parent-teacher

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

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

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

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?

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!

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

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

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!