Helen's speech seems to have just exploded in the last month. (She is 18 months old.) I can't really list all her words any more, because every time I turn around, she is using a new one. Some are clear, and some are not, but there is no stopping her now. Some of my favorites:
"Do-do-do" (Oh, how to capture the sound of that one in writing? Imagine the sound you would make if you were leaning casually against the wall, whistling idly, killing time. Strong emphasis on first syllable.) This one is especially fun because it means, "I want to nurse now." I have no idea why. She used it throughout July and August.
'Ide. This is how Helen now says, "I want to nurse now." It is clearly short for me saying to her "other side," but she doesn't seem to associate any sided-ness with the term - only milk.
John.
Shoes. Socks. Book. Ball. Bike. Mama. Dada. James.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Monday, August 27, 2012
The little things
It is odd to me how what we need most in our lives seems to be those things that we don't even realize we are missing until we get them. Then, suddenly, we wonder how we ever lived without them.
Uncle Jim talks about his hearing aids in this way. He says he was perfectly content, and had no idea why people would tell him to get help. He tried it anyway, and was stunned to discover what had been around him all along that he had been missing (including the squeaky floorboard in the hallway, which Aunt Nancy said was not news to her).
I can recall getting a phone call, out of the blue, from a far-away friend. Next thing I knew, it was two hours later and my jaw ached from smiling so much. The day had seemed fine before the call, but after, I wondered how I could have survived without it. Then there was the summer I was living alone for the first time. I was excited to be in a new state, working a new job, and feeling truly independent. But it was lonely. I didn't know anyone in town, so my interactions with people were through work (kept "New England" cool, with people I barely knew), or an incidental exchange with a clerk at the Ben & Jerry's (where I did most of my grocery shopping). Then one weekend, I drove down to visit my dad's cousin Steve and his family, about 45 minutes away. I didn't really know them, but they graciously welcomed me. When I left, Steve's wife Kathy gave me a hug, and suddenly tears were rolling down my cheeks. I hadn't felt sad when I went to visit, but the feel of Kathy's friendly arms around me brought me up short with the realization that it was the first human touch I could remember in weeks. Instantly I realized that I had been desperately needing just that.
Tonight I found something else I can't believe I have been living without - the sound of eager excitement from my son about school. Don't misunderstand me; James has always been happy enough to go to school, and seems to like it. When I have suggested a switch to a different school, he has been as adamant as Maggie (the social butterfly) that he likes where he is. He has never been one to want to invent reasons to stay home sick, and I can see his quiet pride as he works on larger-scale project assignments. But at the same time, he has always been a bit reserved about school. He got past the bullying of early elementary (thankfully!), but still, he has never really had a friend in school. So, school has always been important to James, but not necessarily fun.
James qualified for a county-wide pull-out program for middle school students, to complete an accelerated high school Language Arts curriculum over 3 years. Lest you think I am pushing my kid to grow up too fast, I assure you that James has been the force behind making this program happen for us, ever since he learned of it. He agreed to take the ACT (for qualifying scores), even though it meant spending his first day out of 5th grade (and his birthday, to boot) filling out bubbles for 4 hours. He didn't even flinch when I told him I would have to bring him home from summer camp for 3 hours to complete further testing for the program. And tonight, when there was the first mandatory orientation meeting ("missing this meeting may jeopardize your enrollment"), he completely usurped my role of chief worrier. On the car ride there, I heard, "Mom, do you know exactly where this meeting is? Mom, are you sure you weren't supposed to turn there? Really, I think we went too far. Are we going to be late?" (I didn't, but I wasn't and we didn't and we weren't.)
After spending 2 hours learning more about his class for the coming year, James was actually giddy. I am not sure if his feet touched the ground walking to the car. He should have gone to bed immediately (it was 9:30 when we got home) but he was far too wound up. He went straight to the computer to complete his first "homework assignment," which was simply to figure out how to log into and use the course online wiki. Soon, he was exchanging messages with a girl in the class about her extensive aquarium collection. He didn't even try to hide his silly grin.
