "best day ever," renews my belief that the simple days are the grandest. In most ways it was pretty typical . . .

Since everyone was gathered in our bed at 6:30 this morning, (except Daddy who was with us finishing getting dressed) we presented Kit with her birthday present: the long-awaited Kit Kittredge Doll. She knew it! She knew it! Oh . . .she just knew it! It was enough for everyone to be excited about. But routine takes hold and next on the morning to-do list was The Daddy Send-Off where everyone runs out to the sidewalk to jump up and down and wave goodbye to Daddy. (He's a rock star coming and going.) Gabby and Jack usually run up the block as well, during which I hold my breath, but eventually get to exhale: they return for breakfast.

Everyone went to school today including Jack (bigger exhale), so I made my thousand phone calls, interfaced with my Down syndrome list serve, tweaked a flyer for a conference and gathered up 26 cupcakes for Kit's class, which I was only allowed to distribute at lunchtime in the cafeteria. This was tough as I had to walk the gauntlet of 120-plus first graders, many of whom I know, but to whom I could not, by Wyngate Customs, distribute cupcakes. On my way, I ran into Kit just about skipping into the cafeteria wearing a paper hat that said "It's My Birthday!" as if you couldn't tell by the grin on her face. The stringent Wyngate Customs made the very special 26 kids in Mrs. Fitz' class feel all the more special, of course, so I ignored my drooling neighbors and got to sit with Kit. That is, I got to sit with Kit until Mary Forline showed up and then I had to move. At least Kit shared her carrots with me. (Had I only remembered to stick a bottled Frappucino in her Hannah Montana lunchbox . . !) I had to reassure one child that there were no peanuts in the cupcakes, just chocolate cake. "Well then," she countered, " have any of the ingredients been produced in a plant that manufactures products which include peanuts or treenuts?"

After school Gabby and Jack presented Kit with their present: the Target version of an 18-inch doll, about $85 dollars cheaper than Miss Kittredge, roughly the same quality, and perfect for including your sister in doll games. It worked. Except it triggered Jack's afternoon tantrum (also routine) wherein he pounded his head into the floor and screamed "I WANNA DOLL!" How did I not see that coming? (Particularly after yesterday when he left 3 three-year-old boys in the front yard playing with cars because, he said, "I want to bake.")

Marius and his mom, Maitre, were wandering the neighborhood, so they came to play. Noah and Alex from next door came over at 5 (with mom Marlie, and our babysitter friend Elle, too). We had pizza, polished off the cupcakes, and played with dolls and trains. Kit never took her paper hat off until bed. Miss Kittredge went to sleep in the Target baby doll clothes and sleeping bag that Alex and Noah gave her tonight, right next to Miss Kit Fleming. Her last birthday request was that she didn't want to take a bath. I couldn't bear to wipe that smile off her face anyway.

A Special Stevens Family Visit

2009-09-06T05:06:00.000-07:00

Friends like Melica are what make my life especially blessed. Add ice cream and popsicles, and you've got bliss.

A new special attribute of our summer life, now that we're back in the US, is that we get to see friends who are coming through DC on their way to various posts. We are super fortunate that Will's Dad lives in Bethesda. In spite of a sea of busy schedules: Melica and Will--and Harlan and Riley and Mia and Emmett--trying to juggle language training and visiting friends and family and the beach; and us Flemings tied to camp, workshops,and trips to our own families, we still managed some amazing moments together . . .

. . . welcoming Baby Emmett in person . . .

. . . visiting one of Melica's favorite parks in Vienna . . .

. . . taking a trip to the zoo . . .

and just hanging out at Chez Fleming!

Article From the YMCA Annual Report

2009-08-31T19:05:00.000-07:00

The actual annual report has beautiful pictures of Gabby and Leyla. No one told me this was on line. I actually stumbled over it while trying to sign Kit up for a soccer class!

