Tag Archives: words

Preschool Drama Award

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I don’t know when it was exactly that my cellphone crapped out on me. I never use the damn thing except as an alarm clock, so I didn’t get a call from Sophia’s school to come and pick her up on Wednesday. Her teacher had brought her in to the nurse’s office that morning concerned about Sophia’s cough. They also called our house, but I didn’t get home until the time that preschool lets out.

Thursday, the last day of school, I called her teacher in the morning before the bus even picked Sophia up. I didn’t want her to think that I’d send Sophia to school if she were really sick. I told her that we didn’t hear any coughing all night and none in the morning, then asked her if Sophia had just been asked to do something she didn’t want to do when the coughing started. The teacher laughed. Yep, that’s what I thought. After picking at a scab on her forehead for about three months, Sophia moved onto a new drama.

the red dot of unknown origin

Picture taken on 2/2/2011. We don't know how the wound originated.

Bandaids make it worse

Picture taken on 3/5/2011. I had tried to get her to stop scratching by covering it with a band-aid. Turns out she has my sensitive skin and is either allergic to the glue or latex, so it was made worse. I just can't win.

after school pony tails

Picture taken on 4/15/2011. I took this picture so Kurt could see her in ponytails. She always takes out whatever they put in as soon as she gets home.

half laughing

She was half laughing, but that was fading fast. She was really wanting the ponytails out. "No ponies! No!"

No ponies!

You see, I told you.

Her latest pity-ploy is to cough until her face turns red and almost to the point of puking. She sheds huge crocodile tears, coughing with her mouth in an oval shape and her tongue out as if she’s about to puke, dramatically sweeps her hair out of her mouth, coughing, half-puking, and then crying, “I don’t want to…”, and more coughing. The first time she did it I was almost convinced that she was coking, except that she could still form words and do so clearly. Sophia, I love you, but you’re not a fucking princess. If you need to cry go to your room. I don’t want to hear it. (I don’t actually tell her the “fucking princess” part, but I do send her to her room.)

As I described for Sophia’s teacher what the coughing probably looked like she laughed even more, “Oh yes, we’ve seen that.” Oh good. It isn’t just reserved for me. I really don’t know how those teachers and therapists deal survive in a room full of children with intense personalities. They’re truly saints. The teacher said they might have been a little over concerned because there was an unconfirmed case of whooping cough in class and one kid that had Pneumonia.

On Monday I received our second and final progress report for the year…

“Sophia has been making steady progress toward reaching her objectives this trimester. She is following two-step directions now with very little difficulty. Sophia continues to join in all activities but clearly enjoys art projects the most. She is beginning to speak to us in full sentences, although, some days she chooses not to talk much at all. ; Snack time is still a challenging time and so far she had not chosen to eat; however, she remains at the snack table with the other students until snack time is over. Sophia has a couple of friends that she enjoys playing with and does some very nice sharing with them. She is continuing to grow and hopefully you will have a wonderful summer with her.”

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She doesn’t understand, I don’t understand

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Just before leaving for preschool one morning a few weeks ago…

“Momma, mah-key kag-roo pak-pak pwease.”

“You want monkey and kangaroo in your backpack?” I asked. She doesn’t have a stuffed kangaroo so I was confused and my repeating her request wasn’t just to have her hear the words pronounced properly and in a properly structured sentence. I was hoping for further information even though I never get it. I still hold out hope from time to time.

“Yes pwease!” She said happily.

“Honey, what kangaroo are you talking about?” I didn’t want to say “yes” to something that might not fit in her backpack or that I didn’t want her to risk losing at school.

“Yes pwease!” She said jumping up and down, “Yes pwease!”

“Wait sweetie, I don’t understand. What kangaroo do you want to bring? Can you show me?”

She began to get frustrated that I wasn’t just saying “yes” or “no” to her request and that her “Yes please” wasn’t doing the magic, so she went through her rolodex of canned politeness. She rolled her eyes up to remember how to say the whole sentence, “May have mah-key kag-roo pak-pak?…Pah-wee-ze!”