And that was when I knew. Every late night I spent scrambling to arrange his application and registration materials. Every penny we spend on tuition. Every hour I spend driving him back and forth to class. Every tear he will shed as an assignment stumps him for the first time. It will all be worth it, because now I realize we have what we were missing: James is alive with the pure joy of learning, and getting to do it with others who want to learn as much as he does. Amen.
Uncle Jim talks about his hearing aids in this way. He says he was perfectly content, and had no idea why people would tell him to get help. He tried it anyway, and was stunned to discover what had been around him all along that he had been missing (including the squeaky floorboard in the hallway, which Aunt Nancy said was not news to her).
I can recall getting a phone call, out of the blue, from a far-away friend. Next thing I knew, it was two hours later and my jaw ached from smiling so much. The day had seemed fine before the call, but after, I wondered how I could have survived without it. Then there was the summer I was living alone for the first time. I was excited to be in a new state, working a new job, and feeling truly independent. But it was lonely. I didn't know anyone in town, so my interactions with people were through work (kept "New England" cool, with people I barely knew), or an incidental exchange with a clerk at the Ben & Jerry's (where I did most of my grocery shopping). Then one weekend, I drove down to visit my dad's cousin Steve and his family, about 45 minutes away. I didn't really know them, but they graciously welcomed me. When I left, Steve's wife Kathy gave me a hug, and suddenly tears were rolling down my cheeks. I hadn't felt sad when I went to visit, but the feel of Kathy's friendly arms around me brought me up short with the realization that it was the first human touch I could remember in weeks. Instantly I realized that I had been desperately needing just that.
Tonight I found something else I can't believe I have been living without - the sound of eager excitement from my son about school. Don't misunderstand me; James has always been happy enough to go to school, and seems to like it. When I have suggested a switch to a different school, he has been as adamant as Maggie (the social butterfly) that he likes where he is. He has never been one to want to invent reasons to stay home sick, and I can see his quiet pride as he works on larger-scale project assignments. But at the same time, he has always been a bit reserved about school. He got past the bullying of early elementary (thankfully!), but still, he has never really had a friend in school. So, school has always been important to James, but not necessarily fun.
James qualified for a county-wide pull-out program for middle school students, to complete an accelerated high school Language Arts curriculum over 3 years. Lest you think I am pushing my kid to grow up too fast, I assure you that James has been the force behind making this program happen for us, ever since he learned of it. He agreed to take the ACT (for qualifying scores), even though it meant spending his first day out of 5th grade (and his birthday, to boot) filling out bubbles for 4 hours. He didn't even flinch when I told him I would have to bring him home from summer camp for 3 hours to complete further testing for the program. And tonight, when there was the first mandatory orientation meeting ("missing this meeting may jeopardize your enrollment"), he completely usurped my role of chief worrier. On the car ride there, I heard, "Mom, do you know exactly where this meeting is? Mom, are you sure you weren't supposed to turn there? Really, I think we went too far. Are we going to be late?" (I didn't, but I wasn't and we didn't and we weren't.)
After spending 2 hours learning more about his class for the coming year, James was actually giddy. I am not sure if his feet touched the ground walking to the car. He should have gone to bed immediately (it was 9:30 when we got home) but he was far too wound up. He went straight to the computer to complete his first "homework assignment," which was simply to figure out how to log into and use the course online wiki. Soon, he was exchanging messages with a girl in the class about her extensive aquarium collection. He didn't even try to hide his silly grin.
And that was when I knew. Every late night I spent scrambling to arrange his application and registration materials. Every penny we spend on tuition. Every hour I spend driving him back and forth to class. Every tear he will shed as an assignment stumps him for the first time. It will all be worth it, because now I realize we have what we were missing: James is alive with the pure joy of learning, and getting to do it with others who want to learn as much as he does. Amen.
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