55 Flash Fiction Friday: Unwarranted Reputation

“So, what happened to the relationship?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Why?”
“We have a long history.”
“Oh, I thought this was a new person.”
“No, we’ve been on again and off again for years.”
“Oh, one of those relationships, what’s the problem?”
“If I tell you, you’ll think less of me.”
“Don’t be silly, that’s not possible.”

Flash Fiction Friday is hosted by g-man. You may also visit Flash Fiction Friday 55′s, a blog dedicated to hosting 55 Flash Fiction Friday posts.

In my last post about Sophia’s new words, I actually forgot one. I think she’s been reading my blog because she made sure to remind me yesterday. I was quickly tossing the dirty diapers in the trashcan outside and left the front door ajar so that Sophia didn’t pitch a fit that she couldn’t come see me if she chose. On the way back, I saw her standing in the doorway in her PJs, “Coh” she said. At first it didn’t register with me. “Coh, coh,” she said pointing to the frosty morning air.

“Yes, very cold!” I told her.

The first time I hear her say that was probably three weeks ago when I pulled out a package of cheese sticks from the freezer in the garage to put in the refrigerator. She wanted to carry them up, so I handed them to her. “Coh!” she said. That brings us up to thirty words at twenty-six months.

I got the ball rolling for so Sophia to start seeing a speech therapist on November 5th. It is now the eve of December and we have yet to actually have a speech therapy session. I haven’t even met the person that will be Sophia’s speech therapist, so far all we’ve had is a bunch of meetings for various case workers to get to know Sophia (mostly through me describing her). I swear they’re just waiting for her to start talking on her own. Thankfully, I have the time to take her to some of the free classes they offer. I don’t know if they’re helping her language along or if it was just time, but she’s beginning to add some more words in rapid succession.

A couple weeks ago she started saying “bak” for bag. I got rid of our diaper champ long ago and now use a wet bag to hold the dirties. I dump it in the trash outside after it either fills up or has a poopy diaper in it. She also learned “be-bye” for goodbye.

Last week she began saying “oh no” and just kept repeating it over an over all day long. Then she picked up the word “go” which really has no meaning to her, or at least is not used in the context of, “let’s go somewhere”. It’s just another word from her favorite book “Go, Dog. Go!” She also says, “dak”, which translate from toddler-ese to mean “dog”. If she wanted to she could actually say the title of her favorite book.

On Friday she pointed to her diaper and said, “daper”, and on Saturday she said, “Muk” for milk. Kurt is getting excited; this might be the word explosion. Of course, this only brings the word count up to 29, if you don’t double up and count both the sign and word for milk and apple. She still only uses the sign to ask for both.

In one of the many meetings I had to get the ball rolling for speech therapy I mentioned our concern that Sophia stopped saying cheese and started using a modified sign for banana instead. “Well if you respond to the sign she makes…” she said. So I stopped responding with cheese to Sophia’s sign and started saying, “cheese” to coax it out of her. She hasn’t had string cheese since, and has now stopped asking for it at all.

This year my parents hosted Thanksgiving. It was just them and us, not a big family gathering. I made my now traditional apple cranberry dressing and this year I made my very first pumpkin pie and pie crust.

My parents indicated that dinner would be ready at five or five thirty. Because I’m bringing stuffing I told them we would be there between four and four thirty. I mean it’s nice to eat things when they’re still warm. Stuffing doesn’t have to be piping hot, but it stays toasty for quite a while in the cast iron Dutch oven I use, usually without drying it out too much.

