Not that bad is the new good

No, it's... it's fine, more or less.

As Zadie's behavioral therapy becomes a normal part of life, I have figured out the stuck-at-home thing, and it's not so bad. She has gotten more used to her normal technician, and it went pretty well on Monday and Tuesday of this week.

We even had a nice weekend together, going used-book shopping, vintage store browsing (I fell in love with a dresser set and later had Dad take me back there to pick it up for the very-nearly-ready Lochlan's room), ramen-devouring, train-game-playing...

School's been up and down. She's had some good days, but I got an email today that she was threatening another kid.

And today also, the technician's supervisor came. Remember how I said that since the technician (I don't remember if I've given her a fake name yet, so let's call her Nellie) was new and young, that I was afraid Z was going to walk all over her? Well, that's sort of been true. She really pushes the limits. It's been sort of friendly, but still a lot on Z's terms, and Nellie has been easing into it to build rapport.

Amber, on the other hand, is an old pro, so she comes in insisting on compliance. Z doesn't like that, so she pushes back, and today was a shitshow. She was throwing things at them, trying to hit them, telling them what not to do "if you value your lives." Which, where the fuck does she even get the mafia talk?

Anyway, that's over now and she's in bed and we don't see Nellie again until Monday, so we have a bit of a break.

The boy is good! He's doing more signs and animal noises and some more words (yesterday he said "bad cat" when the cat scared him).

He's snuggly and sweet and affectionate, which is so awesome. And he loves his stuffed animals almost as much as his trucks. He's very mechanical, in some ways. He loves to put shapes in the shape sorter thingie. He likes to find things that fit into or onto one another and put them together (a pencil in a jar! A lid on a bowl!). He is funny -- he loves to play peekaboo and then laugh hysterically. He looks at us so slyly during practically every meal, puts a piece of bread or something on his head, then says "hat." Then he nerd-laughs like that's the funniest damn thing.

The other day, Sweetie was playing air-guitar and humming Jimi Hendrix, and the Lochlan started enthusiastically rocking side to side. We decided it was dance party time! We put on Dee-Lite's Groove is in the Heart and all danced, and then we put on the B-52s' Rock Lobster. He seemed to really like that, so we were singing it and humming it off and on. Part of it goes "Lots of trouble, OOOO-AAH! Lots of bubbles, OOOO-AAH!" About the third time I did it, Lochlan repeated "OOOOH-AAH." He looked really proud of himself, too. Since then I've gotten him to do it five or six more times, but never on video, damnit.

She's been experimenting -- badly -- with makeup. 

Sweet big sister. 

Lochlan loves books. 

Stuffed animals. Truck. What more could a guy want? 

Perhaps a pith helmet? 

I think I was trying to distract her from something, but selfies are fun. 

Baby attack!

More stuffed buddies. He calls the pig "cat." 

Z and the neighbor girl being models.

Peanut butter face. Who can resist? 

Aw hell, I want to go snatch him up out of his crib and hug him right now! 

Still doing well in karate. Starting her black belt project. 

Tomorrow I turn 40

And last night I was crying. And when my Sweetie asked why, the first thing I blurted out was "David Bowie's dead."

There's a lot going on.

Like... we're trying to rearrange the house to give the boy a bedroom, and in the process, I'm losing my little office. Now, the truth is that I don't really use it: it got sort of immediately cluttered with stuff and was never exactly inviting. But I had the idea that it was mine, and now there is no place in the house that's really just mine. It's not that bad, because I'm getting a small desk for the corner of the kitchen. And frankly, Sweetie has it way worse than I do -- he's losing an entire big room for what is essentially a glorified closet. But, change is hard.

And Z has started her behavioral therapy, and she's having an "extinction burst" like whoa. What this means is that as they teach her stuff, her resistance to it will cause her to be worse than usual. So it's for a good purpose, and I'm happy they're here, and in the long-term it'll be good for Z, but in the short term it means I am being asked to stand back while my child throws forks at people's heads, and that's a bit stressful.

