Upside down and feelin' alright

I wanted to write something here each day this week. But honestly, the world feels upside down at the moment and I have trouble finding the words. I am truly "filled with astonishment and perplexity," as the Thesaurus tells me. I am dumbfounded.

On Tuesday I had the following conversation with the boy (and by conversation, I mean that we wrote back and forth. No words are actually exchanged):

Me: Oliver, I think I found a piano instructor for you. You can start next week. Do you still want to learn to play?
Oliver: Yes!
Me: Is there any particular kind of music you would like to learn?
Oliver: Dobussey.
Me: Where did you hear that?!
Oliver: On the radio.
Me: Do you think it will be hard?
Oliver: Yes.
Me: Well, I think you are going to be a wonderful musician!
Oliver: Thank you.

So there are moments like this punctuating our day nearly every day. It seems difficult to believe that not very long ago I wasn't sure that Oliver knew his last name or how old he was. I wasn't all that certain that he even knew the alphabet. Oh sure, he could sing the alphabet song, but from one day to the next he couldn't seem to recall the names of letters or the sounds they made on the printed page.

Perhaps the most meaningful moments, though, are the ones that help me understand how to help him. Today, for instance, we had the following exchange:

Me: Oliver, why are you so upset?
Oliver: I'm mad.
Me. Why are you mad?
Oliver: I don't want to type anymore. It's hard!
Me: Do you think it will get easier with practice?
Oliver: Yes.
Me: So are you willing to practice again later?
Oliver: Yes.
Me: What do you want to do now?
Oliver: I want to read a book.
Me: With me or by yourself.
Oliver: By myself.

Of course, I probably could have figured out that Oliver was upset about the typing. He had worked hard and needed a break. But it felt so wonderful to be able to say something that directly, for sure, addressed what he was feeling: This typing thing is hard!!! And I could reassure him: Don't worry, it will get easier! In the past I might have made all kinds of assumptions about why he was upset and what would make him feel better: a snack, a walk, some other activity. But I had no way of knowing if I was even close to addressing the real issue. But now he can tell me: I just want to be left alone.

And here's another little bit to the story that I love -- He lied! He did not want to read a book. He just wanted to be alone and zone out on his bed but I'm assuming he thought that it would be more acceptable to me if he, you know, took a book with him! 

So, yes, the world feels pretty upside down at the moment. It's not all rosey. There are some bumps along the way. We've all got nine and a half years of learned behavior to consider and reconsider. But overall, I'd have to say that upside down feels pretty alright.

Finding our words

I'm struggling to find the words to describe how things are unfolding with Oliver. Let's be honest: it is nothing short of amazing. Here was a boy with few words. 100 maybe? 200? They were the ones he needed. He could say: "Can I have some water?"  with support but usually the single word "Water!" was enough to get what he wanted.

Within the space of three weeks I now find myself having complex conversations with this same kid. Where did I put all those exclamation points? Cause that's a sentence that certainly deserves one!!

And what do we talk about? Everything. And nothing much. Turns out they are pretty much the same thing. Think about the conversations you had with your spouse and your kids this morning. You traded all the information you needed. You talked about your thoughts, ideas, feelings and opinions. The weather. Lunch plans. What to have for breakfast.  But it all probably didn't amount to much. Most of the time we lead pretty mundane lives. So maybe that's why I sometimes forget to use my exclamation points -- because in some ways it all seems so normal.

And yet? Wow!!!! Our normal at the moment is so profound! All these years I had tried to get inside Oliver's head, to figure out his thoughts, ideas, feelings and opinions -- but really, there is just so much 100 words can convey. And now? He can tell me that the kid at the park shouted at him to go away and that it made him feel bad but that he just ignored it. He can tell me that he likes swimming in the ocean and that he also likes oatmeal but he is kind of sick of it right now and definitely doesn't want to eat it for breakfast again.

And he can tell me that he also knows how to add, subtract and multiply because: "I saw it in one of RT's books. .... when I was about five." And when I stare at him in wonder and disbelief he can also say "I'm just really smart, Mom." 

He can also tell me that he prefers writing because when he speaks he has a hard time finding his words. And these days I kinda have a glimpse into how that feels.

ps: If you're reading this, don't feel shy about leaving a comment! I'd love to hear from you. Blogging is lonely with no comments!!!

There's more than one way to read a book

The more time I spend with Oliver trying to figure out what he knows the more amazed I become. Amazed isn't even the right word. There is no word big enough to describe what it feels like to "discover" anew this kid who has been by my side practically every day for the past nine and a half years!