2009-08-11T19:01:00.001-07:00

To the Family and Loved Ones of Eunice Kennedy Shriver

God is glorified in the life of Eunice Kennedy Shriver.

My five-year-old daughter asked today what "inclusion" meant, and I had to spotlight her own life, to show her inclusion meant that her sister Gabby (who has Down syndrome) goes to school with her, and to summer camp, and playdates, and ballet class, and . . . . well, all those things Eunice Kennedy Shriver envisioned possible. Then we got in the car, and listened to the news. I told my daughter that this special lady was just like her, with a sister who had special needs, too. Yet, this child -- my child --will never know the depth of the struggle thanks to Eunice Kennedy Shriver and those who took up her torch, and those who continue to do so today. Because of Eunice Kennedy Shriver, my two girls are just sisters in childhood, with a whole world to share.
May God bless Eunice and keep her in the palm of his hand, and may God bless your family and comfort you all at this time.

Christine Fleming

'Smore Deep Creek Lake, Please

2009-07-02T18:55:00.001-07:00

I believe this is our first family vacation, a real trip away with just us, not on a touring agenda, but on a "being" agenda. Deep Creek Lake is a little Maryland gem three hours away, where we rented a house in the woods for one week and took the kids for an outdoor buffet; that is, a sampler of some great American fresh-air experiences. Even with a two-year old we boated, canoed, rafted on the Yougheheny river, took a trail ride on horseback, and played at the beach. I thought too much time had passed to record these things, but as I put Jack to bed tonight, he said "Want to go to Deep Creek. Want to feed ducklets." (Love the "ducklets.") So he, too, remembers a highlight of the trip: the Pizzaria Uno positioned on the lake with a playground, a vast, green yard reaching to the water (where the ducks waited for children to feed them) all conveniently adjacent to the Honi Honi bar where Mommy and Daddy could take turns playing on the big pirate ship and sipping margaritas. The great(er) outdoors!

We'll forget: having lost my voice AND my cell phone, Jack's tantrums, John's bad idea to try to play minigolf (Jack with a stick in his hand and a handful of balls to throw; Gabby with myriad waterfalls to splash in and faux hills to climb); my bad idea to try to fish (Jack again with the stick, not to mention Gabby and Kit throwing lines with hooks through the air).

I'll remember: standing on a foggy dock with Kit, raindrops beginning to blot the placid lake with perfect circles; a sky bursting with stars; Kelbi freely roaming the woods--and Gabby trying to do the same; quiet, quiet, quiet; our three children playing together with such love and giddiness, and wishing to go back.

We didn't get enough vacation, of course, gluttons that we are, so after the drive home Saturday we ordered up Chinese food and a couple of friends and neighbors. Diana made crowns for the children out of hydrangeas. John made a fire in the backyard, and we feasted on 'smores, the only proper feasty food for gluttons.

What do Foreign Service Kids Do in June?

2009-06-20T06:36:00.000-07:00

So, school's out, and for the first time in eight years we have no plans to get on a plane. We're already here, after all. But something must be deeply ingrained in our children. The first free day the three of them got busy upstairs. I could hear them on the monitor as I cleaned the kitchen. They sounded happy and industrious, talking about blankets and books. Then they invited me up to "Get on the airplane, Mommy, we're going!"

Roam to California

2009-06-07T06:51:00.000-07:00

The Best Playdate Ever

2009-06-06T14:03:00.000-07:00

Gabby, Riley, Kit and Sheridan have been friends since infancy. Their lives have been special. They have played together in four different oceans. Together they have celebrated Muslim, Jewish and Christian holidays. They've camped in the desert and stayed in five-star hotels. Since they first met, they have not been apart for more than one year. My wish is that that never happens to them, or to our two families, the Flemings and the Perlmans.

