you too Mama

small conversations

2010-06-09T13:52:00.000-07:00

I love talking to kids, my own and others. It's so fun to hear things from their perspective... the words they choose, the gestures that are new and fresh and whole-hearted.

Here are some of my favorite moments from chats with G recently.

Where is the summer? Where is summer, Mama? Oh, behind the clouds is the summerness.

I see them! I see telephone lions and power lions. Both lions!

L meanwhile, takes each and every opportunity to remind us of one thing.

me: L, are you hungry?
L: No, I'm a GIRL.

me: L, you are a silly thing.
L: No, Mama. I'm a GIRL.

L: Meooooow.
her daddy: L, are you pretending to be a cat?
L: No, I'm not a cat. I'm a GIRL!

a happy Mama's day

2010-05-10T19:37:00.000-07:00

I had a wonderful day yesterday. I got to indulge in relaxed hours with my favorite people, feel warm spring sunshine, proclaim in admiration about a card that G actually made for me himself and signed his name, give my own mama a big hug and a gift that made her smile. It was a beautiful day and the best part about it was sharing it.

We called it Mama's day because it's easiest to talk to our four and two year olds about in the words we use. And I'm Mama to them, not Mother. Sometimes I'm Mom now too, especially when G is showing off his newest skills.

I hope you enjoyed mother's day too, whether you are a mom or no. It's all about love and that's worth celebrating and reveling in.

perplexasaur

2010-04-23T20:19:00.000-07:00

Lately G has said That's like me several times while looking at pictures of Tyrannosaurus Rex.

The first time I was startled and asked him about it and he repeated it. I thought it was a little odd, but then L has been saying things that are strange and non traditional all the time so I figured it was a one time mystery.

Until it happened again. We were looking at a book where a T Rex is chasing other dinosaurs with a nasty grimace on his snout and G said happily That's like me; that's like G. I asked You're like a T Rex?

Yes!

Hmmm. I am now officially in mystery solving mode. I can come up with a handful of different ideas but I don't know if I'll ever have my curiosity and worry satisfied on this one.

Does this have to do with the anger expression and control issues he's working through?

Is is merely his favorite dinosaur?

Maybe he's scared of the T Rex and is associating himself with it to master his fear?

Maybe he's attracted to it's power and strength?

Does he see himself as what I would call a monster? (Oh please, $@#%ing tell me it's not this.)

(Now grasping at tiny straws...) Maybe he's confusing uses of the word like (I like that. vs. I am like that.)?

Regardless of what it means or how this makes sense in his head, it's a positive association for him and so I'm marking it down as a good thing. And I really hope that some day he can explain it to me. You know, so I don't worry anymore and because I bet it's an entertaining story.

a schedule

2010-04-15T09:13:00.000-07:00

this would be a very good day, according to G (4 yrs):

wake up
eat candies
play (computer) games
play with L
play with the dog
eat candies

We have been playing a new game lately I'm calling What Next? G asks What next? and waits until I or his Daddy answer, then immediately repeats What next? We run through actually planned activities as well as theoretical possibilities (and sometimes impossibilities) for the next hours, days weeks, years, etc. until G's Daddy and I can't take any more and heroically attempt to change the subject. Tonight when I got into several weeks in the future and said I was done, G came up with his own ideas about the next day.

fluid language

2010-04-14T20:22:00.000-07:00

A 3 year old boy we are friends with and my 2 year old girl both did similar things I found interesting last week. He pointed at a baseball cap with a GAP logo that he was wearing and said, Know what it says? Jason. (Jason is his ~~blog~~name.)
She pointed at her carseat which is inscribed with Eddie Bauer and said That's L... (her name.)

Neither of them can read yet but obviously both can recognize writing/lettering and know it represents meaningful words. It made me wonder. Do they realize that writing is static or do they think that it changes depending on the situation or person it's associated with? Do they think that the reader assigns meaning to the letters, making up a phrase based on the situation? Do they think the same way about writing and letters or is it different for each one?

I've always been fascinated by the idea that language is not one hundred percent accurate. There is some fluidity, some space for meaning and gesture and nuance that we assign individually and where it can only overlap so much with another's personal language experience. We never know what someone else is thinking exactly, maybe just mostly, or at other times not much at all. Certainly for my son with language issues this is even more true and makes it all the more astounding how close we are able to be to others even when we have muddy and vague understandings of each other's inner worlds.

I know the magic of putting the pieces together and learning how letters, words and reading work will come for my daughter and our friend Jason. I wonder what the magic of knowing that letters can have meaning but not knowing the rules is like. And I wonder about the experience of people who are nonverbal. And not so infrequently I wonder about the few children who were actually raised by wolves after being lost/abandoned by humans. How is that world?

How is your world?

a very silly sort of girl

2010-04-07T20:49:00.000-07:00

Two and a half is apparently a great age for amusing statements. Here are a few recent gems from L:

(Patting her own head) This is a big one!

I am so pooping! (Similar to I am so happy but this is a very angry statement, accented by loud screaming voice.)

I need lots of fingers! (Wiggling fingers around in front of her with an upset whining intonation.)

L: I want a yes.
me: A yes? What is a yes?
L: It's a yes for L!

I love listening to the big thoughts that come out of her tiny little mouth.

I recently learned

2010-03-21T21:01:00.000-07:00

1. Neutral ground for playdates is a really really good idea (and kids personal bedrooms are a bad space for learning how to share.)

2. You can find lots of clothes for 3 year old girls at thrift/consignment stores easily, but 5 year old boy clothing in good condition is a rare treasure.

3. L and I have very similar taste in clothing. She went through the shopping bag when we arrived home and picked out the two items I liked best and then demanded to try them on.

4. Even if it is the first day of sun and temps over fifty in months I will still get badly sunburnt in two hours (but my kids won't.)

5. Navigating the muddy waters of independence, cooperation and grace when things aren't the way you'd like is hard at 4 and still almost as hard at 30.

6. Computer game play is the only thing that will motivate G enough to actually poop on the toilet. Candy, toys, stickers, charts, praise, pleading and stories are not it.

7. It bothers me to hear someone use the word mainstream as a verb and specifically when it is their biggest goal for my child's educational future.

8. Food, games and activities are all much more appealing to 2 and 4 year olds when offered by peers and siblings than pesky adults.

9. The dog will actually eat a cigarette butt if we try to make him spit it out. Ugh!

10. G has developed an interest in the notion of a secret formula. (Where does he get this stuff?!) He named one of his animal creations Secret Formula and made sure his dad typed it out right for him.

loud, crazy fun at the farm

2010-03-14T21:54:00.000-07:00

We took an evening this weekend and went to a nearby farm. It was a lot of fun. It's a historic farm with lots of animals, old buildings to explore (many have been restored now) and various treasures to find hidden in the corners. We did have to watch out for a few angry geese, but all the other animals were friendly and well behaved.

G's favorite parts of the trip were climbing on the antique tractors they have stationed around the barns and twiddling with knobs (which happily do nothing these days) and cockadoodle-dooing back and forth with a rooster in a nearby tree. G let out a cockadoodle and then listened for the rooster to answer. If there was silence, he turned to me to ask "Rooster do it again Mama? Cockadoodle-doo again?"

L's favorite highlights were the loud noises of the sheep with small lambs as they called to eachother and sticking her nose right next to the rabbit hutches so she could announce if the rabbit in that house was a "biiig" rabbit or a "smaaaaaall" rabbit.