We arrived at four thirty. Sophia became very clingy. “Oh Sophia you’ve been here before.” My mother says. She gets close to Sophia, in her face close. Sophia begins to cry while hanging onto me. “Oh you’ve been here before, aye, don’t cry.” My mother says as if that’s going to change the way Sophia feels. I sat on the couch with Sophia for a couple minutes and again my mother gets in her face. “Oh Sophia do you want me to get out the toys? Do you? Do you want me to get the toys?” She asks. Sophia says nothing of course, and tries to turn her face away from my mother. She finally retreats and then tells me, “She should be getting to the age where she remembers things.” Sophia has a great memory. Her response has nothing to do with memory. None. My mom goes on to say, “You were never like this as a child.” I raised my eyebrow and gave her a what-the-fuck-are-you-talking-about look. Seriously, her forgetting I was ever a shy child, or more accurately, rewriting my history is like pretending Auschwitz was just a Jewy summer camp.

I used to hide under my bed our family would come over. I would hide under there for hours (it may have only been minutes – I was a kid, the time exchange rate is different for kids), and I didn’t come out until it was almost time for them to go. I don’t know how old I was, but I imagine somewhere between three and five. “Oh you didn’t do that.” My mom said, “you used to go play in your grandpa’s camper with *cousin’s name*.” It’s true, that did happen. I remember we hit a switch in there by the sink as one of us climbed up into the bunk and we didn’t know what it was but it was making an odd noise. That was only one instance where either I didn’t hide or I came out early enough to play with my cousins before they left. My grandpa only had his camper there for a week or so and then left again. He never stuck around anywhere for very long. I don’t remember everything, but I do have a host of incredibly detailed memories.

My mom finally brought out the toys she kept mentioning to Sophia. As soon as Sophia saw them she slid down my lap to go play with them across the room. She allowed my mom to give her a hug, but then my mom tried to pick her up or give her kisses and Sophia started to push her away. Kurt and I both sat on the couch watching them. I finally spoke up when Sophia began arching her back, “I think she’s done for now.” My mom began to stand up, “oh no, she wants me to pick her up.”

“No, she wants down.” Kurt and I both said calmly. My mom put her down. Sophia went to play with the toys, and my mom went to the kitchen to continue cooking.

“The ham said three hundred and twenty-five degrees for ten minutes for every pound. I didn’t know the ham would take so long, so I just now put it in the oven.” My mom told me. That figures.

“Do you want some blueberries,” my mom asked Sophia, “I heard they’re your favorite.” I don’t know where she heard that but she was definitely miss informed. She cut up some apple for another dish she was making and gave some slices to Sophia along with some blueberries. It bothered me that she didn’t consider that Sophia might not eat after a snack, but I didn’t say anything. It’s apple, it’s not like she handed her cake or something. The blueberries went untouched of course.

Dinner was served at six thirty…thirty minutes after Sophia’s apple snack. The spread was very nice. Ham, sliced yams with apple and pineapple, mashed potatoes, gravy, peas with pearl onions, cranberry sauce, Pillsbury biscuits, and dressing. I put a little dab of everything on Sophia’s plate except for a biscuit. Sophia wouldn’t come to the table. She was too busy playing with the toys.

My mom came to the table after finding serving utensils for every dish. She served herself a little of everything. Kurt lured Sophia to the table where she stuck her finger in the little bit of mashed potatoes I gave her, quivered, and then left for the toys again. My mom grabbed a biscuit and held it up for Sophia to see, “Here Sophia come have a biscuit.”

“Please don’t give her a biscuit,” I said, “If she gets one that’s all she will want to eat.” I was completely ignored. I can see if I made the request without any explanation that someone would just blow me off thinking I’m just one of those micro-managing moms, but I specifically gave a concise background for my request. I hoped that at worst I would have to talk in-depth about Sophia finicky eating habits.

“Oh it’s ok she can have a biscuit,” my mother informs me. Really? Odd, I thought I was the mother of this one. I have rather vivid memories of squeezing her out of my who-ha. She acts as if I’m not accepting the biscuit for my child because I don’t want to bother the host. She just can’t accept the simple request that my child eat something else first. “Come here Sophia, look.” She said.

“Please don’t give her a biscuit; just don’t give it to her.” I said getting frustrated. Sophia came to the table and sat in her chair.