Last week I was about to take off for California myself. I was really excited about new baby Perlman's arrival, and after this very trying, tumultuous year, I really, really needed a vacation and my good friend, Jill. But it was clear: I could never face Riley and Sheridan without bringing their girlfriends. Furthermore, my daughters (and my husband) might just disown me (for different reasons) if I said "I'm going to visit the Perlmans. I'll be back in a few days!" God blessed us with reasonably-priced airline tickets and John gave us his blessing, too: "You have to go."

So what happens when you get a four-, five-, six-, and seven-year old together for a weekend? In our case, a twelve-hour playdate that isn't long enough. Four hours at one park and no one wants to go home. A list of activities abandoned, because just being together is enough. One glass of wine with my friend was worth the vineyard . . . as always.

As for the boys: Matt certainly had his hands full, the lone Daddy/Prince among the maidens. John was stuck with work (the reason he didn't come in the first place), some plumbing tasks, and Jack. Oh . . . Jack and Grady? Their time will come. They need each other, they just don't know it yet.

So let me retitle this entry: The Best Playdate So Far

2009-05-25T19:15:00.001-07:00

A Jump on Summer

2009-05-25T19:03:00.000-07:00

Let the fun start . . . NOW! We took a spontaneous trip to Deep Creek Lake Saturday night and didn't get home until Sunday late afternoon. We plan to go back for a week-long family summer vacation. If this weekend is any indication of the future, we will need: few plans, lots of extra clothes, and a serous workout to keep up with the kids, especially Gabby (loved the ski resort, especially the ladder to the lift), Jack ("If I scream in my car seat they have to let me out eventually, right?") and Kit ("So what if it is 9:30, the pool is still open - - let's go!")

A Night at the Opera

2009-05-16T06:33:00.000-07:00

An opera professional, Yvette Lewis, in two weeks at Wyngate Elementary taught over 600 kids pieces from the Mikado, Aida, La Boheme and more, including original, instantly-accessible pieces The Gingerbread Man and Three Little Bears for the kindergarten and 1st grade. Kit and Gab were singing all week.

What more, the Friday night performance was presented in a crowded, hot gym of the Middle School. But the girls did SO well; they are good audience members. My greatest joy was found in Gabby's friends who approached to gather her to them on the floor. This lasted for awhile until the only glitch of the night when Mrs. Leister had to point out that Gab was playing on the off-limits stage.

My favorite moment was hanging with the little girls in Gabby's class for a minute, a picture of "we're more alike than different." Gabby was standing with her finger in her mouth, wiggling her loose front tooth. If you were being critical, (or super sensitive, as I am in these moments) she looked rather . . . dumb. The girls were just standing there considering her. Then one said, "Is Gabby's tooth wiggly?" The next thing you know, they all had their fingers in their mouths, prying their faces open showing so proudly which dents in their pumpkin heads were coming in, or wiggling out. These days, I find so many kind surprises.

. . .or was my favorite moment Kit's amazing ability to hop up there on the risers and give us a real, polished show.

As for Gab, she stood on the risers, remembered a few words and motions, and bowed at the end. Water over rocks . . . after all, it was just one week, two days of instruction.

Happy Springtime

2009-04-15T18:50:00.001-07:00

Happy St. Patrick's Day has moved to Happy Easter has settled on May God Bless Your Whole Spring!

We are still settling in here in Bethesda, and I will stop saying that in June (but I will just stop saying it). The kids are growing and happy and, as always, surprisingly good sports in light of the chaos that ensues here. I'll start at the top:

Jack has been sick since January - -nothing deadly, just a series of annoyingly persistent infections and viruses that have kept us visiting the doc more than I ever have, medicating, and nebulizing. In between time he has been very TWO, and (his life-saving device ) very CUTE. He's just lucky he's so darn cute. His big news is that he started preschool at our local Y (just two 1/2 days a week) and he loves it. His other scholarly endeavor is building horns out of the tubes of a marble-run game. This started about a month ago (having seen bagpipes? we're not sure . . .) and has become a useful obsession. He is very good at it and gets excited to show us his new inventions, which he marches around the house playing.