Also, they are here from 2:30 (pretty much the second we get home) to 5:30, which means all my old cushion time for errand running and stuff? Gone. I'm semi-trapped here at the house, which means that I have to be flexible and figure out how to get stuff done at other times. And unfortunately the first casualty of that is that I resigned from the poetry board I belonged to. It's not a big deal: I wasn't one of the reading hosts or journal editors or workshop givers. I was just the secretary. But being able to help out, even in that small way, made me feel good and connected, and I was sorry to say goodbye.

And although I'm not 100% sure yet, I think I am going to quit the band I'm in. Long story short, they're really amped to play at clubs and bars all the time, and I'm really not. You know, I have two kids. I work in the morning. I always enjoyed playing with my old band, but it's just impractical now. I don't want to hold them back if that's what they really want, so there's a good chance I'm going to quit before the end of the month. And playing in a band is fun for me.

And the baby has been refusing to nurse lately, and that's fine. He can do what he wants, and he doesn't need it anymore. But for Z, it was a comfort for both of us for a long time, and a way to cuddle and be close. I had hoped we would have that for longer.

So, you know... nothing really bad, right? Nobody's sick, nobody's hurt, we have a house and jobs and beautiful kids and stuff. But in a way, it does feel like I am losing space, control, safety, freedom, a sense of connection and contribution, and fun and creative expression and closeness all at once.

And David Bowie DID die, and that's part of it. David Bowie has been part of my life, like, forever. He's one of my favorite artists. I can remember seeing him on Saturday Night Live when I was a little kid, staying up past bedtime. I stayed up late when they played the documentary "Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars" on PBS one night in about junior high. I remember reflecting on the "Changes" lyric that opens up the movie "The Breakfast Club" (which for some reason I was obsessed with and watched hundreds of times). I remember repeatedly watching Labyrinth (mostly because I consistently talked my babysittees into it) and The Hunger (sometimes in the hopes of luring someone into bed). I remember talking about our Bowie crushes with the "alternative" girls in 9th grade (also called "mods" back then). I saw him in concert and was sort of aghast at his beauty, his stage presence. I can play the bass part for Suffragette City. I bought the Cool World and Lost Highway soundtracks because Bowie was on them. In short, Bowie and his music were woven into the fabric of my life about as much as the Beatles are, but the Beatles were over before I was born, and Bowie has been a living, breathing, unpredictable artist for all of my 39 years and 363 days. It's ridiculous to think that there would always be Bowie. But I did think that.

So it's not really about turning 40, but I am having to sort of "turn and face the strange."

I still don't know what I was waiting for
And my time was running wild
A million dead-end streets
And every time I thought I'd got it made
It seemed the taste was not so sweet
So I turned myself to face me
But I've never caught a glimpse
Of how the others must see the faker
I'm much too fast to take that test

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
(Turn and face the strange)
Ch-ch-changes
Don't want to be a richer man
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
(Turn and face the strange)
Ch-ch-changes
Just gonna have to be a different man
Time may change me
But I can't trace time

I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence and
So the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're going through

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
(Turn and face the strange)
Ch-ch-changes
Don't tell them to grow up and out of it
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
(Turn and face the strange)
Ch-ch-changes
Where's your shame
You've left us up to our necks in it
Time may change me
But you can't trace time

Strange fascination, fascinating me
Changes are taking the pace
I'm going through

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the strange)
Ch-ch-changes
Oh, look out you rock 'n rollers
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
(Turn and face the strange)
Ch-ch-changes
Pretty soon now you're gonna get older
Time may change me
But I can't trace time
I said that time may change me
But I can't trace time

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAVID BOWIE AND ★ “That’s the message that I sent...” Why is this man so happy? Is it because it‘s his 69th birthday or that he has released his 28th studio album today and it’s a corker? Who knows, but we’re sure you’ll want to join us in congratulating him on both. Many happy returns of the day to David Bowie and ★ (Fashion fans may like to note that our man is wearing Thom Browne) #Blackstar #imablackstar #BlackstarAlbum #BowieBirthday #BowieBrowne

A photo posted by David Bowie (@davidbowie) on Jan 7, 2016 at 10:20pm PST

Our first "technician" visit, and some thoughts.

