Happy Birthday, Joy!

When I was about eleven years old my mom gave me a pair of stilts for Xmas or birthday. It was fun at first.  I got the hang of it within minutes and soon could amaze my friends from the neighborhood, who always said, “Hey, let me try.”

The novelty wore off after a while. Stilts increased my stature by maybe ten or twelve inches. But by age twelve or thirteen I had moved on to other interests—a ten-speed bike, skateboards, bowling, baseball, and roller skating.

But for a while stilts made me feel on top of the world. I was as tall as an adult. Falling off my stilts happened from time to time. I skinned my knees and suffered bruises. But I survived.

Joy turned four today. No, I did not buy her stilts for birthday. But her stature has increased by at least three inches this year. And she seems to be on top of the world. She feels so grown up now that she’s going to “school” (Psst! It’s daycare). She likes using the tallest chairs at home. She stands on (and jumps off of) the couch and does acrobatics on our king size bed. She is proud of her ability to run and jump and throw. And dance.

Joy has a friend named Dylan. They like each other a lot. They play on the slide and jump on the mats and stack blocks. Dylan teaches Joy how to play with his dinosaurs. Joy follows Dylan around the house and is learning from him.

Dylan is six. A few days ago, when Joy was still three, Dylan said, “Some people don’t talk when they are three. But Joy will be four soon. And she will talk to me.”

That may be. But right now Joy is communicating with hoots and laughs, smiles, hugs and kisses, and long, confident pronouncements composed of syllables and words that only she understands completely. But I know she is telling us about her day and how grown up she feels and how much she loves us, her family.

Happy birthday, daughter. We love you to the moon and back.

Joy’s Art

Joy is now attending school—preschool. Four days a week at a wonderful Francis Howell program that meets children’s educational needs and is developmentally appropriate for all children, including Joy.

She comes home at noon and she just goes on and on about it. I’m not sure what she’s saying, but clearly she loves the three hours she spends doing things with her teachers and other kids her age.

Joy loves to draw. I took joy to Cracker Barrel the other day. After we got her finger unstuck from a hole in the table, Joy drew with crayons on the kids’ menu. She laughed when she finished her drawing. We then had pancakes and eggs and bacon. It was awesome. I assumed that all restaurants had gone downhill since the pandemic. I stand corrected.

But Joy really loves to draw on the walls of the new house. As you may know, we (mostly Peggy) painted about a month ago. The kitchen is now light yellow (Toasted Yellow). The living room is green (Greywood). Other rooms were painted in other earth tones, as well as white, cream, blue.

We have tried to keep pencils and pens out of Joy’s reach because she absolutely will fill up blank spaces with her art.

A few days ago, I walked in the living room and found Joy with a pencil. She was drawing on the living room wall. (I had done an editing test that day and left the pencil on the kitchen table.)

I said, “Oops. No, Joy! Let Daddy have the pencil.” She handed it to me. She smiled. Then she looked down like she was sorry or guilty of a crime.

I started walking around the house to see how much mural she had done.

“Let’s see,” I said to myself. “Every wall in the kitchen.” I continued walking. Every wall in the living room. The foyer. The walls in Joy’s bedroom. Every square inch of every wall in the master bedroom. The hallway. The bathroom. The staircase. I frowned.

I opened the box of magic erasers that I got on Amazon. It’s a 100 pack. I started erasing the hallway art.

I wasn’t mad. But I was a little sad. Because clearly Joy did this project alone. She worked on her masterpiece for at least an hour while everyone else was busy doing other things—running errands, talking on the phone, working, texting, heading to practice at the gym. I wished I had come home a bit earlier and could have stopped myself from taking her pencil and had kneeled down and watched her technique.

I think I want to get some large poster board. I want to tack it up all over the house. And I want to watch my baby make her art.

Find Joy

Joy is on the move.

Joy has watched (and helped) Mom and Dad pack up and move from the house in Crestwood to a house in St. Charles and to another house in St. Charles. In just eight months.  