Kit is always full of news and surprises. She has decided she wants to go to science camp this year. I keep challenging this: "Hey -- how about cheerleading camp?" "NO - science camp!" "Ballet camp?" "NO -- SCIENCE CAMP!!" Ok, so a dose of reality might be good for a child who came home from school on St. Patrick's day VERY upset because her pal Victoria saw a leprechaun at school and Kit did not. She called all her grandparents that night, who explained that they are VERY hard to catch sight of (Grandma herself has never seen one), but show themselves in their mischief. She has vowed to find one next year. On that Irish note, she and her classmates presented their heritage-countries in a "One Nation Many Communities" show. (I had to talk her out of doing Uruguay. "But if my cousin Hannah is Uraguayan, I am too, right?")
She surprised her friend Avi's mother by showing up wearing her Celtic cross. Avi's mom just had to ask: "I'm a little confused. I thought you were Jewish! Avi keeps telling me how much Kit tells him about Israel!" (his chosen country to present). Gabby and Kit both got a big thrill by getting to march with their cousins and Grandma and Pop in the Bayonne St' Patrick's Day parade.

Gabby's news is perhaps the biggest, though we've lots of work ahead. After 6-and-a-half- months of fighting the system (educating the system?) and unravelling scads of red tape, Gabby will be going to school in our neighborhood. After a big shut door last August, the principal has opened it up, unrolled a red carpet and pulled out all of the stops. (By God, if we're gong to do this, we're going to do it right! appears to be her attitude.) They are educating their teachers and staff, she herself has been researching best practices for children with Down syndrome. Pinch me. Gabby begins April 20th. Say some prayers. It will be her third school this year, and she will miss her friends there. The good news is, she will have LOTS of familiar faces in her new school - - her friends from the block who she sees every day, not to mention her sister.

Our home itself has lots of news. We miraculously sold our little house in New Jersey (phew!), and are looking to add a room to this house (phew also!) We have given up dreams of a bigger addition. To make the kitchen bigger or add a bedroom would move us out for months. Another transition would . . well . . . let's just say I have long been put over the edge. It would bury me. So we'll add a room on a side of the house. Done. We also took down a very big old tree in the backyard. It made me sad, but who knew an enormous pile of mulch would be so much fun? I kind of wish we'd done it before!

I'll leave you with love and hope for a bright healthy spring. Happy Easter!

("I'll do anything for ham." -- Kelbi)

Love, us tired bunnies

Happy Valentine's Day

2009-02-15T21:02:00.001-08:00

I said to Kit, "You valentine's party and Gabby's is at the same time. What shall we do?"
""It's ok Mommy. You go to Gabby's party. You can come to mine next year."
That's love.

2009-02-01T19:06:00.001-08:00

Sometimes it helps when people don't know you. Today was the second Sunday we've attended Catechism at Our Lady of Mercy. Those who know Gabby in a classroom situation know that she raises her hand for everything. She doesn't have an answer, that we know of. It's just that, well, people are raising their hands. Everybody's doing it!

But today, when the teacher asked if anybody wanted to stand in front and lead the class in the "Hail Mary," Kit raised her hand and was chosen. So Gabby raised hers, too, and up she went. And you know? She looked like a pro!

We went to Mass afterward for the first time (at Mercy), and were surprised to learn it was the kids' Mass. The priest gathered about fifty children to the front of the church. Kit looked at me. "Go ahead," I whispered.

"C'mon, Gabby!" She grabbed her sister's hand and off they went to join fifty complete strangers. Of course, I went with them. Someone has to make sure Gabby doesn't escape. But on the return trip, she bounded off with about six rowdy older boys at the front of the line. I lost her. No one would know to grab her on the way out the door, or to wonder where her family was. My heart raced, there were so many exits, so many people, and Mass was going on so I couldn't yell for her . . . all of this anxiety building in a matter of seconds, and then I found her: crossing herself and genuflecting as she entered the back of the church, a perfectly independent little angel.