“See,” my mother says to me triumphantly, “she came to the table.” I said nothing. My mother waits a minute, still holding the biscuit up. I know it’s coming, her meekly uttered statements that she tries to pass off as a polite suggestion. As if it’s a change in demeanor fixes the fact that she won’t respect my one simple request, “oh Ed-EE-kah (my name said with a Mexican accent) she can have…”

I cut her off, and without any thought at all I snapped at her, “Don’t tell me how to parent MY child!!” Everything went silent for a moment. My mother understandably recoiled, but acted, as she always does, like my anger came from absolutely nowhere. The only time she ever hears me is when I snap at her.

She’s like a toddler constantly testing my tensile strength. She must have also forgotten how stubborn I was as a child. I don’t give up, not even on an issue as stupidly retarded as giving my toddler a biscuit. I know if I give in she’ll just keep chipping away at me. She has no clue where the boundaries lay and seems to presume by imagined powers vested in grandparents that she has, at minimum, equal parenting authority over Sophia. That is not the case, and it NEVER will be.

Kurt calmly explained, “We noticed that if Sophia has bread first that’s all she will eat.” My dad agreed that it’s better for her to have a variety of food and my mom finally put down the fucking biscuit. She’ll listen to Kurt, but not me. My voice is insignificant to her – that hurts like hell.

After dinner we cleared all the plates and Sophia came to the table to take her untouched plate (aside from the poked mashed potatoes) to the counter too. My mom brought out some SD disks of photos she transferred from slides to digital format and watched them on the TV. We got in a couple other minor arguments over some other incredibly stupid things. Pumpkin pie was served and then Kurt and my dad disappeared to the garage to look at my dad’s motorcycle. Sophia wanted to follow but was too slow. She came back upstairs, grabbed my mom’s hand, and led her down so she could open the door for her.

At eight o’clock Kurt, Sophia, and I got ready to go. Sophia didn’t put up any fuss getting her shoes and coat on. After she was ready she went to the door and carried Kurt’s shoes up the stairs to him. He put his shoes on and then she grabbed both of us by one finger and led us to the door.

Why is it that no matter how tired my kid gets she never falls asleep in public?

Last night Sophia was on her way to giving me a heart attack. She still likes to ride the rocking horse that her Auntie Vicky gave her for Christmas last year. Only now not only does she try to rock standing up but also without holding on to the handles. She was also rocking on it so hard (while actually hanging on) that she nearly tipped backwards. Maybe I’ll rethink my stance on bicycle helmets.

Sophia and I went to one of the many classes I’ve signed up for her today and we were the only ones there. Since we still had another step in Sophia’s evaluations, the instructor asked if we could just complete that while I was there. Absolutely! Anything to move forward with diagnosis and treatment works for me.

I was asked a ton of questions, and for the things I was unsure about we brought Sophia into the sensory room so that her actions and reactions could be observed. They really need to rename that room to the 70’s room. All it was missing was some gaudy-colored shag carpet. It had the mirror wall, beanbags, and bubbling tube of water that changes color with the press of a button that closely resembled a lava lamp. A disco ball and some roller skates could have also completed the picture.

The good news is that she saw absolutely no form of autism in Sophia. I feared that label. Many people equate autism to extreme social awkwardness tied in with superhuman counting skills and a series of odd phobias (AKA Rain Man syndrome) even though there is a varying range to which this behaviors show up. I didn’t want that stigma attached to her. I mean who does, right?

I was given a bunch of handouts to read and assess which things seem to fit Sophia and in reading one of them, I found me. It’s creepy how specific the description was and how well it fit me. It wasn’t like reading a horoscope, “You’ll find your true love soon.” And after weeks of searching you decide that it must have meant the dog you fell in love with at the pound. This was specific even in describing the vision problems I have despite my perfect eyesight.

The motorcycle rolls in, “Daddy’s home,” I say. She runs to the window watching him check the mail, then runs to the top of the stairs. “Eh-Low!” She shouts.