My favorite parts were the kids' enthusiasm as they ran all over excitedly and seeing a bit of sunshine.

half full

2010-03-02T20:00:00.000-08:00

I've been wrestling with questions here. Too many questions, not enough answers and an overall lack of good strong, appealing options to choose. The lesser of two evils... why is that a choice I have to make for my kid? Ugh. And then I have to wonder, what if the amount of evil is less but the damage done by that particular evil is more intense. The knots in my stomach are practically braiding themselves.

I've been thinking about Kindergarten. Not for me, for the little guy, G. The way things are set up, Kindergarten placement is in black and white. Regular Education and Special Education. I had been ~~obsessing over~~ hoping that G would be accepted into the charter program called Open Classroom where they encourage parent involvement and participation as well as different approaches to learning in general. But we got a letter saying Nope! this past weekend, so I'm back to mulling over our limited options and researching the earliest date to reapply to Open Classroom for 1st grade.

What do I do when there is no good choice for my kid? How can I reconcile with that? I want things to be right, not bad or mediocre, not maybe, possibly pleaseGodpleaseGod okay. If it was just me, it wouldn't be so huge, but this is my baby, who I treasure above all else and who I want to see shine to the best of his ability. I'm thinking: It's the beginning of his education. Everything rests on the next few years, right? And then I realized that just because we think of school as the only place to learn, it doesn't mean that's accurate. G has done most of his learning at home, the fun stuff like animal noises and strange fish anatomy as well as the really hard trudges through frustrating and confusing concepts like asking permission (how and when), the idea that not making a choice is still a choice with consequences, and that sometimes your favorite shirt is dirty and therefore unwearable. School can be the extra, the addition to what we do at home. That will work for us. And if I need to show up frequently at school so that I can ~~make sure things are going well and I know what's happening in the classroom~~ bring by fresh baked cookies and craft supplies I found in the cupboard at home, I will.

I know I am an idealist in life and certainly as a mom. It's not a bad thing, even though it can be frustrating. It keeps me wishing and hoping and looking and adjusting my perspective. Oh, how I wish that so many things weren't painted in black and white. Would it be so hard to have integrated, combined kinds of education continue throughout elementary schools? Why can't there be more alternative options.... homeschool groups that aren't formed based on religious beliefs, other public charter options, more different kinds of classrooms with different approaches? Why is it a choice between not enough help and not enough challenge?

G will keep learning and growing and charming the flowers out of the ground, just like he always has, and I will keep learning how to be as graceful as possible in the alien landscape of parenthood.

time pains

2010-02-08T13:45:00.000-08:00

I don't know exactly how much G understands about the concept of time as the Western world defines and values it, because he can't tell me, but from what I can glean, there are gaping holes. I know he doesn't understand months, or years. I don't think he understands weeks. I do think he knows what a day is, but if I say yesterday or tomorrow it doesn't seem to click for him. Anything past or future is most often out of reach in conversations. We live in the here and now, even when we don't want to. G does best with visual representations when he's learning and Time is pretty hard to show visually. How do you draw a picture of "If we have time after going the grocery store and the bank then maybe we can make playdough volcanoes"? We have calendars with pictures of activities, and he loves to look at clocks, but when I tell him we will make cookies in a little while, I don't know what he thinks I mean, or if he thinks I don't mean anything at all and am ignoring his request. Maybe he thinks I just pick what we are doing or not doing at any moment without there being any rules imposed on me in my decision making. Schooltime is not 12:40 p.m. but rather, whenever Mama decides it's time for school. I wish the world fitted itself around me. Then I could set my clock by my kids needs and desires.

We talk about days of the week and time but it's still our number one enemy right now. It is hard to accept schedules, changes of plan, specific orders of events when you don't know why it is the way it is. It's hard for G to live within the rules that most of us do. He has tantrums because we have to do something he doesn't want to do before something he really wants to do and he can't understand why. I wonder if he imagines the world is out to make him miserable, or that Mama makes every decision about everything like what days school is happening, when it is lunchtime, when we run out of his most beloved food: cheese, how long it takes to get home, whether or not it's sunny out, etc., etc. That's just they way it is does not impress him. In fact, it's an assemblage of words that means nothing to him as well as not explaining anything when we run into trouble. Occasionally I catch myself wishing he could just take "Because that's the way it works" as an answer, but then I remember that I was never satisfied with that kind of adult speak as a kid either. He wants to understand how everything works and doesn't, and that's a gift. And I'd definitely miss his thorough examinations of why things are the way they are if he didn't care, even though they quite frequently drive both of us into a state of utter frustration.

Now I'm off to the school playground to watch G play and then to convince him that time to go home is coming whether or not he wants it to.

no good, very bad day

2010-01-31T20:27:00.000-08:00

It was one of those days when things just seemed to keep going the wrong way. The water heater finally gave up on life. Much book keeping and accounting needed to be done and redone. Ugh. And then, G had a breakdown at his friends birthday party. You might think I'd be most upset by the major appliance failure or the utterly dreaded book keeping fiasco, but you'd be wrong.

The party was at a museum and we thoroughly enjoyed looking at dinosaur bones, doing crafts and a few songs. G was happy to wish his friend a happy birthday, meet some new people and check out some exhibits. Then G saw the collection of presents. His friends' mom had told me "no gifts" so I was unprepared for that and so was G. If I had known ahead of time I might have been able to prepare him, but I didn't and he wasn't. He insisted that he wanted the orange car he saw peeking out of a bag. I explained we had plenty of cars at home and we would try to find an orange one when we got there. It was a futile attempt. He began crying and insisting it was his own birthday so he could also have presents.

We stayed a few minutes, trying to calm down and finally went outside to cry for another twenty minutes or so. Finally he calmed down enough to go back and join the group, only to have well-meaning people try to talk to him and encourage him to be happy which sent him off into another bout of uncontrollable tears. I got our bag and went downstairs. He eventually calmed down. We met the kids coming out and he said thank you and I said I'm sorry. We walked down the hall and met G's dad and I dissolved into my own fit of tears.

It shouldn't be so hard, surprising or painful. But sometimes, it just hits me head-on. My boy doesn't know all the rules. I try my best to teach him, but there are many many things he just can't grasp. What's a yesterday, for example, and why on earth would I want to talk about it? My birthday's in the summer... what does that mean, besides no presents now? The word because... what's that all about? There's so much more, mostly the abstract kind of things, like time. It's really frustrating for G to live in a world where the rules don't make sense, or just seem plucked out of nowhere for the occasion. It's also really frustrating for me to try to bridge the gaps, and when I fail, to try to scrape some sense of togetherness and understanding we can share so the world doesn't feel so harsh and cruel and random.

Today I was sad for G, that he couldn't enjoy the rest of the party and that he couldn't understand and make peace with his friend getting presents today. I was worried about G causing stress or unhappiness for the other kids and parents at the party. And, I was embarrassed. And then guilty about feeling embarrassed. I understand where things went wrong and I don't blame him, but sometimes I just want things to be easy, without the need to explain. I shouldn't be embarrassed. What's wrong with me?! I love this kid! My buttons are bursting, I'm amazed by how much he's learned and how many steps he's taken toward the world most people inhabit. And yet, an afternoon like today comes and I am the one who is unable to function because of communication barriers. I am the one bawling in front of the ancient pottery shards while my now happy, curious boy wanders around drinking in natural history. I need to remember I'm a work in progress as much as my boy is, and take a few minutes here and there to think about where I am, who I am, who I want to be.