I tried so hard not to just laugh that I almost snorted. She didn’t understand that I did not understand what kangaroo she was talking about. She seems to think that if I understand the words that she’s using that I must also understand which of her seven hundred monkey items she wants. The child has about seven stuffed monkeys, a set of monkey PJs, flash cards with monkeys on them, books with monkeys. The kangaroo really stumped me. She has some alphabet flash cards with a Kangaroo for “K”, but that’s about all that I know.

“Ok fine, as long as it fits in your backpack.” I cringed. I also hope it’s not something expensive that might get lost at school. It turned out that she wanted to bring her “Brain Quest” cards. The cards for ages 2 to 3 have a monkey on them and the cards for 3 to 4 have a mouse which looks like a kangaroo to her. Whew! Yep, those can go to school.

brain quest

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Preserving Preservatives

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mizkan nakano rice vinegarI was just now reaching up in to my cupboard to retrieve the juice pitcher for orange juice, when I read the little yellow splash add on a bottle of rice vinegar. “No Preservatives”, it read. Suddenly up became down and cats and dogs began living happily together.

Do we no longer know what the words in our own language mean? What keeps pickles from spoiling if vinegar itself isn’t a fuckin’ preservative. The whole goddamn bottle of rice vinegar is a preservative. I want to see that same claim prominently placed on bags of salt and sugar. No, really I do. I’ll carry those bags with me everywhere and then if I should ever come across someone who proudly claims to work as an ad writer for product packaging I’ll lob them in their general direction because those *twitching and waving my fingers in the air simulating Lewis Black in mid rant* are preservatives also. I’m sure those must be the people that utter sentances like, “If it weren’t for my horse I wouldn’t have spent that year in college.”

Next time I’m buying a different brand of rice vinegar. I don’t want to encourage stupidity.

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Observations of Exhibit A

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Yesterday was my six-week postpartum appointment. I arrived with the kids and as I was checking in Kurt came in. That is when Sophia began to act as if I had fed her a bag of sugar for lunch along with a triple shot latte just for fun. Is my three-year-old the only one that, as a form of conversation, points out the stupidly obvious? And I don’t mean, “Apple red”, which is how Sophia talks. She can and will use more than two-word phrases/sentences, but that is still her typical way of speaking. But I digress. What I mean by the painfully obvious is, “momma, momma”, she either confuses her words or forgets whose attention she is seeking, “Daddy, that one’s momma”. She says pointing to me.

“Yes, we’ve met.” Kurt says, “At least a couple of times.”

Proof of our having met each other can be seen in exhibit A:
Sophia

And exhibit B:
exhibit B

After I checked in Sophia wanted me to sit in the kid area with the rest of our family. I sat by Kurt and gave a nod, “Hi.”

“Hi,” he answered back and extended his hand, “I’m daddy.”

“I’m mommy,” I said shaking his hand. We’re fucking goofballs.

Speaking of exhibit A…when Sophia begins to pester us for a puppy or other pet of her own I will be using the following picture as reason number one why the answer will be no.
puppy stew

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More than a Fair Day

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Over the weekend of amazement we went to the state fair. We saw the pony ride and knowing that she probably wouldn’t go for it I asked Sophia if she wanted to ride on the ponies. She shook her head as I knew she would and we just stood there and watched for a little while. I was admittedly disappointed though not at all surprised. In another area they had a cute “Farmer for a Day” area for the little kids right before the petting area. The activity they had set up was right up Sophia’s OCD-putting-things-into-containers alley but because we were in public, there were no guarantees that she would take to it. It took a little encouragement, but not much.