Joy looked on as Peggy painted the walls of the new house while Mom and Booshie unpacked and set up the new kitchen and Dad shampooed rugs. Joy unpacked her favorite toys as well as the bathroom essentials. Joy put three tubes of toothpaste in the tub, as well as socks, shoes, toys, toilet paper, and dry shampoo.  Joy found a red pencil in Dad’s new office and decorated the white walls in the finished basement.

Dad and Peggy built beds that arrived from Amazon and secured bookshelves to the walls. Joy climbed up into her kitchen stool and pointed at the refrigerator, demanding smoothies and juice and Cheerios and ice cream. Joy likes the smoothies to be made in the Ninja blender, which must be operated inside the kitchen cabinet (fewer decibels on her delicate ears).

Mom organized the closet in the master bedroom while Joy “organized” her room. Booshie organized the bathrooms. Dad moved boxes from the garage to the basement while Joy escaped from the new house to play in the street.

So I met some very nice neighbors (a man and a woman) on the day after move-in.

The doorbell chimed. Immediately, I thought, Where’s Joy? I ran to the door.

I opened the door. A lady was standing on my new porch. “Hi. I’m your neighbor Cheryl. Is that your daughter sitting on the curb across the street?” Joy was indeed sitting on the curb. She was wearing a diaper. But nothing else. “She wouldn’t let me pick her up.”

I could have said something like, “Yeah. I thought she wandered out front. I was just heading out to get her.” But I had no idea she was missing.

“Hi,” I said. “Nice to meet you. Yes. That is Joy. I appreciate you saving her life and ringing my doorbell. We moved in yesterday. Excuse me while I run over there and get her before she takes off. I need to get door knob safety covers. Clearly.”

The other neighbor was standing in the street. He said, “I knew she belonged here. I recognized the truck. Y’all lived on Brookneal a few days ago. Right?”

“Yes,” I said.

I have ordered an ID bracelet for Joy. It will read: “I’m Joy. If lost, please call Dad 314-555-9645.”

It’s 4/20. Time to Birthday Party.

Duuude, Mary is the big 15 today. She is looking forward to getting a driver’s license in the very near future.

Mary recently competed in the high jump at St. Charles West High School. Peggy took the pics because I was busy chasing Joy, who very quickly found open gates to the track and the parking lot.

Mary in the high jump.
Joy spent Saturday making Easter eggs with Cali. Joy had a blast.

Nice doggie, cont’d

Day 3

Joy has accepted Maya and Lucy. She lies on the floor next to them, scrolling through YouTube videos. She knows that the dogs will not take the phone away. In fact, she knows that Dad won’t take the phone away because she’s 18 inches away from the dogs.

Joy is a very accepting person. She accepts the new house, the new yard, the new dogs, the new neighbors (who are having really bad luck with flat tires). They LOVE that I know how to change a tire. I’ve changed more flat tires over the past two weeks than I’ve changed over the past ten years. But the neighbors are super nice. They sent us yummy banana bread after the first flat tire. They have young children too.

So Joy is very accepting. I think she would accept us adopting a new dog, or even a llama. Maybe a polar bear.

Joy likes the dogs. But her high chair is no longer high enough for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Now she likes to eat while sitting on the bar stools.

Day 4

Our landlord stopped by to pick up some tax-related mail that somehow did not get forwarded to his new address. He did not alert us that he was stopping by. He rang the doorbell.


I tried to open the front door. Bad idea. I took the mail outside through the garage.

“Hi!” I said. “Nice to meet you!”

“Very scary.”

“The dogs? Actually very nice dogs. We’re dog sitting. You get used to them after two days. Three max.”

I hand him the mail.

“Very nice to meet you,” he said.


Nice doggie

Day 1.

The dog snarls.

Joy has entered the living room from the front of the house. She is standing in front of Lucy’s crate. Apparently Lucy does not like people entering the crate area from the foyer. I make a mental note.

“Joy,” I say. “Freeze. Leave it.” I’m suddenly talking to my toddler like she’s a dog.

I scoop up Joy and take her back to the foyer, then down the hall. To the kitchen.

“Let’s have some kernpop, Joy.”

We have our snack.

I have become a dog whisperer. When one of the Dogues de Bordeaux gets up from their mat, I whisper to Deb, “Oh my god. It’s coming over here. What should we do?”