So we had our first actual visit from the ABA provider yesterday. They've come a few times to talk, get a plan/paperwork started, etc. But yesterday was three hours of working with Zadie. For the record, two people came yesterday, but it will usually be only one.

It went sort of like this. They talked to her and played with her. Then they made a schedule of things to do, which Zadie helped with. And they sort of negotiated which chores she would do, as completing some chores when asked is one of her goals. And then they started with homework. She was squirrelly and fidgety and kept making excuses to get up, exactly as she usually does. And they just would remind her to come and sit down, exactly as I usually do. The difference is that I am often distracted -- with baby, with my own chores, whatever. Which means she gets away with it more often. They weren't letting her, and it was going okay.

Then they asked her to brush her hair (doing independent self-grooming kind of stuff is one of our goals). She did, even putting it in a ponytail, and got a lot of praise.

While Lochlan was down for his nap, she was telling them about his favorite stuffed toy. She saw it and wanted to give it to him. I said no, because he was already asleep. She went on and on about how she could sneak, how she was going to do it without my permission, how it would be FINE, don't worry, she won't wake him up! Finally, she just took off for the bedroom, ran in (the tech tried to stop her but didn't get there in time) and dropped the toy on Lochlan's face, waking him up).

Then her little friend came over for a while. (I asked if it was okay.) They all played together for a while, and that went fine. Then it was time for the friend to go home (after about 20 minutes), and stuff started going to hell. Z never wants her friend to go. I said I would walk the girl home, but Z insisted. We all said no, but she ran out the door. We knew they were both holding the end of a long ribbon, but we didn't know Z had actually tied it to the girl's wrist.  So there was arguing, and there was yanking, and the knot was getting tighter and the technician was trying to untie it and Z sort of broke away to run across the street to take the girl home, and she didn't look to see whether a car was coming. It was -- it was going at a safe speed and had time to stop, but it was uncool. It was a whole bad scene.

Anyway, we finally got her back home and it was time for a chore. She wanted to do window-washing, which I am really ambivalent about her doing (she can't reach half of them, and we have to move furniture to clean many of them, so it's kind of a lot of work for a half-assed job). But she did that okay (even though she was sort of trampling on Lochlan at the time. They asked her to stop spraying and dry the windows, and she kept spraying (she really, really loves spraying). But they got her to stop and clean up the fluid.

Then they played some more. I think they looked at her bike, and they made a fort in her room. I was in the kitchen (though I peeked in occasionally). When that allotted time was up and they started to take down the fort, she screamed. Thinking she'd been hurt, I rushed in, but she was just upset. Several times already, the tech had assured me that it was okay and I could back off, so I did. It was hard, though, man! Your kid is wailing and you're like "welp, back to the organizing, I guess!" She seemed to get over it, but then they informed her it was time to do the other chore, wiping off the table.

She refused. She wanted to build more forts. They said it was time to clean the table first. She grabbed a toy. They gently took it from her. She grabbed a weird piece of cardboard she's bene playing with. They took it. Repeat the she-grabbed-they-took sequence several times until she's livid. She finally comes out of her room with her horse-on-a-stick (the operative part there being the big fucking stick) and comes after the tech with it. I had been trying to butt out, but I jumped up and yelled her name. The tech turned and assured me it was okay. She got it from her as well.

Then they decided to make the fort (I will explain this more later, since I know it seems weird). They made a fort, they had some fun, they talked and played and had a good time. Then they asked her to clean the table and she did.

Then she ran across the street without asking to the neighbor girl's house, so they had me walk her back home, ask, and then walk her over again.

And that was mostly it.

You can probably guess that I have a LOT of thoughts and feelings and reflections about this experience.