We came home and talked about it. G looked off to the side, obviously uncomfortable. I don't think if we went to another party tomorrow it would be alright, but if we talk it through enough, tell stories about birthdays and friends and parties, we're bound to get there sometime. I asked him to look at my eyes and listen while I told him I loved him. Now I will have tiramisu and hugs and hope and prepare for a happier day.

the best pinecone

2010-01-29T13:16:00.000-08:00

It's the last day of the school week and all the kids are tired. G and his friend (I'll call him Joshua) are rolling down the hill after class lets out. They find pinecones and roll those down. After a long twenty minutes of happy playing and successful sharing, trading and taking turns, there is a moment when they both reach for the same pinecone. It's a particularly nice one, very rich brown and intact compared with the other greyish, tattering pinecones. Neither or them is practiced at sharing but they are both working on it. Joshua grabs it first. G looks upset. Joshua looks equally grumpy. Joshua haltingly holds out the pinecone in his hand for G to take but as soon as it's in G's hand Joshua starts wailing. Joshua's dad and I try in vain to help prompt compromises and soothe overtired, overexerted 4 year old friends. No other pinecones will do for either boy.

In the end each of us carries a crying boy across the playground and down the sidewalk to the parking lot. G begins to quiet a few times, but hears Joshua and starts again. I ask if he wants to say goodbye to Joshua and he says no. We arrive at the car and he calms down a bit, asking for a hug. I pick him up and hug him and ask him if he's sad because Joshua was upset. He tells me: G and Joshua sad. (This is big! He isn't usually able to talk about more than one person's feelings at a time) I buckle him in his seat and he says: Show Daddy G and Joshua sad. Sometimes G wants to show Daddy an art project or other preschool treasure when he gets home. The idea of telling his dad about something important that happened to him, especially involving feelings... what a breakthrough!

I spend the entire car ride home fantasizing about G telling me stories of what he did at school today, how his friends feel about white and red striped race cars, how he came to be under a beanbag when a classmate sat on top of it (I heard that one from his teacher who thought it was funny and was concerned I might wonder how he got a scratch on his forehead.)

We get home and G runs into the house, still intent on telling his important news to his dad. I am thrilled. G and Joshua sad. Roll down hill, throw pinecones down hill. I wait as he talks, then fill in the blanks. Then I remark to my husband how lucky he is, to actually be hearing news about what happened at school from G, and that it's bigger news than just what flavor muffin they ate today. We all beam at eachother for a moment before G starts begging to play computer games.

persevere. symptom? heroism?

2010-01-27T13:16:00.000-08:00

Perseveration.

the tendency for a memory or idea to persist or recur without any apparent stimulus for it
the act of persisting or persevering; continuing or repeating behavior

It's a new word to me. I heard echolalia two years ago for the first time. These words were both revealed to me in reference to my son G. He started using echolalia (repeating the words he hears over and over) about the time we started going to speech/behavioral evaluations to try to help him build his verbal language skills. I was completely unconcerned. It was obvious to me (the person who is with him every single day of his life so far, watching him, holding him, listening to him, talking to him) he was working at building his language. He was repeating everything in order to understand it, to learn how to use the words himself. It wasn't too long before he was no longer using echolalia all day long. The therapists, however, saw the echolalia as a problem. "He's stuck." "He doesn't understand." "We should fix that."

I use my own experiences as a compass on this journey. It's all I have. They are usually not too far off the mark. When I am working through something I perseverate. I replay a conversation over and over in my head. I change things, look at all the angles. Remember what each moment felt like. Imagine what the other person was feeling at each moment. Think about changing things. This is what I do when I feel helpless, when I feel lost, when I feel like angry.

My gut tells me this is what G is doing now when he perseverates. He is working on things. It may look, feel and be an enactment of being stuck. But it means he is thinking and feeling and working. This is good. He is growing, even when he is also pushing hard and going nowhere.

I think it's fascinating how perseveration is a problem, but perseverance is one of those words you might find on an inspirational poster. They are so close. One is a heroic act, celebrated, the other a symptom. I don't buy it. I think they are two sides of the same coin. One the one hand, G and I have these horridly upsetting conversations that go around in circles and don't resolve as he says the same phrase or question over and over. On the other hand, as we are having the looping conversations I believe that we are both trying to find ways to slow down the momentum, to find safe passage to resolution. I may not be able to "change the topic" as a therapist put it, but (in my mommy heart I believe) that's not what he needs now. He needs to resolve the spinning so that he can change the topic. He needs to understand, not just memorize the next step in the conversation. And the way he will get there? Endless repetition. I'll be there with him.

Many horribly miserable conversations with G have been retold in positive and happy new ways since I have been able to understand him better. Now I now that he has a hard time understanding "not", I can rephrase what I say so he can take it in. Example: In the car on the way to school he takes a toy airplane he loves. Before I would say, "G, you can't take toys into your class, okay?" He would scream and throw the plane in frustration. He didn't understand the rules. He needs (like we all do) to understand the rules to feel confident and comfortable, to trust. Now I say, "G, when we get to school you leave the plane in the car, okay?" He looks at me and puts the airplane happily into the pocket of his carseat.

The hardest conversations right now involve time. "Not tonight." "Maybe later." "In a little while." "Tomorrow." He seems to sort these responses into two columns... yes and no. He counts my facial expressions, my tone, my enthusiasm as part of the response because he doesn't understand most of those phrases up there. He asks again. I repeat myself. He asks again, this time looking angry and sad. I say "I'm sorry; we can't right now. I know you're sad." I put my arms out in an appeal. He pushes me away. I stay and bear witness to his misery. He puts his arms up for me to pick him up. I hold him and tell him I'm sorry. He asks for me to wipe his eyes, wet from tears. I say "Okay." and wipe the wetness from his face. I desperately hope he knows I am there with him, even when the language barrier is too high to scale.

One of the things about G's otherness that scares me the most is this: There are things about G that I believe he would like help to overcome. There are other things about G which could be called other or strange that I believe are who he is and are beautiful and good. I want him to keep these parts of himself safe. I want him to treasure and revel in who he is, not water it down, hide it, make it fit into some other person's expectations. It's sometimes hard to figure out which is which or stop and ponder if I am trying to "fix" something because it is causing harm to him or because other people don't understand it.

What I want most for G now and always, is that he will be happy, that he will understand himself and other people, that he will love himself, that he will let himself wholly be who he is.

special

2010-01-22T20:34:00.000-08:00

Since having a kid who other people categorize as Special, I have come to loathe the word. I used to feel much more ambivalent. It was present in my childhood as either a slightly embarrassing compliment from relatives or teachers or as a taunt from other kids who didn't understand me. It was, a few times, hurtful, but mostly just an occasional reminder that I wasn't the status quo in my classrooms.

Now, it's used to describe my kids' education, my kids' peers, my kids' difficulties. It represents his differences from everybody else. Special needs, special education, special services, special classrooms, specials. Oh, how that word rings in my ears, mocking my attempts to show off my beautiful, smart, amazing child to the rest of the world. It could be worse. I just wish that labels weren't so prevalent and so quick to pile up on kids who may be affected by them for the rest of their lives. I wish my kid could be known by his name, not his abilities/disabilities. If I had a vote, I would write in "Alternative Education" as a replacement for "Special Education". It seems less loaded. More realistic and less candy coated. Special as a word to describe kids who have extra difficulties, worries, hardships, challenges seems to be trying to turn something people are uncomfortable with (being obviously different) into something warm and fuzzy to make it more palatable. But using a sweetened-up word doesn't make being different less scary or loaded with negative feelings and images. It's just more off-base. More dishonest.