“Maya is fine. She loves people.”

Day 2.

Deb is on the floor petting both massive dogs. I back away.

“Be careful.”

Joy trips over the floppy feet of her overlarge 4T onesie and falls, her face suddenly just inches from one of the dogs. I can’t tell them apart. (The twin dogs, I mean; not the dog and Joy.)

Joy smiles. The dog looks at her with that bored look. Oh my.

“Joy. You’re fine, I say. “Just back away slowly.”

Joy pats the dog and pads down the hall.

Day 3… to come.

Happy Thanksgiving

Some people say gratitude is a medicine—that saying “thank you” for every experience is key to good mental health.

And that doesn’t mean we should be grateful or thankful only on special days like Thanksgiving or Christmas. It’s easy (for me) to be thankful for the usual things: for my family, for my health, for hugs from Joy, for kisses from Deb, for my career, for living in a time of peace (the first Thanksgiving America has not been at war in 21 years), for the food on my plate (and Instacart!).

But we should also find a way to say “thank you” for the less obvious things: for the setbacks, for the people who irritate us, for having our life disrupted by a pandemic, for the loss of a job or whatever other problems we might be experiencing. 

That pain in my knees (yes, both knees now)—thank you, it’s making me take things slow.  That 30 pounds of weight gain—thanks for reminding me that I’m not getting enough exercise. That mistake I made—thank you for reminding me to be more careful, for teaching me a lesson.  The pandemic—thank you, for the hundreds and hundreds of days at home with Joy and Deb. Thank you, for showing me what is and is not essential. Thank you, for giving me the opportunity to structure my life around the people and routines that matter most.

Every situation has two handles. You can decide to grab on to anger or appreciation. You can pick up the handle of resentment or of gratitude. I pick up anger every day. But Joy Elizabeth is helping me pick up gratitude more often.

So as you gather around your family and friends this Thanksgiving (or Christmas), appreciate it and give thanks for all the obvious stuff.

Just make sure that when the holiday passes, as you go back to your everyday, ordinary life that you make gratitude a regular part of it. Again—not simply for what is easy to like, but for all of it, for every day.

Joy loves fall

I smooth down the back of Joy’s hair where it has gotten rumpled during her nap. It’s a tangled nest as usual. It’s a dreadlock in progress.

“Joy, can Dad brush your hair?” I say.

“Aaaaarrh!” Joy cries. That means: hell no.

Joy hates to have her hair combed, brushed, styled, stroked, or untangled. We have mild shampoos, good conditioners, many hair care products, soft brushes, ponytail bands, bobby pins, etc. But much of the time the back of her head looks like that of a nomad.

Deb is better at taming Joy’s hair. But it is still a challenge.

“Deb, please help me with Joy’s hair!” I say. “The weather is so nice today. I want to take Joy for a bike ride to the park. If we put her in the high chair, I can do her orthotics and shoes and you can put in a ponytail.”

After breakfast, Joy had hopped down from the kitchen chair, bolted to the kitchen gate, crossed her arms, and stood there with that look: Dad I want to go to the park. But it was too cold at 9 am. So I said no. But now, 1 pm, the temps are much better. We can even go without jackets.

“Let’s go to the bike!” I say.

Joy races to the door and down the steps.

I strap her in, and within minutes we are at the park, running through the leaves to the slides and swings.

Joy is more confident on the steps and ladders. She laughs about every 30 seconds. There are so many leaves to stomp on. How will she get to them all?

Joy in the Tetons

On Saturday, September 18, we piled into the van and drove north from Jackson Hole in search of a young couple, a pretty young woman and her fiancé. You’ve likely heard about them. We left early because rain was forecast for this area of the Grand Teton National Park, and we were given intel that the pretty young woman would be found in a remote area outside Moose, Wyoming. We left the main highway and drove off road for miles. Finally, we bounced down a winding stretch of gravel road and skidded to a stop.

A dozen vehicles and a hundred or so people were gathered among scrub brush. We could see Indian paintbrush and the jagged Tetons in the distance. Such a beautiful place, I thought. These people were waiting for one man to speak, and almost everyone was using their smartphones as cameras. We joined the crowd and waited, as well.