In no particular order: I hardly ever tell anyone about all the yelling and refusing and hitting and baby-waking and screaming and messes and I-hate-you and whatnot. It feels a little disloyal, for one. For another thing, most people don't hear that and think, "how difficult dealing with this brain must be for Zadie," but rather "you guys must be really shitty parents. She needs an ass-whooping." And I just don't really want to invite that all the time. So it feels weird even to detail it here.

Second, I actually talked with them about the fort/table issue. I mean, parenting advice would vary, but would mostly be along the lines of "follow through -- if you said no fort until after table, then stick to it or you're teaching her she can get what she wants by being naughty." And let me be very real here: that kind of bullshit would have pissed me off, she'd have earned herself a time-out in her room, and I'd have been in NO GODDAMN MOOD to play with her in a fort right about then anyway. But the tech explained that a lot of kids aren't as strong-willed as Z, and she could see she had hit a wall of non-compliance and needed to get Z back on her side. Playing for a little while brought her around. And I mean... the table got clean, you know? What I'm struggling with a little is the idea that just playing with the fort for a while really wouldn't have been instinctual or seemed like common sense for me. And that's kind of hard for me, because I've always wanted kids, always thought that my maternal instincts would be good, always assumed I'd be naturally a good mom. And I'm not saying this makes me not a good mom, but I am saying we've spent like six years arguing about cleaning the fucking table, having big fights, sending her off to isolation, and then fighting about isolation, when I could have draped a goddamn blanket over the edge of the couch.

Also, it is so, so hard to stand back when your kid is attacking a friendly near-stranger in your home. I hope you never have to do that. It was fucking awful.

Okay, also, one of the things they're working on is getting her to not interrupt adult conversation. And we have really, really failed at that. But the tech -- for her privacy, let's call her Amber -- is like a ROCK STAR at it. But it also looks super hard. What she does is first, completely ignores her when she interrupts. 100% of the time. So typically it might sound like, "So after lunch I went to the-" "MOM. MOM. MOM. MOOOOOOM! MOOOM LISTEN!" "Hang on a sec. I went to the Starb-" "MOM I'M TRYING TO TELL YOU SOMETHING!" "Okay, but I'm talking to Daddy right now. I know you want to talk. You're next, you just have to wait about thirty more seconds.""MOM I HAVE TO TELL YOU RIGHT NOW!" "GOSH, ALRIGHT, just spit it out!" "Cows are weird."

But Amber went right on chatting as if Zadie was just silent movie ghost-Zadie, even as she grew frustrated, yelled, jumped up and down and stomped. She had showed her before that if she wanted to interrupt, she needed to tap Amber on the arm. After this hissyfit got ignored (dude, I am telling you, the expression on her face didn't even change), finally Z remembered. She tapped Amber, who immediately responded, "Yes, Azadeh?"

Our long-term goal is that she learns when and how to enter a conversation appropriately, and if she feels like interrupting, how to get our attention and wait for an appropriate time. But they kind of need to work her up to that, so for now, the tap gets an immediate response. I'm going to try this too (and I hope my primary co-caregivers will attempt it as well), but it also does not come naturally.

They are doing something similar with speaking in polite tones and using "please."
Z: "Mom, I want some tea!"
Amber: "Mom, may I have tea please?"
Z: (Exasperated) "May I have tea?"
Amber: "May I have tea, please?"
Z: "May I have tea, please?"
Amber gives me the nod, so...
Me: "Sure, let me go make some."

It makes our conversations a LOT longer. But I like that they're holding her to it. I really feel hopeful that this will make some positive headway in terms of getting spoken to more kindly. Honestly, sometimes it's like being verbally abused around here.