Not too far in the distant past, I turned down a diagnosis for G "just so he can get the insurance coverage." It's a hard situation to have to choose between labels, and help paying for services to help your kid. We could afford to pay ourselves so I chose not to have (in our case) unneccessary labels tied to my kid. The thing that amazed me the most about that particular story though, was when I told another evaluator about it several months later and she expressed in disapproving surprise that she'd never heard anyone say they were doing the same thing. I'm betting she's met others. They just didn't tell her about it. I will go out on a limb and say I don't think many parents like labels and diagnoses put on their child, and even less so if they aren't accurate or descriptive of the actual kid. I don't mean that they aren't useful, important, helpful and neccessary in many cases, just that sometimes they aren't. It shouldn't be taken for granted, like it has been a for us a few times.

The combined classroom (kids who are receiving special education services and kids who are "normal" in the same class) G's in now is a gift to everyone in it. The Autistic kids, the kids with partial deafness, the kids with Cerebral Palsy, my son with Auditory Processing Disorder- they are learning so much from watching and interacting with the unlabeled kids. And those regular ed. kids- they are learning so much from the kids who are in special ed. Learning from one another, learning about one another and ourselves, learning how we are all similar and all different- I wish we all had as much ample opportunities for these things as the kids in G's class. That really is special- the way I think the word should be used. Important. Worth recognizing and striving for.

speech delay at 3

2010-01-15T20:10:00.000-08:00

When we took G in for the first in a series of evaluations for his delayed speech, more than one professional told us that our kid avoided eye contact and interactions. They told us in longer and less clear words that he didn't want to communicate with us, that we should encourage him to interact with us by making it more fun.

I tried to tell them that my boy wanted to communicate with us, his Mama and Daddy. He was desperate to communicate. I tried to point out that most kids wouldn't give great eye contact when they are faced with an entire wall of toys they have never seen before. I tried to tell them that he was different at home. I tried to tell them that I was an oddball as a kid too... that I just wasn't on the same wavelength as my classmates. (One woman actually made a joke out of that. I still get angry when I think of her. The same woman said, "Oh, he will definitely qualify for special education, don't you think?" and I had to hold back the tears until we made it out of that office. ) I tried to tell them that what they were seeing that was good, it had been built up recently. He was making progress. I tried to tell them that he loves to talk, the little he can. He begs to communicate with us. He doesn't like playing on his own forever.

They didn't see the same little boy I did. Sometimes I want to take him back, to reintroduce them to him. They would be amazed. How could they not be... they thought he was uninterested in interacting with people. I want to teach them about my boy, for the other parents sakes. So maybe sometimes, they could listen to the parents perspective without casting it aside as denial or grasping at straws. So sometimes, they might take a little more time and see a little more of the person growing in front of them. Four out of four of the first professionals to meet our son suggested he might be on the Autism spectrum (because they couldn't say for sure that he fit that diagnosis and they couldn't think of other possibilities) and then got defensive when I asked pointed questions about Autism, expressed my doubts and asked if there were any other explanations for his language difficulties. I did an unbelievable amount of reading about kids with early language delays, and about Autism and every time I read a description of it, I thought that doesn't seem like G. But it kept coming up in the evaluations. And I kept reading more, wondering, doubting, refusing to swallow that the thing causing his speech delay was something that he fit very few of the usual signs of. He has since been diagnosed with Auditory Processing Disorder and we have very definitively ruled out Autism.

The truth was, at 3 years old, G had begun to give up. To give up on us understanding him and understanding us. He was angry. He was scared. He was sad and lonely and very very frustrated. And he couldn't hear or understand a lot of what was said to him. That's why there wasn't as much eye contact as there "should be". Not even as much as there had been when he was younger and more oblivious to his isolation due to the language barrier. We kept looking for an explanation that made sense. We kept reading books, signing in ASL, acting things out, getting in his face while talking to him. We kept hoping to understand what was going on in his head, and what he wanted to tell us.

He's 4 and a half now. He can describe things. He can ask for things politely. He loves choices. He loves us and tells us so frequently. He makes wonderful eye contact if he hears us. He mishears words. He gets lost if the sentences are too long or involved. He gets frustrated when he needs to express negative emotions other than sadness. He likes to tell his little sister what to do and what not to. He can tell anyone his name and age. He can navigate anywhere in the city by telling me which direction to turn the car. He is mostly toilet trained. He plays hide and seek with friends. He doesn't understand days of the week. He has gone from the language level of an infant (at just under 4 yrs old) to just under the language level of his neurotypical peers (at 4 1/2).

Look out world, my boy has a lot of things he wants to tell you!

I believe that the best expectations of what a child will and won't be able to do come from their parents gut feelings (not the horrible worst case scenarios and doubts my mind ran through over and over when faced with uncertainty and bad news about G.)

can't you see I'm working here?!

2010-01-14T20:13:00.000-08:00

G dearly loves to play on the computer. Pbskids.org is one of his favorites and he would happily spend oh, probably twelve solid hours trying new games, browsing, playing his favorites like "the boat game" where he steers a raft down a river filled with boulders, piranhas and countless other potential things to bump into and *gasp of horror* slow down. It's almost always a battle to get him off the computer for dinner or a trip to the grocery store and he usually ends up angry and sad. He gets through it with several hugs and five minutes or so to readjust to the world.

His dad and I both work on computers, from home so he hears us say "I'm working" fairly often. I was still completely shocked to hear him answer my question "What do you want to eat for dinner?" by saying "I'm working!" in a sort of Mo-om, I'm doing something really important here... Can't you see my cartoon bunny is halfway through jumping up various ledges to the treasure?! tone. Whoa! I was annoyed and amused and proud all together. I mean, what an attitude, right? But, hey, G has never never sassed me before. He's told me no, and pushed me and told me to stop... but "I'm working" took quite a bit of finesse and style. He's so limited in his language that I see sass as quite a breakthrough. We celebrate it all, even the things I'm sure I'll be banging my head on the wall because of in no time at all.

So I smiled for a second, and then I reminded him that "I'm busy" would be a more appropriate way to tell me his purple jumping bunny cannot stand to wait while he answers my pesky questions about dinner options. Then I decided next time I want to tell him that I'm working, I should really reconsider. It's definitely making an impression.

she rocks!

2010-01-01T19:48:00.000-08:00

A few days ago, we are entertaining guests in our front room. G is putting together puzzle after puzzle and L is doing acrobatic feats such as performing splits on the arms of the armchair. She wanders around a bit and ends up swinging between the couch and a table, one arm on each, holding her feet up and swinging back and forth. Someone says "Are you rocking?" L responds enthusiastically, "I rock!"

She certainly does.

knock knock...

2009-12-21T21:39:00.000-08:00

G started that whole business with us from the backseat for the first time ever. It went like this.

G: Knock knock
Mama: Who's there?
G: Car
Mama: Car who?
G: Car fell down
Mama: Oh, car fell down! Ha ha hahaha!
G & L's Dad: snort
L: Knock knock...
G: No, L. G's turn. Knock knock
(As you can probably imagine, this was far from the end of the knock knock fun.)

Obviously, G still has some things to learn about jokes, but I am excited he want to be a part of it! I bet it won't take him long before he has an arsenal of fully memorized knock knock knockouts.

if toys aren't available

2009-12-07T10:18:00.000-08:00

Here's a helpful idea from my son G on what you can do if toys aren't available:

1. Use balled fists as two crash-test puppets (especially great if it's bedtime, or you are riding in the car) and slam your fists into each other while making explosion or detonation style sound effects.