The young woman was nearby. I could feel it.

Then I saw her: Katie Payton in white walking arm in arm with her mom toward her groom, Dave, who was standing under the handmade wedding arch, smiling.

Katie and Dave were the prettiest couple you ever saw. And in spite of the rain, the reception was the best ever. Joy danced the night away.

This was my first trip to Wyoming. Jackson Hole is the DisneyWorld of the Rockies. Except there is no Mickey Mouse and you can drive inside the park.

“I wish I could quit you, Jackson Hole.”

“Jackson Hole, I swear…”

Joy Finds a Way

There’s a scene in Jurassic Park in which Jeff Goldblum’s character (Ian Malcolm) explains why the entire project is flawed. There is no way, he says, to keep the dinosaurs contained and under control. No way to keep the dinosaurs from reproducing, even if they lack the chromosomes to do so.

“If there’s one thing the history of evolution has taught us, it’s that life will not be contained. Life breaks free, it expands to new territories, and crashes through barriers painfully, maybe even dangerously, but, uh, well, there it is. . . . Life finds a way.”

In 2018, the McConnells come to understand that Ian Malcolm is still correct.

Life indeed finds a way.

Like a salmon that swims up river and jumps the waterfalls, Joy (aka our little T. rex) found a way into our life.

Joy came into our house and transformed it into Joyassic Park. Joy’s clothes outnumber my clothes 10 to 1. On the way to the bathroom at 3 am, I click on the flashlight on my phone so that I don’t trip over the Fisher-Price penguin or the Elmo chair or the giraffe bike or the alligator pillow.

Although Joy’s vocabulary is limited, she finds ways to communicate. She uses a combination of sounds, sign language, singing, smiles, kisses, claps, dances, waves, shaking her head, and giving knowing looks.

6:15 am. It’s hop on pop time, with giggles. Joy then drops her toy on my bed. She kisses my forehead. (Translation: Good morning, Dad. Here, turn on Sloth.)

“Joy, can you get me a diaper?” I say. Joy heads for the dresser. She brings back one size 5 diaper.

I turn on Sloth and Hedgehog. I get a kiss from Joy. (Joy believes that the correct number of kisses for Mom and Dad is around 200 per day. I have no intention of telling her any different.)

I change Joy’s diaper. I dress Joy in shirt and shorts. Joy carries Sloth and Hedgehog to her table. They sing songs to Joy.

6:45-7:00 am. It’s hop on pop time again. This time with the sign for “eat.” Joy has me follow her to the gate. I get a kiss as I carry Joy downstairs.

Joy walks to the kitchen. She picks up the computer mouse from the kitchen table and clicks. She points to her high chair. Kiss.

I type in the password and hoist her into the high chair. Kisses. We watch some YouTube videos while I make some breakfast. I give Joy a glass of milk, juice, some mini wheats, grapes. The waffles are in the toaster.

We sing songs. We sign the songs. Kiss-kiss. High five.

I make coffee. Toast bagel.

We eat, sing, laugh. Before it gets too hot outside, I ask Joy if she wants a bike ride.

She smiles and heads to the backdoor.

As we enter Sanders Park, Joy vocalizes and claps. (Dad, I want to do the slide!)

We do a two-mile ride most mornings. We also do a ride in the evenings. Joy likes to walk through the grass at the park, hop on the manhole cover (I’m not sure why), walk over the wood bridge, and look down at the creek. If we pass anyone, Joy says “Hi” and waves.

Back at the house, Mom is making egg sandwiches or getting ready for Joy’s therapy. Mom takes care of Joy’s bath and brushing Joy’s hair. She puts Joy’s long hair in a ponytail. Then Mom puts on the orthotics and Joy’s socks and shoes.

Inside the house we have gates, doors with locks and chains and latches. The cabinets have safety locks. The high chair and stroller and car seat and wagon and bike trailer have seat belts. Like the velociraptors in Jurassic Park, Joy is systematically testing the gates and locks for weakness.

We are on high alert because our little T. rex needs to be contained.