The first part was to pick out a basket, take it to the hen house and pick an egg, then to the apple tree for an apple, and finally to the sandbox to dig up a potato. There was also a cow milking area where she waited her turn for a while, but ultimately she skipped that. Once the little basket was full, it was time to take it to market and separate her things into the market’s baskets. She then received a stamp on her hand with the animal and color of her choosing. She picked an orange horse.

Picking an apple from the treeWaiting her turn at the milking stationDigging up a potatoPicking up her potatoPotatoAt the Grocer

Directly after that area there was the entrance to the petting area. She showed interest in the animals but didn’t want to touch them at first. She began to take my hand but then switched and chose Kurt to lead around the pen of baby farm animals.

Lately she’s been a little Nazi with her demands for which parent she wants to do whatever task for her like reading her bedtime story. “Momma’s turn, “she’ll say. We accommodate sometimes, but if it was predetermined by the parental units that momma has the night off then it’s tough shit. On this occasion it was, “Daddy’s turn”, which I just thought was great. Kurt later decided that the child figured if anyone could protect her from a rouge baby goat it would be daddy. If that’s the case she would be quite shocked as to what the otherwise animal loving “momma bear” can and would do if her young were attacked. I’m just sayin’.

Controlling little Nazi child took her dad’s arm in both her hands and used it to pet the goats until she was comfortable doing so herself. She also pet the calf, but the chickens and pigs she only looked at.

Once we done with the petting area we went out to wash our hands and then retrieve the stroller, which was waiting for us at the entrance of the “Farmer for a Day” area. Upon seeing the baskets, OCD child had to go through the maze again. I had to go to the bathroom, so Kurt wound up going through there with Sophia another seven times. On their way out Sophia spotted something through another vendor and indicated she wanted to go there. I’m not sure if she said anything since I was still waiting in line for the ladies room, but I know she wouldn’t have had a word for what she wanted other than maybe horse. She wanted to ride the carousel. Kurt was shocked and when I found out, I was stunned. Kurt bought the tickets and Sophia kept pointing at the horses she wanted no ride. Wow, she really wants to do this. On the horse she was so happy, she sat waiting for the ride to begin and pointed to her horse smiling. Kurt’s horse was much smaller, and it made his 6’ 4” figure look hilarious. The carousel began to turn and each time around Kurt pointed me out to Sophia who flashed huge smiles at me. The biggest smiles I received were when the camera was down but I still got a good shot. Unlike her camp photo, no tickling was required for these. I cannot tell you how happy it made us for her to have a normal kid reaction to normal kid fun. There are just no words to express it.

Waiting for the carousel to startbear on a tricyclenormal kid reaction to normal kid fun

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Word Interchange Exchange

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Sophia has problems pronouncing her “L’s”, and “R’s” but she can hear the difference in the way we say words and the way she says them. A few weeks ago before our July heat wave, which never hits on the weekend of the 4th, we did have a few nice days scattered around June. On one of those weekend days Kurt wore shorts with his motorcycle T-shirt. Sophia, displaying her powers of toddler observation pointed at Kurt’s black shirt and said, “bak shoot”.

“Yes, I’m wearing a black shirt” Kurt replied.

“gween shoots” She said pointing to his shorts.

“Close, sh-OR-tz. This is a black sh-IRT, and these are green sh-OR-tz.”

Sophia cocked her head like any confused pup, thought for a moment, furrowed her brows, and finally said, “gween PANTS” with attitude.

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55 Flash non-Fiction Friday: Fucking Retarded Censorship

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Many encourage bans on ‘bad’ words attempting to render all language inoffensive. It’s not possible. Other terms will convey the same meaning soon becoming offensive. Use of “Joe Six Pack” during the vice presidential debate offends me, what about my rights? Blue vans collecting donations read, “Northwest Center for the Retarded”. Should they change too?

55 Flash Fiction Friday
Flash Fiction Friday is hosted by g-man.

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Speech therapy, I waited for this?

