You will be vaccinated. Transmission is futile.

Happy Easter. We have something of an Easter miracle to announce: I will be receiving my first dose of the vaccine tomorrow, Easter Monday, at the Down Syndrome Association of Greater St. Louis. I will then go about my life, still avoiding most people, still wearing a mask. I will get a second shot in three weeks, followed by two more weeks of social distancing. Then I will patiently wait for everyone else I know to get their shots. Yay.

Joy is in my presence or a room away practically 24/7. (I do sometimes spend a day or two at the Airbnb in St. Charles, alone, editing.) She is becoming more vocal, more giggly, more outgoing and funny, and I love getting a big “Hi!” a few times every day. She often sits in front of the mirror and tries out new sounds and phrases: eye-oooo, baaaah, laa-laah-laah, daaaaah, oooooo, acccckkkss, bah-roooo, ooooooh, eeeeeeek, maaaaaa-ma, heeeeee. She also likes to try out new dance moves. We are working on choreography to “Gangham Style.”

Her vocalizations also include “Ah, Ah, Ah, Ah,” which means “Dad, queue up some songs on your phone, then give me the phone.” iPhone in hand, Joy scrolls through the YouTube’s recommended videos and taps (mostly randomly) until she hears something she likes. Joy’s favorite YouTube videos include a sign-language version of “One Thousand Years,” anything with Harry Styles, Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up,” and some auditions from Britain’s Got Talent.

She does sign language for “eat breakfast” or “eat lunch” and “more milk” and “play the ‘one step closer’ song.” Music is big in our house.

My favorite Joy sounds are her giggles and the sound of her breathing as she sleeps. Joy often falls asleep in someone’s arms for bedtime or naptime. I love when that someone is me. Her head is typically on my arm or shoulder. She likes to hold my hand or a finger as she gets sleepy. And her regular breathing always puts me to sleep, too. When I wake up hours later, her head is on my arm and my arm is asleep.

Joy’s favorite snack is popcorn and chocolate milk, but she hates that the popcorn takes two minutes and 28 seconds to prepare. Then several seconds to cool.

Joy always has a good day. Any seeming crankiness or crying means: I’m hungry, I’m tired, I’m thirsty, or I don’t like ads in my YouTube videos.

Have a great Easter.

Squeaky clean for Easter.

January 20

On January 20, 2017, I watched the inauguration highlights on my laptop in my very small apartment on Main Street. I had just finished editing a business self-help book called Good People. In addition, a few days earlier, I had turned my apartment into a part-time Airbnb. I was single and an empty nester.

On January 20, 2018, at around 3 am, I clocked out of my sorting job at UPS, and on my way to Deb’s (my girlfriend’s) apartment picked up some White Castles. On the drive to Kirkwood, I listened to Rachel Maddow: the government shutdown . . . leaving the Paris Climate accords . . . a women’s march . . . Mueller.

On January 20, 2019, Deb and I signed up our daughter Joyce Elizabeth McConnell for occupational therapy. Joy was five weeks old. This was not the first Joyce McConnell in my life. My mom’s name was Joyce McConnell from 1960 until 1989 (except for a six-month period in 1978-79). (In early February 2019, I would quit my job at UPS.)

On January 20, 2020, the first confirmed case of coronavirus (COVID-19) in the United States was diagnosed in Seattle. The patient was a man who had recently returned home after visiting family members in Wuhan, China. Coincidentally, I had a severe cold and was weak and miserable for weeks. Joy was starting to pull herself up to sit.

Today, January 20, 2021, I felt a tremendous sense of relief. Although 400,000 Americans have died of COVID over the past year, the vaccine is now available to some Americans. The pace of vaccinations is going to accelerate. At 8 am, I took Joy downstairs to breakfast. We watched some music videos after breakfast. We had occupational therapy at 11 am while Joe Biden was being sworn in. Later, I watched the highlights of the inauguration, with Joy on my lap and joy in my heart.

“I oooo!”