2. Drop both fists to lap (or blankets if lying in bed) and begin flailing one about while making a crying noise (this can be fairly realistic sobbing or more of an half-hearted whining)

3. Have the other fist ask the crying/whining fist "Are you okay?"

4. Answer happily with formerly crying fist "I'm okay." in a sing song way.

5. Have concerned fist reply "Oh, good, glad you're okay."

6. Repeat step one with louder explosion noises.

This activity is good for at least twenty minutes worth of otherwise wasted naptime or quiet car-rides. Enjoy!

orange socks, red shoes

2009-12-05T22:08:00.000-08:00

Every time G gets new shoes (and I throw away his oldest most beaten up pair) the new shoes are not nearly so exciting as the ones that he had virtually no interest in previously. I'm not entirely sure why, but this has happened three times in succession now. Currently we have orange shoes and red shoes. We used to have red shoes and blue shoes. The blue ones were his favorites, but now the formerly shunned red shoes are way out in front.

Other clothing quirks of late involve socks. G has been throwing huge, collapse on the floor fits when we announce it's time to put socks on. Because of this he has been mostly barefoot even though it's cooold, unless we leave the house. So we tell him it's time to wear socks and get a pair from the dresser. He cries and screams and throws the socks across the room. I finally figure out that he wants to choose his socks. And he doesn't want to choose white socks. Or gray socks. Or beige socks. No, he wants the very elusive green socks and black socks and red socks. He tells me one afternoon he wants orange socks. We put on the orange socks. Five minutes later orange is no longer in style. Blue is the new orange. We change. (I somewhat sneakily and a little bit guiltily put the orange pair away in the drawer again.) Sometimes he goes to school in a blue shirt, blue pants, orange socks and red shoes. If he's happy and clean, it's okay with me (this doesn't apply to weddings or funerals).

I need to buy more orange socks. Soon.

Likewise, L has her own ways of dealing with clothes. These mostly involve getting her clothes dirty within five minutes of being dressed, taking her shoes off compulsively and then crying to have them put back on again, and trying to steal her brothers clothes and figure out how to wear them instead of her own.

Sometimes I get annoyed by all this, but usually I just laugh and bring out seven pairs of socks to choose from.

twinkle twinkle robot

2009-11-23T20:07:00.000-08:00

Not only is G surprising me by singing all the words to Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star all on his own and on his own agenda, he is also surprising me by carrying a tune and improvising to create new and more 4 year old boy friendly versions of the song. I am such a proud Mama! First- that he can sing all the words. That's huge for this little boy with APD who was only able to mimic the "to you!" part of the Happy Birthday song for years. Second- that he knows the melody and can actually sing quite nicely! I never knew that before. He often did monotone versions of songs we sing together or broke the words apart and overemphasized syllables to make a sort of rap version. Third- he's got a great imagination and he knows how to put it to use!

The latest version of he song tonight went like this: Twinkle, twinkle Robot. Twinkle twinkle Roooobot. How I wonder what you aaaare. Twinkle twinkle robot in the sky; how I wonder what you are. I thought it was quite charming, including, the "Good job, robot song." at the end.

rabbit hole of words

2009-11-21T13:25:00.000-08:00

It used to be, a long, long nine months ago that G didn't make "good" eye contact during conversations, especially in new situations and with strangers. (He did great when playing with toys or when we were using our fairly vast non-verbal communication means we had built up together over his 3 years.) He often wouldn't respond when I talked to him or he would look at me with a blank expression telling me something was wrong. I wasn't sure whether the blank expression meant that he didn't hear me, or he didn't care to listen, or he couldn't understand me, or he had just given up on verbal communication. Whichever option or options it was, it was painful to see and caused me quite a few hours of worry. We trudged along, getting confused and sidelined and not really sure which path to take.

I tried harder to reach him. I talked with more animation, louder. I signed (We had learned ASL together from when he was an infant and he understood quite a few signs). I got down on my knees and look into his eyes. Sometimes he reciprocated, sometimes he responded. Sometimes I saw the amazingly beautiful sparkle in his eye and realignment of his features meaning he understood me. And it was obvious how happy that made him, as well as me when it happened. He looked so proud, so pleased. He would shout and yell and wave his arms in celebration of successful exchange. I could tell the opposite was true when we weren't understanding each other. He would throw tantrums and cling to me. He didn't want to be apart from his Mama, who understood more than anybody else. He would glare in anger, frustration, and sometimes he would give up. There would be silence on his part, except his one word requests for simple things he needed like juice, hugs, cheese, and "No!" "No" was a big part of our mini conversations. It meant any of fifty different things, probably more. And it told me he wanted to be able to tell me more. So we kept trying, whatever, whenever, anything.

I read book after book after blog after blog about Autism, what the experts kept bringing up when they met G. My gut disagreed with this suggestion and most things I read pushed me to disagree more, as G just didn't seem to fit. But nobody could tell me what was going on, making me unable to dismiss the possibility of Autism. I searched and looked and asked questions and annoyed the school district. I'm positive they thought I was in denial of G's condition. Finally I happened upon a brief description of auditory processing disorder and it struck me that it seemed to fit with what I observed of G's language struggles at home. I emailed the speech therapist who wrote the article that very evening and we set up an appointment. She confirmed with no doubt he was having trouble processing auditory information. I was heartbroken (to hear that your child has a diagnoseable problem is hard) and thrilled at the same time. Finally! A direction to move in and a name for our struggles and a professional who could actually understand what was going on in G's little head. Ever since then our family has been making incredible progress.

Now, after speech therapy, patience, a lot of Time (this seems to be the most important factor in our journey through APD... G taking his time to process and us giving him that opportunity without interruption), lots of simplified conversations with picture and signing support at home, it's the other way around. I see the spark of understanding in his eyes more often than not. When he's tired, sick, when I have overdone the "exercises", when he's angry, the blank expression still shows up. He is temporarily unreachable except by hugs, like we've always done when nothing else works. He works so hard! So much effort all day every day for something that comes naturally to most of us. He tries again. He wants to "show me". G eagerly signs songs, tells stories, listens to me, teaches his little sister what the colors of the traffic lights mean. I am getting to know him more every day, even the parts I could only glimpse and guess at before. And I am so incredibly proud and grateful when I see comprehension break across his face like the sun coming up. Every time.

special ed. 16 ring circus

2009-11-19T13:01:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I got to spend the afternoon in G's classroom. I was thrilled to have the opportunity, having spent many hours wondering what he does at school, if he has friends in his class, how the other kids behave, why he comes home wanting to push people, if he ever actually tries to write his name before giving up with a sullen frown like he does at home. (The whole list is actually quite a bit longer, but I think I'd better stop here.)

The teacher was home sick so the two aides and the speech therapist were trying valiantly to tame the herd of wild things teach the class. So I offered to stay and they seemed quite happy to accept. I was eager for a view of what goes on there and to get to know the kids a tiny bit, since up to this point the No Parents In the Classroom rule has been quite unwavering. There are sixteen kids in the class and it's just too many for three adults to handle. Especially because there are a good four or five with behavioral issues like intentional disruption, intimidating other kids, horribly foul language by choice (an imitation of what goes on at home, I'm guessing). In my opinion two of the kids should have a full time aide assigned just to them to keep them on track and give them the positive attention and redirection/supervision they need to participate, learn and not disrupt the class by yelling, jumping, screaming, running, throwing things and bullying the rest of the kids. I came home and told my husband that there was circle time, playdough time, general mayhem free play time, throwing fruit loops and dumping water on others and the floor snack time and finally wrestling and tackle tag playing outside. During the general mayhem half hour, there was jumping on tables and chasing and hitting games going on as well as a whole lot of screaming. It was happy screaming, but brought to mind an eagle dying. Also, general mayhem time was when the speech therapist worked with individual kids. No wonder they have trouble understanding where G is at. I don't know how they hear anything he says.