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With every question I had after every pre-therapy hoop, I was told I’d have to ask the speech therapist. Almost two full months after Sophia’s qualifying evaluation for speech therapy I finally got an appointment and then the day before it was to happen I received a cancellation call. The therapist was sick, but I didn’t care. I was pissed as hell all day. All the hoops, all the forms, prior evaluations, first time consultations with occupational therapists, meetings over expectations, all we really wanted was this one therapy.

We are sure that if we could just get Sophia talking many of our other frustrations would be minimized. It took two months to get the appointment despite having good, nay awesome insurance. They couldn’t just assign a different speech therapist to come to our home or have me go to the office though they say it’s not as effective. I don’t care. Just get me into the final phase of the system!

I received a call the following Monday, the day before we were to leave for a week for Christmas in Michigan, and was asked if we could meet in two hours. Absolutely! Every first time meeting is just a head-nod getting-to-know-you session and this one was no different. I wasn’t impressed and I don’t think she likes me much either.

I got the feeling that she didn’t see Sophia as a valid case since I was beaming over new words she picked up over the week in Hawaii. She seemed to forget that I signed up for this shit two months prior and at the time Sophia had less than twenty words. All through the therapy session, the tips and pointers she gave to helping Sophia to speak were pissing me off. “Use short, simple phrases,” “Add descriptive words to the words she says.” “Ask her questions.” “Give her choices.” I’m sure there are some people that completely ignore their child all day and then wonder why the child doesn’t speak. I’m not one of those. I didn’t give any acknowledgment to the therapists suggestions. Her tone wasn’t at all condescending but the fact that those were her main tips made it sound like anyone with a two year old who doesn’t speak must be an inept parent and fucking idiot. Either that or this therapy is a joke. Seriously, if better tricks don’t come out of the bag next time I’m going to forget about the speech part of Sophia’s therapy.

The therapist began to give examples of questions I should ask Sophia as if I couldn’t come up with them on my own. Actually, she was trying to explain how to make talking fun for Sophia. “Is this blue?” She asked Sophia holding up a red Tyco Super Block (big Legos for toddlers). I had just explained to her that Sophia was using signs from her Signing Time video that she didn’t seem to understand. Red, was one of the signs. I waited to give Sophia a chance to answer. Sophia moved on with whatever was going through her toddler head without any acknowledgment that a question was even asked of her.

That form of questioning really makes my ass twitch. I have no idea what I was really like at the age of two. I do have memories from that age, but I don’t know if I was talking or how much. I told the therapist that Sophia isn’t just a lot like me, she is mini-me. Several friends have commented that her attitudes are mine exactly. I know that Sophia is only two and may not actually know the answer to the question, but in continuing to give some background in how Sophia I think, I told the therapist that when I was little I always thought people that asked that type of question were stupid. With a touch of contempt in her voice she said, “Well some kids think it’s fun.” Clearly, I hit a nerve. She continued to tell me that she wouldn’t use that sort of question with say, a seven year old. In the specific memory I have of being asked such a question I wasn’t seven. I was four. I was just trying to give her some insight into our attitude, so bite me.

Sophia started throwing a ball around the room and the therapist said the word “ball” to her. Sophia then said ball for the first time. “Wow,” I said, “I guess I’ll be adding that one to the list.” I was informed by the therapist that, “the tend pick up words spontaneously like that after they’ve reached fifty words”. Indicating that my count must me off. Including the new word of the day, she only had 37 words at the time. I’m not counting the signs she picked up from her video because she really doesn’t seem to know what they mean. For her they all are ways to tell me she wants to watch the video again and that’s it.

Sophia got to be a bit of a pest with her ball. She kept saying, “ball” and started throwing a ball AT me. I asked her not to do that and she said, “dahp et” The therapist and I both laughed, “yes,” I said, “you need to stop it.”