And now, on that topic-ish. The therapy she's getting is called ABA. Like any concerned mom, probably, I looked it up to learn what it was about before agreeing to start the therapy. And although most of what's available is positive, there are some horror stories, mostly about kids getting sort of corporal punishments for "acting out" in kind of normal autistic ways. Like, a kid who flaps his hands might have his wrist slapped or something. And the very first time I met with Amber, I asked her directly about that. She said that that sort of therapy was mostly in the past and had been phased out, but in their company, they didn't do that kind of thing at all. They focused mainly on rewards, praise, and instant gratification. And my fears do seem to have been allayed. The worst thing they did to her was take down her fort, and that wasn't even punishment, just "we're done playing, time to put away our things." In fact in many ways, she relished the devoted attention they could give her and their willingness to play. I do spend plenty of time with her and I pretend with her a lot, but I do also have to make dinner and take care of the baby and stuff. I can't give all of my attention to her all the time.

But there's also some stuff online, mainly from the community of autistic people, that asserts that any attempt to change autistic people's behavior is wrong-headed, insulting, damaging, intolerant, uh... I ran out of adjectives, but these people are super-duper mad. And although I respect that and see in some ways where they're coming from, the world is a very big place, and my kid is going to meet a lot of people, and she has actively expressed a desire to be liked and have friends, and I'm less likely to be able to address all the 2nd graders at her school and change THEM into the kind of people who are inclusive of weird shouty girls who pee themselves than I am of changing a few of Z's habits to fit in a little better.

There is also a feeling among this community that any expression that being a parent of an autistic child is difficult or burdensome or not all glitter-farting-rainbows all the time is a betrayal and we should just shut our big fat faces about it. But I am not cool with that at all. My daughter is a person whose needs and feelings deserve to be respected. But so am I. And I am going to keep being honest about the difficulties of being a caregiver of a kid like mine. I'm not planning to whine about it, but I don't intend to sugar-coat it either. It's fucking hard as hell. I've given serious thought to taking up marijuna as a hobby. I sometimes want to just drive away.

If you know me, you know I am a patient person. I am an optimistic person. I may veer into straight-up Pollyanna territory. In fact, if you know me from outside this blog, the fact I'd even say I was too pissed to build a fort might have surprised you. I don't get pissed off easily. But I can say in all honesty that 90% of other parents who had gotten Zadie as a kid would have gone straight to the beatings, and maybe 3% would have opted for the bleach-milkshake-to-exorcise-the-demons. (Perhaps the darkest humor in 12 years of this blog. Sorry?)

In the car yesterday on our way home, where we would have that first session, I spoke to Z. "Hey, I wanted to say something. I just want you to know that I love you exactly the way you are, and I love every part of you. And I think your autism is part of you, so I love that too. And I don't want to change it. In fact, I think it's kind of cool that your brain works differently than mine. And just because we are starting this therapy doesn't mean I think there's anything wrong with you or that you have any kind of deficit, okay? I just want to help you be as happy as you can and have as smooth a ride as you can through life. This is just about adjusting some behaviors, not about changing you you are. Because you're awesome." She said she knows. And then she told me she had expressed astonishment that some other kid in her class didn't know what "deficit" meant, so she had informed him.

So I'm doing my best, man. I'm doing my best.



NB: I usually re-read and proofread, but this took a long time to write, so I'm going straight to bed. My apologies for anything wacky, word-wise.

Politics of education and me

Today I read an article about IEPs and the failures of special education in the public school system. In sum, the author is in an IEP meeting to try to help their kid, who has learning difficulties in math, but is basically gifted in language. The parents are struggling with where to send their kid, because no public option seems like a perfect fit. The author briefly describes IDEA and 504s, and then says how difficult it is to get help for a "twice-exceptional" kid, one gifted in some areas but also with learning disabilities. Schools are pressured to "mainstream" everyone, and psychological testing is expensive.

The author goes on to talk about how lengthy and technical the IEP documents can be, and how they sometimes seem to be more of a legal ass-covering than a plan for what anyone will actually do for the kid.

Schools are responsible for maintaining high test scores, and kids with learning difficulties can undermine that, so the schools may have an incentive for "counseling out" certain kids.

Furthermore, a lot of the interventions are expensive. Also, a lot of the IEPs are like 30 pages long -- it can be difficult and time-consuming for a teacher to glean all the information they need from them, particularly if they have multiple students with them.