No wonder he comes home and punches his sister, pushes her, hits me, makes angry intimidating faces to try and get his way. I'm just baffled he hasn't started saying several four-letter words I heard at least 20 times from the other boys yesterday.

I wish my boy could be in a place more suited to him, his needs, his abilities. I wish every one of those kids had enough attention and care at school and at home. I guess that is what those teachers and aides deal with every day. The quiet kids don't get enough attention to succeed and the loud and badly behaved kids don't get enough attention to figure out how to settle down and direct their feelings and energy in better ways. There was one little girl there who is having trouble at home and had a frown plastered across her little face for the entire three hours, except the twenty minutes she was playing with the plastic food and kitchen, happily serving up donuts and green peppers with ketchup. It made me sad for her, and happy for my G. Happy that he comes home to a completely human but loving and interested mom and dad and sister.

I am appalled by what those teachers and aides aren't able to do for the kids. Not by their own fault but through lack of support from the school. It's crazy that we don't take better care of resources, for everyone's sake. I will make suggestions, and offer to help and ask questions and whatever else I can do. And I will offer to bring a big donation of clothes that we've outgrown for those poor kids who dirty themselves at school and don't have any clean clothes from home in their cubby. But I won't fight the school. It's not worth it, fighting for what my kid needs and making those who make decisions even less inclined to help the teachers and the kids. I will find another place where they want to and can work with me to make things better, to make things work. I want to find a place where providing what my kid and other kids need is not a fight, but a happy partnership with available resources. I will look for the right place instead of fighting the wrong one. But if (I hope it's when) G does leave the school he's at this year, I know I will think of the other kids and the teachers, who are trying their best and dream of better places for them too.

choosing our battles

2009-11-13T20:09:00.000-08:00

This is something I think about all day every day with a very stubborn (entirely my fault, I'm positive) 4 year old and an opinionated and teething (read: very very very cranky) 2 year old. I used to have all these expectations. Crazy things, really, like wearing pajamas to bed, not eating chicken nuggets before 10 a.m., and regular toenail clipping.

Before I was a mom, things usually went according to plan and I realize now, my life and state of mind were severely lacking in spontaneity. Now, I am flexible by necessity. I've learned that it is much easier to make deals, to bargain, to compromise with my 4 year old if it's not a matter of life and death or severe spoiling. He needs a part in decision making in his life and in our family. It makes him happier, more confident, and more willing to listen when I say no and it's important. So, some nights he wears pants and t-shirts to bed. Some mornings my 2 year old has chicken nuggets (well, veggie chicken nuggets) and peas for breakfast and there is a set of very long toenails in the house.

The 4 year old is working on a mean set of negotiation tactics for future use. A few weeks ago he tried to bargain with me... he offered that he would eat a cookie and then I would play cars with him. Last night he tried to make a deal with me that he would put on his shoes (which he didn't want to do) in return for playdough. Soon he'll be negotiating for computer games and talking politics with me. And I'm thrilled by all this because my kids feel listened to in our house, which makes us all happier.

feeling goofy

2009-11-12T12:17:00.000-08:00

When we arrived at school today, G was unhappy. He didn't want to let go of me and he did not want to wash his hands. He whined, he asked me to pick him up, he collapsed on the floor in misery. Since it's important to wash his hands I kept asking and steering him toward the sink but he didn't want to even after the rest of the class had clean hands and was reading books. So his teacher came over and asked if he was ready. He didn't respond so as I was walking out the door she picked him up and asked him if he was feeling goofy today. Say what?! This is the same teacher I have noticed calling some of her students sweetheart during school. I understand that she cares about these kids and I'm so glad she does. And some of them need a lot of help and patience, but each one of these kids who have been labeled Special Needs is a person deserving of the same respect as anyone else. Sugaring things up with cutesy nicknames and watered down language for their emotional states isn't going to help these boys and girls. It's going to make it harder for them to interact with people, to take themselves seriously, to be taken seriously.

I call my own, my husbands, my friends and relatives and my kids' feelings by the most honest terminology I can come up with. I believe kids' emotions are as strong as mine and that they should understand those emotions as much as possible. When G is whining and frowning and lying on the floor crying I call it sad, or angry or unhappy or frustrated. When he is grinning and singing and prancing around the house I call it happy or proud. I wish other people would treat kids the way they would like to be treated (My mom said that so many times to me as a kid... it's stamped onto my thoughts). If I'm in a bad mood, I would be offended if someone said to me "Hey, are you feeling goofy today?" In fact I'm pretty sure I'd shoot them one of my best glares. If I'm in a bad mood, I call it a bad mood. I want my kids to be able to call what they're feeling by it's best name and not a pet name, a sugared-up name that doesn't make a whole lot of sense but sounds less scary. I'm not scared of my kid's unhappiness, or my own. It took G three years to tell me he was sad, and I celebrated his ability to recognize his feelings and put them into words (while I gave him a hug and asked why he was sad).

There's a lot of power in knowing what you feel and being able to call it by it's name. It makes it easier to figure out where sadness or anger came from and maybe how to start getting it out and letting it go so you can feel happy. I wish that Special needs kids, neurotypical kids, every human being was able to and comfortable with talking honestly about emotions, their own and others. Emotions are not something to be afraid of, but instead something to embrace and learn from. Now please excuse me to go prepare further for our extended course in Emotional Honesty as applied to How to Share Mama's Lap, Legos and Plates of Potato Chips.

hallway thunder

2009-11-09T20:20:00.000-08:00

A few days ago, G and L decided it would be a completely and totally awesome idea to roll all of their marbles down the hall. At once. So they collected the marbles, two dump trucks and headed to the end of the hall and proceeded to spend the next hour bowling with handfuls of marbles at a time, pushing them with blocks and filling up the trucks and then dumping loads of marbles to careen down the linoleum. It was loud... very very loud. Wishing we had a supply of earplugs in the house loud. I cringed a few times, but mostly I was thrilled because they were happily playing together, taking turns, working together. They have found a special world together, where they can share and play and imagine with each other and have even more fun than with mom and dad.

There is not much I like better than to watch them enjoy one another, even if it is the cause of a few headaches. I believe that as time goes on, the best person to help G with his social skills, his language and APD in general may be his little sister. She understands him better than I do sometimes and there's nothing in the world she wants more than to follow his every move and ask him lots of questions! I can't wait to see (and hear) what they come up with next.

to school, or to another school?

2009-11-06T13:40:00.000-08:00

Today I put in an application for G to go to an alternative program within the local school district, one that is about community and individualized learning and family involvement in education. This program (I hear music in my head every time I think of it) is an amazing place for children, considering each person's needs and taking the idea of learning can be fun seriously. It has many similarities to the alternative (okay, maybe a little bit hippie) college where my husband and I met. I really hope we can get in since I don't believe that a typical class would have enough support and individual awareness and care for him to succeed. As his Auditory Processing disorder causes him to need more repetition and extra eye contact and a whole lot of patience and understanding, a lone teacher with thirty loud kids just isn't going to be able to meet his needs, and probably not even really understand where he's at, what he can and can't do.

He's in a Special Education preschool now and I'm not very happy with it. I mean, they are very patient and he loves being part of a class and being with other kids (besides his sister) but. But it's not the right fit for him. Their expectations are so low. The other kids need a lot more attention and help, so he gets less. The other kids have the same or lesser verbal skills and so they aren't helping him develop his communications. Parents aren't welcome in the classroom. It's just not right for him, for us.

