Lion and Magic Boy

Yes, dear internets, I am a day behind on this NaBloPoMo thing. Not only that, but I am monkeying with the timestamp so it appears that I am not a day behind. So bad.

So here’s an Eric-anecdote for you! This happened this morning:

See this hat?

Well, what you can’t see is how far this hat will go down over Eric’s face. This morning, with his bus beeping outside in front of our house, Eric kept pulling his hat down so he couldn’t see. I kept adjusting it back upward. Then he’d pull it down again. Finally it became clear that he intended on walking to the bus this way, hat pulled down completely over his face. He condescended to hold my hand while we walked (as opposed to Tuesday when he insisted on not holding my hand and then ran and of course fell in the mud). I could feel his body adjust as we got closer to the bus. He could hear it idling there. We stepped off the curb and he thought the bus would be right there and lifted his foot high for that first step. Which wasn’t there. But finally the bus was right there and he stepped right up, two steps at a time, hat over face. And what’s funny is that I know that Eric is the only one of my kids who would have done this; all the others would have, at some point, raised the hat so they could see. But not Eric.

I wrote at Parentricity this week about how Serena’s changed lately. And how, as she approaches her eighth birthday, she’s become a huge delight to be with. Not that she wasn’t before, only there is more so now.

Which is in some contrast to this one, who is experimenting with anger and moodiness:

He has the bershon thing totally down.

I’m pretty sure the photo says it all.

Oh! New post and podcast up at Loving Awareness! You’ve heard of the Law of Attraction? Here’s a take on it that you may not have considered.

What do you get when you cross a selection of vegetables, hazy memories of the 2004 Olympic Games, and a knobbly purple ball?

Why, The Nassy Girls, of course.

Yes, Carley, Elde, and the ever-so-pc Chinesemens (Indy, Chiny, and Fetty, who owns a restaurant) play a variety of volleyball that includes celery throws and spikes.

And it’s played nightly right on my balcony.

I’m not sure what role Eric has in all this but I’m pretty sure it includes a lot of armwaving and chortling. And throwing random things off the balcony from time to time. And heading down for snacks on occasion. It must be snack time now.

This morning I slept in. While usually “sleeping in” means maybe until 8 am, a time that I used to regard as exceedingly early, painfully so, and usually is accompanied to nearly 2 hours of Eric’s climbing on my bed and then sliding off, chortling, removing the covers from me (chortling), and wrestling with a variety of stuffed animals larger than he is (chortling), today it meant eleven. O’clock. Eleven of the clock. And alll for me, all spent in sleep.

And! I just finished cleaning the sofa with a steam-producing machine and a white towel that is no longer white! Said machine used to be my cleaning method of choice to create eatable-offable hardwood floors, but I gave up custody of said machine when I moved to the Land of Carpeting, where it would have little use. But I borrowed said machine for the holiday to remove the various accumulated bodily fluids from said couch.

Which means it’s okay to come and visit me now. I will even show you where you may sit.

(However please don’t ask me if I also cleaned The Green Chair, which incidentally I did not, which needs it and because of that rarely is occupied by me, a person who knows better and remembers which bodily fluids have come in contact with it, whose fluids they were and when this occurred, and let’s just say that some things are better left unsaid, shall we?)

And! More writing! And let’s just pretend that’s an accomplishent, shall we?

And! Breathing! Likewise on the accomplishment thing.

And! Maybe cooking a couple things ahead for tomorrow’s dinner, which YOU SO CAN’T FOOL ME I know it will no longer be Thanksgiving, but for purposes of this house, child-free as they are this day, will be our Thanksgiving.

1. One of his front teeth is quite worn away on one side because Eric won’t stop grinding them.

2. He prefers to fall asleep with one hand on his belly button. It’s comforting, I guess, though it would drive me crazy.

3. He refuses assistance of any kind while going down the stairs, instead opting to imperiously order me away: “GO!!” and then ascending on his bottom, bump-bump-bump.

4. He drinks from a cup, but about 2 tablespoons at a time. He sits in the kitchen on the floor and commands a seemingly endless supply of tiny drinks, each one downed with relish.

5. All bodily functions are hilarious.

I’ve been largely silent about the incredible pressure Serena felt, and as an extension of that I felt, as a result of our last-minute end-of-summer decision to move the children from their Waldorf school into public school. Public school where the focus is heavily on reading. Public school where nearly every activity throughout every single second-grade day requires reading. Public school where the focus is very different from the Waldorf curriculum that gently encourages the children to really know the letters and all their hidden qualities, ensuring really strong readers by the end of third grade. Public school where for the first time Serena struggled and felt she was the straggler, the new kid, lagging behind.

Every weekday she cheerfully approached her homework, though, and as the weeks passed I saw her progress in terms of the waning help she required from me and the number of spelling words she spelled correctly not at the end of every week (where she never missed one after having worked with the words all week) but in the first-of-the-week pre-tests where she was clearly beginning to apply her new-found abilities. Every night she reads in bed with a flashlight, and there is no part of me that wishes to discourage her from this at this point. I cannot tell you what it means to me that the children adore books and love reading, and with this huge push to catch up, this intense focus on her obvious lack, I was afraid that the light in Serena’s inherent love of books would be extinguished.