Finally, she decides to send her kid to private school, one of the reasons for which is that the teachers aren't held accountable for standardized test scores.

And then I read the comments. (I know, I know: a cardinal rule of sane internet use is "never read the comments.")

It was fascinating. One person would empathize that it's difficult to get help for special ed kids. Another would reply that parents shouldn't expect public schools to educate them.

Someone would say that public schools were meant to educate everyone. Someone else would complain that they were a taxpayer without children and they shouldn't have to pay for education.

Teachers are paid too much and are glorified babysitters. There is a teacher shortage because the pay isn't enough to cover their student loans.

There aren't enough resources to pay for special ed. People should homeschool their special ed kids. People should homeschool their gifted kids. People should pay for private school. People can't afford private school. People should forgo their iPhones to pay for school tuition.

Gifted kids aren't getting the attention they need. Gifted kids don't need attention. Gifted kids are ignored because they'll get the scores schools need without effort. Schools shouldn't need the scores. The scores are very important. Standardized curriculum is very important. Standardized curriculum is killing us slowly. Standardized curriculum doesn't exist anymore. The common core is brand new. Everything old is new again.

Districts don't have the money to properly educate kids. They have the money, they just misappropriate it. They are forced to use money in certain ways. The money that could educate gifted kids is siphoned off to pay for special needs kids. Some special needs kids should be in vocational school. Some special needs kids shouldn't be educated at all. 

Special needs kids are a disruption. Special needs kids rob the teacher's attention. Classes are too big. Unions fight for bigger paychecks instead of smaller classes.  Unions fight for smaller classes so there are more teachers in order to further line their pockets.

ADHD is overdiagnosed. Autism is overdiagnosed. Some kids just need a firm boot to the ass. Some kids genuinely need help. Parents need to do their job and parent. Parents are doing all they can. Some parents are entitled helicopter parents. Some parents hand their kids off to the school system and expect them to be raised. 



In this multifaceted partly-true and partly-false web are my daughter and myself. I am a teacher. I am a member of a public employee union. I teach special ed students. I teach gifted students. I sit in on and contribute to IEPs.

I am a mother. I pay taxes. I attended public schools. My father was a teacher, a member of a union, an employee of the public schools. My parents both attended public schools. I probably had undiagnosed ADHD. I loved most of my teachers. My teachers cared about me. My teachers couldn't help me. I was stiffed on GATE education.

My daughter is gifted. She reads at a college level in the 2nd grade. She is not getting as much GATE education as she probably could benefit from. The teacher cannot adequately address her needs because it's a class of 32 students, many of whom have special needs.

My daughter is autistic. She disrupts the classroom. She robs the teacher's time and attention from the other students. The teacher can't adequately address her needs because it's a class of 32 students. She might thrive in private school or home school. We can't afford private school or home school. Maybe we could if we went without other things. She needs help and resources to succeed. Those resources cost money, for the district, for us, for our insurance...

The district doesn't want to give her a full-time aide. The district says they don't do full-time aides. I know they do, because my cousin, who is also autistic, has one. Probably my kid is not registering as autistic because she is also so gifted. How could a kid who can accurately describe how sound waves work also need help?

The teacher is doing the best she can. The school is doing the best they can. Sometimes it seems like the IEP is just a legal cover-your-ass. Sometimes I worry that I'm burdening the system. Sometimes I feel like the system isn't doing enough to help.


 

Happy New Year, life is... life

We have our ups and downs, don't we?

Been having a lovely week off since Christmas. Not much to do but laze around, let the girl play across the street (or sometimes the neighbor girl plays over here), read books, check out new recipes, and play our new favorite game, Ticket to Ride.