Two weeks ago, Deb and I took baby Joy into a Walgreens at 11 pm to buy summer clearance items and Tylenol. Deb printed out some coupons as I wandered (with still-awake Joy in her car seat on top of my grocery cart) over to the summer items that were up to 90% off. Flip-flops were 70% off. Pool noodles were 80% off—just 49 cents each. I grabbed all six of them.

Deb wandered around, looking at discounted shampoos, conditioners, and makeup. After twenty minutes, Joy and I were ready to go. Finally, Deb agreed to check out.

We wandered over to the cashier, an elderly woman who was quite chatty. At first, I paid little attention to what she was saying. I handed her one noodle and told her I had five more in my arms. She scanned it six times and then began tapping Joy on her bare feet with the five-foot noodle.

“Does that tickle your toes, baby? Look at that smile.”

Deb and I smiled.

“Does he walk and talk yet?” asked the cashier. “The reason I ask is that I have a friend who is basically in the same situation as y’all. Her baby doesn’t walk or talk yet.”

Deb said, “Well, we have a girl. Her name is Joy—”

“Oh, a girl!” The cashier again used the noodle to tap on Joy.  “Oh! Oh! Haha!”

Does this woman not realize that I have five noodles in my hands and could start tapping HER at any moment? I thought.

I look at Joy for hours every day, and I almost never see or think Down syndrome. I think it irritated me that the cashier had looked at my baby for five seconds and saw the “same situation” as her “friend.” And apparently the “situation” wasn’t having the most loving, most beautiful baby in the world. The situation was a delay in walking and speech.

But I was calm. I thought: What would Joy do? Joy would smile and give a hug. So I smiled. I held the noodles tight in my arms.

Joy fell asleep on the way home.

A few days later I used one noodle as packing material for a large item we sold on eBay.

The box was 42 x 24 x 24 inches and weighed 73 pounds. The box would not fit in my car. So I put it on a hand truck and walked it to the UPS Store, which is 0.9 mile away, on Watson. And, yes, I walked back with the empty hand truck. Then I had a nap.

Joy can walk now. She typically takes twenty steps before she sits down. I call that walking. That’s about how many steps I take before sitting down.

Joy can say a few words, too. She says “hi,” “Dada,” “Ah ah ah ah,” and most recently: “I oooo!” (I love you!)

“I oooo!” almost always follows one of her wonderful kisses.

Joy, I love oooo too!

Lunch with Mom

Just around the corner from our house is a small three-room house on Sanders. Melvin, the owner, sits on his porch every day and waves as I pull Joy’s wagon along the sidewalk.

Yesterday was Melvin’s birthday. Neighbors stopped by in the early evening and stood on his driveway (ten feet away from each other and from Melvin), chatting, wishing Melvin a happy birthday. Signs and balloons decorated his yard and porch and carport. He offered chips and sodas to everyone who stopped by.

I stopped by at 6:40 pm.

“Happy birthday, Melvin,” I said.

“Do you want a sodie?”

“I’m good. Thank you. So you were born in 1924?” I said, reading a sign on the lawn that said: MELVIN IS 96!

“I’m ninety-six,” he said. “Got chips too.”

“Yes, sir. Were you in the war?”

“Ninety-six!”

It occurred to me later that my uncle Otto Jr., my mom’s older brother, would have been born in 1924. I Googled it. Yep. Born in 1924. Died in April 1942. In the South Pacific. The precise place where he was killed was classified during the war. I think it was American Samoa.

A few months ago, as I was moving boxes in the basement, I came across an American flag folded in the shape of a triangle. It’s the flag that draped Otto Weiner Jr.’s steel casket on a rainy day in May 1942. Due to a clerical error, his body was shipped 12,000 miles to his hometown (St. Louis) for burial. This was the first burial in home soil of an American killed in action in WWII. An article in Time magazine (June 22, 1942) reported that Private Weiner was “a favorite of the native chief. When he died, the natives held a tribal ceremony. They wove a tapestry of bark and sent it along for his parents.”

