Blog For Free!
Archives
Home
2008 July
2008 June
2008 May
2008 April
2008 March
2008 February
2008 January
2007 December
2007 November
2007 October
2007 September
2007 August
2007 July
2007 June
2007 May
2007 April
2007 March
2007 February
2007 January
2006 December
2006 November
2006 October
2006 September
2006 August
2006 July
2006 June
2006 May
2006 April
2006 March
2006 February
2006 January
2005 December
2005 November
2005 October
2005 September
2005 August
2005 July
2005 June
2005 May
2005 April
2005 March
2005 February
2005 January
2004 December
2004 November
2004 October
2004 September
2004 August
2004 July
2004 June
2004 April
2004 March
2004 January
2003 December
My Links
yirmlog
One Good Thing
Orange Tangerine
Mimi Smartypants
Jennifer Weiner's Blog (Author of In Her Shoes & Good In Bed)
Almsthvn's Blog
Aliciarose's Blog
Puplife's DogBlog
Gaper's Block: Chicago Blog
ChicagoBlogs Web Ring
What She Said!
Veiled Conceit
Blogs By Women
Radio show captained by Mike Keneally and Rich Pike.
Katy's Skary Kids
Ask Liz Ryan Community
tBlog
My Profile
Send tMail
My tFriends
My Images
Sponsored
Blog
| a snapshot of danny |
| 12.21.06 (8:32 pm) [edit] |
Danny and I are in the kitchen, waiting for his favorite "buttery rolls" to bake. (Take one tube Crescent dough and unroll. Melt 1 tbsp butter in the microwave, add garlic powder to taste. Use pastry brush to put butter onto dough triangles; top with shredded Italian cheese mix (or mozzarella) and roll as directed. Place on a baking sheet lined with parchment. Brush more butter on tops of rolls. Bake for 14-15 mins -- if your oven sucks like mine -- or until lightly browned.)Danny is in my lap, telling me about preschool. He's wearing only one of those Huggies "Overnights." I consider his bare upper arm, and then bite it lightly. "Mommy, don't bite me!" he says. "Sorry, Danny." "You always do that." "I'm sorry, Danny. It's just that you're so yummy." Danny brings his upper arm to his face and takes an exploratory bite. "I am yummy. But I don't want you to eat me up." p.s. For those who have requested, I've updated my Flickr badge with new pix of the boys, courtesy of our friend Jessy. Also, due to disgusting comment spammers, I'm restricting comments to only tBlog members. I may have to shut comments down entirely until they find someone else to pick on. |
| 8 Comments |
| the beginning of the end or the end of the beginning |
| 12.07.06 (9:32 pm) [edit] |
|
I'm watching "Walk the Line" and planning Jacob's 7th birthday party, while Benjamin's first birthday creeps up on me. One week from tomorrow, my little baby will turn one. And as hard as hell as it is to have an infant -- and boy, can it be hard, especially when that infant has two older brothers -- I'm having a pretty tough time. Every morning, I walk past the Prentice women's hospital on my way to work next door, and every single time, I remember the three times I waddled in, heavily pregnant, and tiptoed out, delicately bruised and intensely focused on the new life we tucked into a new car seat. Every time, I remind myself how the first time I was in so much pain, and the second time took so long, and the third time there was no hot water in my room. I remember going from being just a woman to being a mother; being responsible for the life of a whole other being. Almost every night, I rock the baby in the darkness of the living room. The other two boys are asleep (or close to it) on the other end of the apartment, and the world closes in on me and that tiny person. Benjamin gazes at me with his beatific smile, his sparkling blue eyes. He bats his long eyelashes and clutches my finger; shakes his head against my shoulder and eventually turns and wraps his whole body around my arm. I feel him surrendering to his sleepiness every night, and his peace turns into mine. The first baby is the experiment. He's the learning curve; the discovery. He's how you learn what true love is. He's unconditional and testing and exasperating. He forces you to learn. The second baby is the company. He's the one just for fun, the one to round out your numbers. He gets less attention but needs less help. At least, that's what we tell ourselves. He's the clown, the playful one. He's the one that lets you appreciate the early days, months, years -- the ones we lost to learning how to parent. He's the one where you relax the rules and let yourself