If we can't get into the alternative program it will mean homeschool next year, taught by moi. Which I'm terrified of doing, as I feel very underqualified and which I am also loathe to do because he needs social interactions in a classroom. It's so important for his communication development and for his self esteem and so many other aspects of his development.

We spoke with our speech therapist about transferring G from his current Special Education preschool class to the alternative (but not Special with a capital "S") program and she said to go for it. It made my eyes tear up to hear that she thinks he's ready. And tear up again when she said that when she first met G, it would have been out of the question, but now she thinks he can be part of a classroom with "normal" kids.

In the meantime, we are waiting to see if we get in. We are waiting, as always, to learn where the next leg of this journey will take us. It felt good to decide to try to get in the program now. My personal experience in most things has been that safe is sorry and I think it applies. I want to school dangerously, and parent wherever and however G takes me. Like the story of The Runaway Bunny, I am determined to find a place to fit into each day of his, each mood of his, each new challenge. To love him in whatever way he needs.

non-toys... the best toys

2009-10-30T10:10:00.000-07:00

The kids are showing me again just how crazy I am to buy expensive toys. Today the item of the day is a large stainless steel mixing bowl, which they are spinning like a top, rolling across large expanses of living room and wearing on their backs as a "turtle shell". The best part (in my opinion) is when the bowl stops and makes a sort of gong-like sound and both kids shout "Too loud!" The dog is unsure what to make of this.

fish

2009-10-14T21:37:00.000-07:00

Because of Red Lobster we went to the pet store. I'll explain.

G and I were out running errands this afternoon and drove past the Red Lobster restaurant. He saw the big lobster and said "Mama, look, a crab." I said "That's a lobster but it does look a bit like a crab, you're right. Do you see the fish?" (pointing to the large painted fish on the side of the building) G looks for the fish and then asks to see the fish. He decided that the fish paintings meant it was an aquarium, which he loves and thought I was asking him if he'd like to see the fish. I try feebly to explain that no, it's not a place to look at fish, but he doesn't understand. It doesn't matter what I say now, he wants to see fish and thinks that I am denying him for some unknowable reason. We have come to an impasse.

This happens often, less than it used to, but still too often. It breaks my heart to know that from his perspective I offered something and then took it back, refused him. Sometimes I imagine the whole world seems that way to G. Our miscommunications make it hard for him to trust... hard for him to know that we care about his opinions and desires. And so, whenever we can, we show him that we hear him, understand him and aren't going back on our word.

So we went to the pet store and saw the fish. And we had a wonderful half hour watching fish and frogs, cats and birds and gerbils, and we picked up the dog bags we needed.

to draw and not to draw

2009-10-14T12:54:00.000-07:00

G doesn't draw at home. He tells me what to draw. Occasionally he will color big messes and we tape them up on the wall to admire. And admire them I do, but I also long to see his awkward and misproportioned self portraits, houses with no doors and mile-high pink roofs and cowboys riding spaceships. So how excited was I when his teacher showed us a lovely circle, an "X" and a square that he drew all by himself at school? Very! Now I am left to wonder how to get him to draw shapes at home...

Maybe I need to go on a drawing strike myself. Do it wrong or don't do it at all. He says "Right here, cat, Mama" and I shake my head or draw a football instead. Probably he's too clever for these tricks. I'll have to find out.

doctor yay!

2009-10-12T20:59:00.000-07:00

No, that's not our pediatrician's name, though we love him. That's what G said on the way to the office this morning. "To the doctor. Doctor.... Yay!"

This was our very first doctor's visit without tantrums from G. What made it different? We told him what to expect and he was able to hear us... to understand, and therefore to feel it wasn't scary. Last year's visit involved dragging him onto the scale and unsuccessfully trying to convince him it was alright for several minutes while the nurse added to the problem by giving him instructions he couldn't understand in a forceful tone, making him scared of her as well as the scale. This time, he actually thought it was pretty cool to see how the scale works and the nurse wasn't upsetting even if she did look a little surprised by my enthusiastic response to G's success on the scale. And there was a big fish tank, with a toy car that blew bubbles from under its hood... definitely cool.

It was such a relief to see him happily being weighed and measured, answering the Dr's questions happily, understanding. I know it was a relief to him too. L carefully watched to see what her big brother thought of the office, and then grudgingly let the doctor listen to her heart and poke her tummy. After all, if G enjoyed it, it must be safe. A big brother is a wonderful thing!

fun at school

2009-10-07T15:06:00.000-07:00

When I picked G up from preschool today, he looked happy. He even said "bye" to his class. So I thought I'd ask him that question I've asked so many times before with no luck. "Did you have fun at school?" And this time, he answered. "I had fun at school." Yay! It wasn't unique, and it was definitely modeled after my question, but he answered in the first person and said every word of the sentence and the little smile on his face told me that he understood what he was telling me. I am so proud of his progress!

parent-teacher

2009-09-30T20:14:00.000-07:00

Today was our first parent teacher conference. I wasn't sure what we were in for. It went easily and the teacher and speech therapist were pleased with Gavin's "progress", by which they meant many things he has been able to do since before school started, like counting to 10, shape recognition, colors, etc. I was thrilled to hear that he is drawing things in class. He requires me to do all the drawing at home. I saw a little circle, a line, and an "x" that he made. Amazing! He likes the kids. He attends well. They alluded to him being one of the most adept kids in the class. That's good, but bad too. I know he is smart and eager to learn and knows quite a bit of the early school concepts. I also know his language is very limited and hard for him. The fact that he is probably more skilled in language than most of his classmates isn't going to help him learn. And I really want him to be challenged so he can improve his listening, processing, speech. On the other hand, he's getting great experience in being part of a group, scheduled learning and activities, and interacting with kids his age.

I'm very happy that he is meeting their academic and social goals for the class, but am a bit concerned (okay, terrified!) at the mention of "regular" kindergarten next year. Now, absolutely, positively, certainly I am thrilled that they think he's ready, and that they aren't telling me that they see him repeating special ed preschool next fall. Awesome! Yes! Woohoo! I'm just scared that he might fall apart in a classroom with 30 kids and one teacher instead of 15 kids and 4 adults. I'm scared that he might not be able to focus on listening well enough to function well and therefore be seen as disruptive or just plain bad-mannered. I'm scared that the teacher won't take his needs seriously enough and he will fall by the wayside. He would need support. And a spot close to the teacher, so he can pay attention more easily. He will also need to accept that he needs to pull up his pants after visiting the bathroom on his own. Would he make it through without tantrums and tears?

And one of those kindergarten teachers down the hall is mean! All I hear from her when I'm waiting for G is "You've got a green right now, buddy, but you're well on your way to a red! Do you hear me?!" and "Ferdinand, I don't think your mom would like to hear about how you're acting. Do you want me to call her and tell her?" Eeeeek! No way am I placing my sensitive little guy who has trouble processing what he hears in her classroom. I think I really need to check out all our options thoroughly, especially since it's looking like G will not be in a specifically special ed class next year. I wish I knew someone who had a kid just like G but two years older....

at the store

2009-09-24T10:19:00.000-07:00

Today I went out to get the kids new winter jackets. I came home successful, with a new jacket for each kid that will fit them and won't make them look like the muffler man.

I found the only jacket for little girls without fake fur. It was tough, but with some perseverance I found it. It's pink and has embroidered flowers but no sequins and no fake shock of animal hair. I know L will appreciate that this year. Maybe next year she will be appalled by a hood without fur. Last year she got a silver vest with fake fur lining and sparkles. I've never seen her hate any piece of clothing so much!