It is not, although still I am careful not to push her. I give her books with increasing difficulty and point out how far she has come. Indeed, it appears that she has done the work of two grades’ worth of reading instruction in just two and a half months, and I couldn’t be more pleased.

So she brought her first report card ever home today. It reflects where she was, not where she is now. I expect huge changes in the next one, and she already has set high goals for herself and is seeing them manifest even now. I couldn’t be more pleased that Serena never gave up, never got more than momentarily discouraged , always kept trying, and always did her best.

Nathaniel, on the other hand, is still kicking himself about the low grade he received in one class. It was a 95.

And then Eric’s meeting to discuss his future, his next year at school, was also this week. That’s a bit of a different area. What the district that provides the funding and even the school does is try to give a child the least amount they can as long as they can say the child is progressing.

I, on the other hand, want the best for my child, as does most every parent. Who wouldn’t?

But simply saying, “He’s making progress” isn’t enough for me. Let’s compare his development to someone else, shall we? Then maybe we’ll see that we should be raising the bar. Simply doing more than before, while wonderful, may not be enough. How do you determine a child’s real potential? Shouldn’t we be aiming for the stars here?

In that case, let me see what developmental milestone norms are for typical children and for children with Down syndrome, and then let’s compare Eric to those. He should do at least as well as his peers, shouldn’t he? He would “progress” in almost any environment. Let’s give him some real goals that aren’t just do-able in the natural course of things, but that challenge him.

This appears to likely be a lifelong rant. Eric may never see the inside of a “typical” classroom vs a special needs classroom. And frankly, I have no idea at this point what would be best for him.

But: his report card was all A’s. He met or surpassed every goal. I just wish I had access to the inside of his head to know what he really wants from his life.

[tags]education, special needs, Waldorf education, Down syndrome, reading[/tags]

Yes, it’s a word if I say it is. It is!

Is too.

Oh, and don’t mind me. I am learning to touch type, after all this time. It’s going quite well, actually! Here, I’ll show you: thd id where I type tbe worjf “aeseinre”. [translation: this is where I type the word "awesome"] See? Not bad, eh?

It’s raining today. Usually when it rains here where I live, it rains. Like all day. Not the all-day for three or four days straight of northern California where I grew up, but just all day. Real rain that is hard to ignore.

It was raining this morning when I took Eric to his bus. He was poised on the porch, thinking about the three steps down and his role in navigating them, and I offered to carry him to the bus thinking I would get less wet that way. Nope, not a chance, he’d prefer to walk himself, thank you. I was reminded that he practically runs now, while just a year ago he wasn’t even close to walking.

A few minutes later it was time to walk Serena down to her bus stop and wait with her there. We donned rain coats and hats and while we walked the, what is it, 50 yards or so, we talked about how much we like to be out in the rain. I was a little surprised that only one lone kid was there but figured maybe people were waiting till the last minute. Usually we are the last to arrive at the bus stop, and we stand near the edge of the little knot of people, parents socializing while their kids shuffle nervously awaiting the bus.

Just the one kid, holding a lime green umbrella, wearing a light jacket that wasn’t even zipped. Brr. He said he wasn’t cold. Soon we were joined by two other kids: a girl with no rain coat, no hat and no umbrella who said she liked getting wet, and another shorter kid who never spoke and come to think of it never l showed his face. Umbrella kid is fairly gregarious, it turns out. I still don’t know his name but I know a lot of other things about him now. Kids like it when adults talk to them like people.

Standing there, my shoes slowly becoming wetter and wetter (they’re not even close to waterproof, it turns out)(the nondescript leather slipons), I enjoyed the feeling of the rain on me. On my coat, actually.

Eventually the bus came, but no one else ever joined us. I noticed several cars idling nearby and saw no-hat girl’s mother in one. One kid materialized from nowhere, probably one of the cars, when the bus arrived. The other cars seemed to contain the rest of the waiting parents. Who drove to the bus stop 50 feet from their doors and idled there for ten minutes. I was the only parent who waited with the kids in the rain. I wondered where everyone else was. I walked back through the rain after Serena got on the bus and as I opened my door, the neighbor was coming out of their house.

“The bus just left,” stating the obvious, but helpfully. (I’m such a good neighbor.)

“I know, we’re driving,” she replied.

It’s easier to pile two kids into a car and drive ten minutes there and ten minutes waiting to drop off and then ten minutes back again than it is to wait in the rain for a bit?

You should see these people when it snows.

And! Just to recap, I am awesome because I stood out in the rain with four kids while the other parents stayed dry in their cars.

[Fist pump] Yessss!

I know how anxious you are to hear more about Eric. And why not; it’s his birthday weekend!