My mom was just two and a half years old when Private Weiner shipped off to fight in the war.

My mom’s sister Jean was born in 1932. Exactly one year ago, we went to Jean’s house for lunch. She wanted to meet Deb and Joy.

I sat at her kitchen table and looked around at the house where she has been living since the 1950s. Everything seemed so much smaller than I remembered it.

Of all the six sisters, Jean is the one who looked most like my mom when I was growing up. A lot like my mom. They have the same laugh. The same hair. The same smile.

Aunt Jean sat next to Deb and they chatted quietly while I talked to my cousin Patty.  Doug and Chrissy and Emily and Paige were there, too.  Joy got passed around the table until she fell asleep.

I looked over at Aunt Jean and Deb talking, baby Joy falling asleep in Deb’s arms, and for a second I saw my mom talking to Deb. I could, for a moment, imagine what it might have been like to have had lunch with Mom and Deb and Joy at my mom’s South City home.  “Hey, Mom. This is Deb, my wife. And this is Joyce Elizabeth. Do you want to hold her?”

Jean has since moved out of her home and into a nursing home, where visitation restrictions will keep most family from being able to see her in person. I hope I can stop by soon to see her (and my mom).

Paige holding sleeping Joy at Jean’s house.

Naptime

Is there anything sweeter than having a baby girl fall asleep in your arms? Spoiler alert: Nope. I will admit that it’s typically not a priority when I’m on deadline. But it is a real treat to lie down with Joy, turn on a repeat of Holy Redeemer Sunday Mass (on YouTube), and watch Joy watch Father Kevin give the homily and sing and offer post-Covid communion (no wine; host is placed in the hands of the faithful who are wearing masks).

Joy’s eyelids become heavy and flutter. Her head falls back onto my arm. And then I hear it: the regular breathing, with just the tiniest snore. I know that in about ten minutes I can (if I want to) safely extricate myself. But often I lie there much longer, until my arm (or my entire body) falls asleep. I look at her sleeping and realize that nothing will happen this week that will bring me greater joy.  I wouldn’t change her (or this time together) for anything in the world. But of course we need to change the world for her.  For all our kids.

In other news…

Joy is taking steps. Four in a row, sometimes five. And she is growing taller every day. She can reach items on the kitchen table (like a bowl of cereal). She can reach items on my desk (like my dictionary and pencils). She can now open the shower door and exit the shower while still covered in suds. Joy has lots of showers and baths (maybe three a day).

And Joy likes to throw her toys. Her balls, her blocks, her elephant, and the hedgehog. She throws Mother Goose while Mother Goose is talking. Yes Joy is a thrower.

Sometimes I am awakened in the morning because Joy has thrown my smartphone into the side of my head. “Hey!” she says as I rub my temple. I’m not sure if she wants breakfast or just wants me to unlock the phone.

I clean floors every day. I clean the kitchen floor after she throws Cheerios or crackers or hot dog across the room. I clean the carpet when she throws my half-empty/half-full coffee cup on the floor.  She threw a can of polyurethane last week, which popped open on impact. That was a mess.

I am home a lot. Maybe too much. I haven’t put gas in my car since early June. I do go to Schnucks once a week. I had been using Instacart, but the prices began to annoy me. Things that are on sale in-store are not on sale on the app. The Instacart shoppers are mostly great, but I don’t like green bananas, and sometimes their substitutions make no sense (tuna salad and broccoli salad are two different things, for example).

We get Amazon deliveries almost every day. (Vaseline, kid cups, and hand soap are arriving tomorrow. Diapers and Cheerios on Thursday. Amy’s Organic Chili on Monday.) We’re even buying clothes online now because “trying it on” is suddenly an antiquated custom.  In the post-Covid world, you will get kicked out the bank for NOT wearing a mask.

Joy seems fine with staying home 24/7. She never gets tired of Mom and Dad being home 24/7 either.