For G, the choices were also limited. Sporty. That's it. Good thing I think my little guy looks adorable in sporty styles!

Sometimes I am baffled by the narrowness of choices available, especially for children.

name three animals

2009-09-18T14:20:00.000-07:00

Last night I was trying to explain to someone who knows us quite well what's going on with G. I can't tell her exactly how information goes into and then out of his little head, since I only have limited understanding. But I can figure out quite a bit from knowing what he can and can't do and what is difficult for him. He knows the names of fifty animals, but if you ask him to name three, he can't do it. If there are pictures, or more specifics (farm animals, animals that say "meow", etc.) he'll be able to give an immediate and right answer. But the general request to name three animals was nearly impossible a week ago. We've been working hard and he's making progress! He seems to have a definite affinity for zebras... it's always the first or second animal he comes up with.

"Name three shapes." He stares at me blankly. He has identified shapes he's looking at for years now. But without a visual cue, it is so hard for him. He works so painstakingly for the conversations we have, but he has always wanted to communicate. Even when he only had ten words at his disposal, he used and used them. He put them together with intonations and gestures to mean more than what those words usually mean. We had a special language of our own. "Name three shapes. What's a shape with four sides?" He looks at me, thinking hard. "Square. Square shape." He's getting it.

G has made so much progress since we finally figured out his auditory processing is not the same as most! He absolutely hates working on these questions we ask over and over. They tire him out and I can see it affect him when he knows he isn't understanding or answering "right". Sometimes he gets so upset he just shuts down and repeats "No" over and over. When he is breaking through, understanding what is asked of him and working from a question to an appropriate answer, we can tell. His eyes light up. He grins. He practically sings his responses. He is excited and proud and happy and that those positive feelings have motivated him to work hard and just the other day, for the first time ever he answered a why question. "Why are you sad, G?" "Because I'm hungry." Absolutely amazing to us! We couldn't be more proud of our boy who only spoke in two syllable words not so long ago!

smiles are big assets

2009-09-15T22:21:00.000-07:00

So, I've always thought my kids had the most adorable, light-up-the-room smiles ever. (I am their mom!) It's like their whole hearts are right there on their faces when they are happy. But in the last few weeks I've gotten to hear it from other people and I love that other people see it too.

G has always charmed other kids at the playground with his smile, even when all he could really say to them was "hi" and it often was just what was needed for a great new friendship. And this morning our speech therapist said "It's great to see him smile because it's so genuine and so happy".

L impressed her great grandfather so much with her smile that he told us he was reminded of her great grandma's smile that made him want to marry her. He said it will take her far. I agree. I know that G's smile has!

L's been sick this week (Ah yes, the dreaded first week of school illness is here) and yesterday I told their daddy that I could tell she was feeling better because she has her mischievous eyes again...those little twinkles in her eyes which remind us of illustrations of fairies and are just the cutest thing ever.

I am so glad that other people respond to their fantastic smiles too, because even if G and L can't/don't say a word, their joy still comes through loud and clear.

what ifs?

2009-09-15T11:54:00.000-07:00

As soon as I had my fist kid, (actually as soon as I knew I was pregnant) the what ifs started plaguing me. Every mom is familiar with them. When we found out that G is not "like everybody else" I got a whole new set of what ifs to worry over. Many of them are what I call worst case scenario what ifs, that are mainly a way for me to think through my own fear and grief about lost expectations for my baby. But there is one that keeps coming back, and to me, it's a big one. What if there's something wrong and G can't tell anyone? It haunts me. It keeps me up at night. But until I mention it, hardly anybody else in his life even considers it.

A fairly mild example: the school really pushed for us to have G take the school bus. "All the kids go together and they love it!" "He'll feel left out when he sees everybody else taking the bus." "Are you sure? The kids have so much fun!" I said no. He's never gone to school before, he's never been in daycare. He's not used to going places without someone he's related to. When I tell him things, I don't know how much of it gets through. It runs through my mind again... The bus pulls up, I tell G goodbye and help him up the steps. He sits down in confusion because someone tells him to. He has no idea where he's going. He has no idea when he will come home. He doesn't understand why I'm not with him. He doesn't know who to ask for help, or how. He cries all the way to school and hates school for the rest of the year. Maybe he tries to run away.

I don't know how much he understands. So, if I tell him you are taking the bus to school and then you will go into your class with the teacher and have a lot of fun and then in a few hours you will get back on the bus and come home and see Mama and Daddy.... I don't know if he gets it. He might hear "bus to school.... Mama and Daddy," and put those things together to mean I will go on the bus to school and meet Mama and Daddy there. Things get lost and confused in our conversations. So, there's no way I'm putting him on a bus with a bunch of people he doesn't know to go to a classroom he doesn't know how to get to if he gets lost. If he really got lost and someone was trying to help him, the only thing I'm sure he'd be able to tell them is his first name. That's not a lot to go on. So, until I know he knows the ropes, until I know his teachers have some idea of what things are like in his little head, I will take him to school. Plus, then I can peek through the window and see if he's making great friends or great messes. Because, after all, he can't tell me what he did at school yet.

Good job!

2009-09-12T10:14:00.000-07:00

A few days ago, G and made a trip to the bathroom. I turned on the light, he sat on the toilet. I told him to go pee. He waited several minutes and then did. Then he said, "Good job yellow peepee!" (This is in reference to going, not what he uses to go. He actually doesn't seem to want a word for that yet.) Then he pulls his pants up (Okay, with some help from me.) and flushes and says, "Good job potty!"

I think there's a slight chance that maybe we use the phrase "good job" around here a lot.

about the title

2009-09-11T12:51:00.000-07:00

The title of this blog is a reference to how G says to me "You too, Mama" all day long. He wants me to fly his airplane, jump on the bed, go pee in the toilet, lie in his bed, make weird faces, and just be with him. And I do, with the exception that I don't jump on the bed because we can't afford a new one. Those experts who told us we need to entreat and coerce him to interact with people... they got it wrong. He loves interacting.

I waited a long time to hear him say "mama", but now that he can, I can hear it from the time he gets up to the time he goes down. And I love it.

Purplepellers

2009-09-08T22:44:00.000-07:00

Purplepellers are often discussed in our house. Often we are missing our lego purplepellers. What is this I speak of, you ask?
G (the supercute four year old boy I call my own) says:
"alligator" for elevator
"eyebrown" for eyebrow
"honeybird" for hummingbird
"purplepeller" for propeller

I would like to be able to bask in the cuteness of the things my son says that are not quite right. Instead they are like flashing red lights in my day, reminding me of all my worries about his speech delay. It is so hard to see evidence that signals in our communication are getting crossed and distorted, without knowing what is actually happening for sure and if it can or will change.

I remind myself how grateful I am that G can tell me what he needs in a few words, that he understands our relationships, that he can tell me he loves me and ask me to say I love him too. I am excited and hopeful that he likes reading together so much. He memorizes his favorite parts of the books and he has just figured out that the letters on the pages spell the words I am reading! If he can learn to read it will give him so much more freedom from the confusion of auditory processing mixups. Our current favorites are Richard Scarry's Best Word Book Ever, The Pigeon Wants a Puppy by Mo Willems, Leaves by David Ezra Stein and In the Night Kitchen by Maurice Sendak. When we read Richard Scarry's Best Word Book Ever, his absolute favorite part is "He doesn't eat the toaster!" Kid's got a sense of humor, that's for sure!