• His absolute favorite thing in the entire universe is to have water poured over his head in the bath. Red-eyed, coughing, spluttering, he’ll shake his head back and forth really fast under the stream pouring forth from a green plastic cup, and then command me to do it again. Failing that he’ll do it himself.
• Most every question is answered with “yes.”
• Just about anything can be a hat.

Tonight I was getting Eric ready for bed, reminding him that tomorrow is his birthday (oh. should probably let you in on a little secret. have been posting the night ahead since NaBloPoorMe started. so, uh, when you read this, tomorrow will be today. or something like that).

“What do you want for breakfast tomorrow, Eric? Tomorrow is your birthday!”

“Puh”

“Pancakes?” Eric adores pancakes. We have them weekly: whole wheat, homemade, with organic real maple syrup. Really.

Big smile. Pancakes.

Another milestone. I don’t think Eric has ever answered a question before like that. It’s pretty abstract, concepts like tomorrow and what do you want.

“And when you wake up, it’ll be your birthday! And there will be cake, and presents, just for Eric!”

He’s beaming by this point. Sweet dreams, Mister Three, because tomorrow you shall be Four.

I know what you’re thinking. You saw yesterday’s photo of Eric sitting there on the floor, smiling all innocent-like. Well, don’t be fooled. Go ahead, have another look at him, I’ll wait. See that glint in his eye? See it there? That glint is all about what happened around the house in the six minutes before that photo was taken.

It all started with an unfortunate bus crash.

All occupants must have died inside. (That’s what you get for insisting on seat belts)

Oh, how horrible! How did that happen? (You can’t pin anything on me, sister!)

The Crocs tried to escape but the big pillow tracked them down. Some Legos and a book were nearing the door, too, in a vain hope someone would open it. The sock was just confused.

Poor misguided Legos. Not down the heater vent, Legos! The door! The door is your salvation!

Lego Man is totally leading the Crocs astray. Some would say they deserved it.

Let’s move on to the crime scene known as the kitchen, shall we? There’s a dead body and everything.

Let’s have a closer look at the dear departed. Poor Bear. He was Nathaniel’s favorite. I don’t think he’ll take the news well.

The cats were none too pleased, either. What? they cried, Eat food off the FLOOR??

(pussies)

Apparently these pillows just walked here by themselves.

I have NO IDEA what you’re talking about. And I can’t believe you even asked me. I am SO disappointed in you.

Parents.

Eric turns four on Saturday, a fact that completely astounds me. I had an email this week from a friend who lives far away and who I haven’t seen in a couple of years as a result, and she told me that she, too, thought it wasn’t possible that Eric is four. Two, maybe, but not four. Not in terms of what he does or anything, but in recollection of his time here so far.

But he is doing some cool stuff these days.

Parents with typical kids don’t think about what a huge thing it is, each developmental step. I know I didn’t with the first three. Once you get past the fact that yes, the kid IS developing, one stage, one accomplishment, flows into another and time surges forward and pretty soon you forget where they came from.

With Eric, though, time is slowed somewhat. I like to think that perhaps he enjoys each stage so much, really examines it thoroughly, as an explanation why he spends so much time in each one. Except in the case of language, though: there is a definite discrepancy between what he knows and what he can successfully express.

He’s begun to imitate much more lately, though, naming things, asking for names of things. Eric has been in his own space for so long that it’s very different now, him seeing finally that he’s part of the rest of us and not this separate small being off to one side, observing. So I have asked Nathaniel to name more things for Eric, and showed him examples:

“Chili is a monkey, Eric, a monkey, and he’s furry, and brown. A monkey!”

So you can imagine how it felt to hear Nathaniel saying this:

“This is a light saber, Eric, a light saber. And this is Yoda, Eric, he’s a Jedi,” with Eric dutifully repeating his versions of the words.

Today Eric picked up the small flashlight that Nathaniel pretends is the handle of a light saber, practicing his swordplay with it at odd moments throughout the house while making appropriate light saberish sounds. Eric hefted it in his grip for a moment, looked around the room to see who was watching, then began swinging it around, grinning broadly.

Jedi, check.

And he loves turning lamps on and off. Click-click. Click-click.

And he reads now. Well, “reads”. But that’s huge! Earlier today I enticed him upstairs for a nap by telling him he could take one of the 60,000 catalogs we’ve received so far this season up and look at it on my bed. I had saved him one full of toys so we could name stuff together: truck, horse, blocks. I left him on my bed happily turning pages while I threw stuff into the dryer and came back to find him all excited.

“What did you find? Did you find something you like?”

[he nods]

“Is it a truck?” Trucks are good. We can count on trucks. He nods again.

“Tuh.”

“Really? A truck?” I scan the page he’s looking at. No trucks. He holds his arms up and slightly away from him, the top half of tree pose. I looked again at the page and found the thing he is coveting so excitedly:

It’s pink. It’s a life-size (almost) ballerina doll that a child could dance with, holding her arms up in the position he modeled for me and attaching her little shoes to their feet. Eric wants a dancing doll. This is the first thing he’s seen in a catalog that he wants. Ever.

I’m really tempted to get it for him. Eric could use a friend all his own. And he really likes dancing.