Happy birthday, Grandma Joyce

Today is my mom’s birthday (she would be 81). As I posted on Facebook today: 

In 1939, the movie Gone With the Wind was released. In 1939, Hitler prepared to invade Poland. On July 2, 1939, the St. Louis Browns defeated the Cleveland Indians 4-3. On July 2, 1939, the carving of Theodore Roosevelt was dedicated at Mt Rushmore. And the most significant event of July 2, 1939, was that Gertrude Weiner (my grandmother, who in 1939 was 42 years old) gave birth to twin girls in a small house at 4760 Heidelburg Avenue. Joan Bobby Weiner and Joyce Louise Weiner were born about 15 minutes apart.

Baby Joy is named after my mom and Deb’s mom: Joyce Elizabeth. But we call her Joy 99 percent of the time.

Every time I paw through my desk drawer for a pencil and see Joy’s Social Security card (“JOYCE MCCONNELL”), for a moment I think, Why do I have Mom’s Social Security card?

Joy is still getting her therapy—physical, occupational, and now speech. All of it by Zoom or FaceTime. It’s not ideal, but we are trying to make it work.

Two weeks ago, Deb stayed at a hotel while we anxiously waited for her Covid test results to come back. (“I’m sure it’s just a cold,” Deb said.) Before she took off for the hotel, she put on a face mask and lay down with Joy until she fell asleep. Actually, they both fell asleep.

And yes it was a cold. A cold that everyone in the house eventually caught.

Joy’s Smart Clipboard

Joy loves technology—smartphones, iPads, the Kindle Fire, laptops, and TV remotes. She especially likes to tap and swipe the touchscreens of our devices. She can delete apps, open YouTube and Audible, download music and movies, FaceTime and call my friends, and send nonsensical emails (Subject line: “lldkjkkk”) to my clients—all within seconds.

Some of my work is pencil on paper, though. I still edit some projects on printed proofs, so I have several clipboards around the house. In fact, Joy found a chapter on a clipboard last week.  She began tapping the paper. Then she swiped. Tap, tap, tap, swipe, scratch, scratch. Nothing. It’s like when she finds my sleeping iPhone and can’t get it to turn on. In frustration, she just tossed the clipboard to the floor.

In Joy’s world, every tablet-shaped object should be smart and have a touchscreen:  clipboards, 10-piece frame tray puzzles, picture books, picture frames.

Joy is constantly looking for her favorite music (“Stayin Alive” and “Funkytown”) and TV shows (“Holy Redeemer Sunday Mass” starring Father Kevin).

Joy Is 18 Months Old

Joy is 18 months old today. She likes to stand unsupported for 15 seconds or so, maybe make one tentative step, and then she falls back on her diapered bottom. She’s all smiles and chuckles. See what I can do, Daddy? she seems to be saying.  

We have a full size mattress on our bedroom floor for co-sleeping. She gets on and off the mattress dozens of times every day. She loves lying on (and jumping on) her soft mattress. If she falls over the edge and misses one of the many pillows on the sides, she still lands on soft carpeting—a fall of just 8 inches. And she does fall. She rolled off the mattress yesterday and tapped her head on the chest of drawers. She wailed. We picked her up and kissed away the hurt.

Joy can reach items on the tops of standard tables. Over the past thirty days she has broken a dozen dishes that she has assumed were Frisbees or toys.  Although it’s disappointing to see our Ikea 18-piece dinnerware set become a 9-piece set, it’s impossible to be frustrated with Joy. We pick her up, move her to another room, clean up the broken shards, vacuum-vacuum-vacuum, and mop twice. The kitchen floor has never been cleaner.

And although she can have tantrums and fake crying jags, is an expert at whining for extra ice cream (or Cheerios or apples or crackers), and likes to throw my iPhone down the stairs, I’ve never been angry with Joy for one second. Because for every tantrum she has, she gives a dozen hugs, a hundred kisses, a thousand smiles, and (so far) 548 days of love, joy, and laughter.