You have to collect cards to buy train routes between cities, and each player has a goal (secret from the other players) of getting from one city to another. Most of the time, we have great fun. One night, we had a great tantrum. Z's train pieces kept falling off the table the previous night, so the next night we suggested scooting the board a little farther from her. Without allowing us the chance to explain that if she couldn't reach, we'd be happy to move pieces for her (the board is oblong, so the adults had already been doing so for each other), she yanked the board, back, shouted at us, whined, and was an all-purpose brat. Her dad decided he didn't want to play in those circumstances. I tried to coach her on how to change his mind (apologize, talk about how fun it was to play with him, and suggest that she understood now about moving the board). But as is her way, she twisted each part of that into something sarcastic, critical, or mean. So we didn't play. She did, however, spend the next 90 minutes demanding that we do, crying, and generally being unhappy at us.

We played again last night and had a lot of fun. She started to throw a fit that she didn't win, but we sort of talked her down (reminding her that A: she was skillful enough to have come in second in a game with three players and B: it was a sign of respect that we weren't letting her win, but trusting her do do her best and we would do ours). She wandered into her dad's office a few minutes later and I heard her say, "Good game, Dad."

[I left this post as a draft and went to dinner. We came back and played one more game. We were having fun until she did something dumb/dangerous, and then she called her dad a "dummy" so we quit. Ups and downs, I say.]

I took her to The Force Awakens today. She talked incessantly throughout (and stood up, and waved a pretzel bag over her head, surely blocking the view of the people behind her). Nevertheless, I liked the movie. But when we got home, she wanted to spend more time with the neighbor girl, and we asked her to give them a break. She threw a major hissy, so I emergency-called her Grandma and dropped Z off there. When we picked her up a few hours later, we had a nice dinner.

On to the boy! He's so funny -- he really picks up on things quickly sometimes. He found a train whistle and put it to his lips. Then he handed it to me. I blew into it, making the whistle sound. He took it back and tried to blow. It didn't work, so he hummed, "oooh." I took it back and showed him again, kind of exaggerating my movements. He blew it again and it whistled.

He also uses a fork and spoon like nobody's business! I mean, he's not perfect or free of mess, but he gets most of the food to his mouth. Sometimes I even watch him take yogurt or soup and spoon it from one of the two round depressions in his high chair tray to the other -- pretty effectively! He also can put lids on and off of things, figure out the mechanisms on all his toys, climb, and identify chokeables to stick in his mouth from anywhere in the same room.

I was starting to get worried about whether he would ever start walking! He was over fifteen-and-a-half months, and still only ever taking one or two steps at a time. On Christmas Eve, Sweetie and my dad called me over to see that he was taking more like four steps pretty confidently. Still, though... four steps. We went to my uncle's next, and there was one of my cousin's kids, a few months younger than Lochlan. He was walking all over the place. Well out of nowhere, Lochlan started walking around like "This? Oh, yeah, I can do this." Just strolling through the middle of the room.

For a few days afterward, he still chose to crawl everywhere unless we stood him up and said, "go to Daddy!" It helped if we put something in his hands, too. But now he is walking around pretty reliably. He still does this funny knee-walk, too. He's upright, but on his knees. Sometimes he goes straight forward, and other times he scoots sideways.

He might get weaned a lot earlier than his sister. He bites. I don't like it. We either find a solution or we call it a day. Which would be sad. I like the closeness and easy comfort of nursing. But I'm not going to let my right nipple be a martyr to the cause.

He's still not super-verbal, but he has a small vocabulary he employs a lot. And he can say the beginnings of a ton of words -- just today he picked up a Christmas card and I said, "card," and he went "ca!"

He likes pointing out eyes, noses, mouths, ears, and hair. He still notices when anyone is wearing a hat, pointing and announcing "hat, hat!"

His favorite Christmas present was a big ride-in truck, but he is also loving all his other trucks.
Her favorite present is her American Girl doll, called Julie Albright (we were messing with her and told her we thought she was asking for a Madeline Albright doll).

We didn't do much this vacation. My Facebook kept popping up with "hey, two years ago you were in Santa Cruz!" and I was like, "This year I'm on my couch!" We went to Fairytale Town. We played poker on New Year's Eve with friends. We did the holiday stuff. We kept it pretty mellow. Still, I can't believe tomorrow's my last day off. I could use another week.