I told the therapist of my attempts at getting Sophia to talk including the four months (between the ages of 18 and 22 months) I didn’t give her anything (aside from scheduled meals) unless she signed or asked for it. I wasn’t responding to finger pointing or grunts anymore if I knew she had a word or a sign for a particular want. In an almost snotty tone she asked, “and how did that go for you?” I really wanted to be a smart ass and ask her if it wasn’t obvious since there is a speech therapist standing in my house, but I refrained. I’m such a big girl…sometimes. I told her it resulted in a lot of tantrums and joked, “but I can be stubborn too.”

“Well you reap what you sow.” She told me. Seriously, what a bitch! I didn’t ask what she meant by that and she didn’t offer any explanation, but I didn’t take it as anything positive. I have another appointment with her next week. I’m fuckin’ overjoyed.

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Flight to Hawaii

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At the airport I didn’t have to open Sophia’s sippy cups going through security like I did before. They have a new electronic device to examine liquids now. “Hey that’s pretty cool.” I told the TSA officer. I was happy that I didn’t have to open the cup while he held it and I juggled a wiggly toddler like I did last year.
“Yeah,” he said, “It can smell things just as well as a dog.”
“Really?” I asked, “It actually smells things?”
“Yes,” he said, “when it works.”

I bit my tongue and tried to hide my smirk. It’s an impossible task for me, my smirk has a mind of it’s own. I don’t know if they’ve hired all new TSA people in the last couple years or if the atmosphere has calmed down a bit. They seem to actually retain some human qualities now. I remember going through security shortly after 9-11 and Kurt being yelled at for not pulling all the change out of his pocket fast enough. He tried to explain that there wasn’t a change tray available and was yelled and even more.

On another trip months after the whole shoe bomber incident I had the audacity to ask, “oh, we all have to take our shoes off?” I had previously flown threw where only people with heavy boots had to take their footwear off. I was scoffed at and made to feel like an idiot, “yeah of course, where have you been?” As if everyone that flies does so on a very regular basis.

It’s getting a lot better. They’re now polite, respectful and even helpful for those of us with kids, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking the rules are any less arbitrary or ridiculous, especially when the TSA officer himself admits the equipment isn’t always reliable.

Our flight with a toddler went well. I mean for a two year old she did great sitting in an tin tube for six hours. I think it helped a lot that she was sitting in her car seat and that I brought her favorite foods with us. I’ll now publicly thank the guy in front of Sophia for not killing her for kicking the back of his seat THE ENTIRE FLIGHT. He never said a word or even gave a glance. He just put on his headphones and leaned forward. Kurt decided that on the way back we would have a rear-facing child so she’ll only have her own seat to kick.

We brought some of her books to entertain her. Those quickly became projectile objects which I had to retrieve from the crevice between her seat and the window. After a while she indicated that she wanted us to sing “The Wheels on the Bus” repeatedly by moving her hands in the rolling wheels motion.

When we go to swimming she rarely does any of the motions to that song. She smiles and clearly enjoys it, but the only active participation for that song is that motion and splashing the water for a horn beep. In her new preschool/playgroup she learned the motions done while out of water but not only doesn’t she participate in circle time during the class but she stands on the fringe of the circle and acts as if it’s a dull spectator sport. On the plane with her parents acting like idiots for her amusement she did all the motions and even helped Kurt with which verse comes next. She actually said “beep, beep, beep” for the bus horn sound. That’s right, she said a new word on the airplane. It was also freakishly cute to hear her do the, “sh sh sh” with her finger to her lips for the part about the mommies calming the babies.

We tried to schedule the flight in a way that Sophia would sleep through at least part of it. I even had her skip her nap the day before we left, but that stubborn-won’t-sleep-in-public-places child didn’t drift off until we started our descent into Honolulu, and then I had to wake her up. We landed at eleven at night, Seattle time. It was another two hours before we actually checked into our hotel and got her to bed.

Polar bear express to Hawaii

Yep, Sophia had to take her polar bear to Hawaii. I think she has watched too many episodes of LOST.

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I forgot a word

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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.

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