make mistakes. The third one is the surprise. He isn't anyone's twin or anyone's opposite. His isn't his father's junior or his mother's son -- he's intensely, uniquely himself but a blend of everyone. He's the self-sufficient one; the last one in line, the hand-me-down kid, the one who's never had anything to himself. He's the team player but the center of the world. He's my baby, and he's growing up. And I can say forever that he will always be my baby, but there will come a day -- probably many, when I will read these words and remember rocking him in the dark, brushing that silken hair off his forehead in the flickering light from the TV, and wonder where my baby went. |
| 4 Comments |
| early intervention |
| 12.01.06 (6:50 pm) [edit] |
|
On the heels of Jacob having a ridiculously expensive, multi-part assessment by a neuropsych (results of which are pending), we were advised that Danny should be evaluated for early intervention. His preschool offered the opportunity to have the testing done onsite, but we missed the deadline or didn't get the forms or something, so on Wednesday I took Danny to the school district building and filled out a bunch of forms. The staff gave Danny a special name tag shaped like a school bus, with his name and birthdate and exact age (4.3), which he liked a lot. The women there (and they were all women) were terrific with him, and very kind to me. I was able to be in the room while they worked with him. I sat at a table with one of the women, going over the concerns that brought us there, while one of the therapists did the initial eye/hand tests. I could see Danny charming the pants off the woman. Once in a while, he'd look my way, and I'd just give him an encouraging nod. After the first round, Danny was handed to the speech therapist, a young woman who apparently does work at his preschool. It was nice to see he recognized her and seemed comfortable. Her "station" was closer to where I was seated, so I got to listen to him interact with her. She used a tabletop flipchart to show him pictures, and he was given clues about each page and something to point to, or a question to answer. After speech therapy, he was taken next door to do hearing and vision tests. The first therapist showed me Danny's hand-skills worksheet set. They agreed with the concerns of Danny's preschool teacher (and DH -- I was in denial). Danny has yet to select a dominant hand. He will often start a tast with his left, and when he's stumped, switch in the middle to his right. His comprehension was excellent, the therapist said, but he was indeed a bit behind the norm in terms of hand-eye coordination -- but they believed that the main culprit was the hand dominance confusion. The therapist was pretty sure he was right handed. She gave me several sheets of tips; ways we could help him gain better hand skills (and, most importantly, more confidence to try). The speech therapist said Danny's vocabulary was quite strong, and again his comprehension was good. His only speech impediment, she said, was his using a "Chhhh" sound from the back of his throat for s-words instead of the sibilant. He was able to make the sibilant noise when asked (for example, "what does a snake sound like?"), so she said it was a habitual issue, not a functional one. She said she could work with him at preschool to get him past it. After all this, I was advised to register Danny in the school district so he could receive Early Intervention benefits. I got all the paperwork and took Danny to preschool. I checked in with his teacher and confirmed her suspicions, and thanked her for forewarning us. I told her how frustrated I was, because at this point, Danny won't even try to write or draw. He wanted to play with clay last weekend but wouldn't even try to roll a ball by himself. He really has lost confidence, his teacher said. She thinks he compares his efforts to those of the other kids, who can pretty much all write and draw fairly well. I know Danny will end up being just fine; I mean Jacob had speech therapy and then never shut up. So for all I know, occupational therapy for Danny will result in him disassembling everything in our apartment and building his own Transformers. But what kills me is him being afraid to even try to write or draw. I hate that he finds himself lacking. |
| 1 Comments |
Visit the
Honeysuckle Shop.
Buy early, come often.