“He can’t hear you from there.” Down the stairs she goes, pushes open the door purposely left ajar, “Eh-low, eh-low, eh-low”. She says in rapid fire.

Flash Fiction Friday is hosted by g-man. You may also visit Flash Fiction Friday 55′s, a blog dedicated to hosting 55 Flash Fiction Friday posts.

It started with some playtime that included trying to get Sophia to blow bubbles and letting her swing for a bit, and then moved to the focus of the class, eating. The facilitator said she began the class with other activities like blowing bubbles in order to “warm up the mouth”. The class already seemed kooky to me. She asked me what things Sophia will eat. She knew it was a limited list. I think word got around that my kid only eats white foods.

Sophia’s list of foods include: Oatmeal with dates and raisins, Muesli, scrambled eggs (occasionally I can get her to eat it with shredded zucchini), cheese (mostly cheddar and string cheese), apples, banana, breads of all kinds (wheat, banana bread, cornbread, zucchini bread, pancakes, Dutch babies, carrot cake), rice, nuts (almonds, hazelnuts, cashews), peanut butter, French fries (we don’t eat “freedom” fries because that’s just retarded – we like the French, they provide health care to all their citizens), tater tots, and beans.

The only food that isn’t a white, brown or other earthy color is sweet potato.  But she won’t just eat sweet potato it has to be made into a sweet potato pie.  I didn’t count the blueberries she ate in pancakes because that only happened a couple times. Now she eats around the blueberries.  The only meat she’ll eat is bacon.

The facilitator was impressed, “You’ve been working hard at this.” I looked at her a little confused, “For such a limited range of foods you’re doing a good job.” She said. I was relieved. It felt good to know that it shows.

Halfway thought my list she said that it seemed like Sophia only liked soft foods. Apples aren’t that soft and she hates applesauce. I listed the nuts and breads with nuts in them. She wrote everything down as I mentioned it and went over the list. I told her that Sophia has also had animal crackers, graham crackers, saltine crackers, Doritos, tortilla chips, sour cream and onion chips, and pretzels. I didn’t list them in her foods because these are not staples. Sophia doesn’t get those snack foods very often and when she does I limit the amount. She eats so little that I try to make sure what she is eating has a positive nutritional value. “Wow, she really seems to be avoiding color.” Yep, that’s the only connection we could come up with.

Since this was Sophia’s fist class the facilitator said she would take it slow. She took a quarter of a graham cracker and put it in a cup with a spoon for Sophia. She did the same for herself and then asked Sophia if she could break it up with the spoon. Sophia snapped the cracker in half with her hand and began eating it. Armed with tiny cups of peanut butter the facilitator opened one. She broke up the rest of Sophia’s graham cracker and poked little cracker spikes into the peanut butter cup.

Sophia hesitated with the peanut butter graham crackers so the facilitator took one out and licked it. “Can you lick the peanut butter off?” She asked Sophia. Sophia took a cracker out and it came out peanut butter free. She just held it. “Can you smell it?” the facilitator put her own cracker up to her nose and sniffed it, and Sophia copied her. “Can you march it up your arm?” The facilitator marched the cracker up her own arm. Sophia copied her and eventually ate all the crackers in the peanut butter and asked for more. I was impressed that Sophia was mimicking a stranger, but not that she was eating those foods. She’s had both before, just not at the same time. It seemed kooky to me. More like a class teaching kids how to play with their food.

That night I made Chili for dinner with cornbread. I served Sophia a tiny bit of ground beef and beans and a half of a cornbread muffin. She ate the muffin first. No surprises there, but instead of asking for more immediately she picked up her bowl and picked up a piece of ground beef. She looked at it, tore it apart, sniffed it, and then licked it. She actually ate a piece of it, and then another. She didn’t eat everything I served her, even though it was a very small amount, before asking for more cornbread, but she did eat something new after just one food class. That was impressive!