J is for Joy

Joy is almost 18 months old. She can pull to stand and do some cruising around the coffee table.  She likes to stand on the full size mattress and fall forward, landing on her face. She loves the mattress for bouncing. Occasionally, when she is sitting on the hardwood floor, she loses her balance and falls backward, often hitting her head.

Today I noticed Joy holding one of her board books. She was holding it right side up and turning the pages with her pointer finger, using her fingernail to catch each board and pull it over. She looked at the colorful pages and cooed. She set the book down, crawled away, then turned and came back to the book. She picked it up and again held it right side up.

Okay, I thought. She knows that the book has a proper orientation. I had never seen her hold a book like a pro before.

I decided we would “read” (it’s mostly just 26 photos of kids with 26 objects) some of the pages as she turned each one.  The book is called Kids Like Me Learn ABCs. It features photos of smiling children, mostly toddlers and grade school kids with Down.

“Okay, Joy,” I say, pointing to the 72-point capital letter. “This is the letter A. And below is the American Sign Language sign for A. A is for apple, as you can see by this baby boy sitting among the apples that, for some reason, are scattered in his bed.”

The facing page is B. “Here, Joy. Look at the little boy with the balloons.” (It’s not a flattering photo. The photographer is trying to show a look amazement on the boy’s face as the balloons float at the top of the colorful strings. But the boy seems to be saying “Huh?”) “So B stands for either balloons or bewildered.”

Joy turns the page. “Good girl, Joy. This is letter C. The sign for C actually looks like a C. The letter C can stand for cookie. That boy is holding an M&M cookie. Yum.”

I point to the facing page. “The next letter is D,” I say. “And once again—four times in a row—the model is a boy. Oh, and D stands for toy dinosaur. I guess it wouldn’t be right to photograph a girl playing with a triceratops.”

Suddenly  Joy decides to flip to the last page. “Oh, Joy. You are so ZANY!” I say.  “Z is for zany and for zipper.” The left-hand page is, of course Y.  Y is for yarn. The photographer has draped different colored yarn over a little boy’s head.

Joy then flips back a page to W and X. “Look, Joy. W is for watermelon. Girls are allowed to pose with watermelon slices.”

The facing page is X. X is for xylophone (of course). “Look, Joy,” I say, “the little boy is going to bang the heck out of the ZYE-low-fone.”

Joy closes the book. She drops it on the mattress and decides to bounce.

Joy watching mass.
Asleep in sister’s arms.
Fresh out of the bath.

Happy birthday, Eileen

“Stayin’ Inside” by the Bee Gees and Joy

Well, you can tell by the way I cannot walk
I’m a baby girl, and I cannot talk
My voice is loud and bottle warm
I’ve been passed around since I was born
But now it’s all right, that’s okay
You may play with me all day
We can try to understand
The Tiger King’s effect on man

Whether you’re my sister or whether you’re my sitter
You’re stayin’ inside, stayin’ inside
Feel the country breakin’ and Fox News a fakin’
But were stayin inside, stayin’ inside
Ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin’ inside, stayin’ inside
Ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin’ insi-i-i-ide

Well, we got eggs and we got dye
But we have no Angel Soft, we really tried
Got some baby wipes for my poo
I’m a baby girl, and I just can’t lose
You know, it’s all right, it’s okay
I’ll live to see another day
I can try to suck my thumb
I like New York Times’ effect on Trump

Whether you’re a cousin or whether you’re a buzzin’
Happy birthday Eileen, happy birthday Eileen
Have a happy birthday and have a happy Earth Day
You are stayin’ Eileen, stayin’ Eileen
Ah, ah, ah, ah, we love you Eileen, love you Eileen
Ah, ah, ah, ah, happy birthday, Eileeeen!
Oh

I’m goin’ nowhere, somebody help me
Instacart help me, yeah
I’m drivin’ nowhere, somebody help me, yeah
I’m stayin’ insi-i-i-i-de