It seems that the boy has a photographic memory but I'm still not clear what that means in terms of what he understands about what he is viewing. If you hand Oliver a book and open it to any page he can summarize the content after a mere glance at it. I wondered what kind of texts this would work with so I have given him a variety of things from books of children's poetry to dense children's encyclopedias about dinosaurs. In every case he has been able to summarize or paraphrase what he has seen.

So, why am I only now discovering that my boy can read? It's a question I've been thinking about and trying not to think about for the past couple of weeks. I feel a huge sense of failure for not realizing this sooner. In our homeschooling this year we've focused on the Bob Book series and truthfully I felt so good about Oliver's growing ability  to read these. Now I see that his real work wasn't in reading the books, it was in reading them aloud. How frustrating this must have been for him!! His ability to read far exceeds his ability to speak. Even now, once he writes something he cannot usually go back and read aloud what he has written. Speech and decoding written language apparently call on two different parts of the brain. I'm only just beginning to understand this.

I'm also a bit amused and chagrined to think of all the times I wished that Oliver would just sit and look at a book. Many, many times I scolded him for not really looking at a book when I asked him to. I can hear myself now: "Oliver, will you please just look at this book for five minutes while I (insert some inane cleaning activity here)?!" Then I would become frustrated as I watched Oliver flip through a book at the speed of light. He probably wondered why it takes everyone else so LONG to look through a book!

Making up for lost punctuation!!!!

I wrote yesterday's post at the end of a long, tiring day. I promised myself that I would finish it before going to sleep and ended up staying up much later than usual to do it. Pushing the publish button for the first time in so long felt strange. And exhilarating. Discovering what is going on inside Oliver is like winning the lottery, Christmas morning and sitting at the top of a very tall roller coaster drop all at the same time. Nik and I have been looking at each other in wonder a lot lately. "Did he really just write that?" "Can you believe he knows that?" "Wow!!"

 But when I re-read the post again just now I wondered where I put all the exclamation points? I mean, let's face it: that form of punctuation was made for stories like the one I am telling. So to make up for yesterday, let me just say: We are having conversations with my boy!!!!!!!!!! He taught himself to read!!!!!!! He can write!!!!!!! At nine he has finally found a way to communicate!!!!!!! There should be something better than an explanation point for those sentences, don't you think?

So anyway, we are having lots and lots of conversations around here. I'm constantly shoving a piece of paper and a marker in front of my boy. Frequently he writes things like: "Go away now!" "Leave me alone!" "I don't want to write anymore!!" and "I just want to play Doodle Jump." But there are also wonderful conversations like this one:

Me: Oliver, tell me about your day.
Oliver: It was a great day.
Me: Why? What was so great?
Oliver: I rode my bike with Papi and we went to Fridleys Gap for a hike.

Or this one:
Me: Papi wants to go for a bike ride. Do you want to go?
Oliver: Yes.
Me: Where would you like to go on your bike?
Oliver: One of JMU or EMU
Me: Would you like to go just with Papi or with the whole family?
Oliver: With the whole family.
Me: Then you'd better ask Sami if he wants to go.
Oliver: Sami, will you go for a bike ride with us?

Just everyday regular dialog between a mom and her son. Nothing profound is being said but the saying of it is the most profound thing I've ever experienced.

Echoing Oliver

I wish you could hear Oliver talk. I wish you could hear the way he manages to get it all out, but slowly and only with me asking him and then repeating each and every word as he says it. It is laborious. A process every time.

"Oliver," I say as he hands me his plate with half a sandwich still remaining, "is there something you want to say?"

"I. don't. want. to. eat. that. I'm. finished."

Or, when he gets up half-way through the video game he is playing with his brother and I call him back: "What's going on little man?" and he says: "I. don't. want. to. play. anymore."

At dinner when he hungrily looks up from his nearly empty plate there is: "I. want. to. have. some. more. noodles." And later: "I'm. full."

He can say it. The words are there, but he waits to hear my words echo back to him. If I don't he loses steam and trails off into nothing.

I encourage and cajole. Anything to get him to turn his thoughts from silence into words.

Yesterday when we were out raking leaves and despite the cold Oliver took off his sweater. In the spirit of letting him decide for himself I didn't interfere. Then, a half-hour later he picked up the sweater from where it had landed on the back deck and handed it to me saying (without the need for me to repeat it back to him): "I'm cold. I want to put my sweater on." Just like that; full of the glory of pronouns.

He's still mostly quiet and, like almost everyone else in the house, lost in the wake of the verbal typhoon that is Sami. He is pointing now, to everything, with ease and without prompts. We play the pointing game every time we go to get Sami from school and the words are there. "I see a big truck." "I see the sky." "I see a house." I wish someone could tell me what his language would look like in a year, five years or ten. But for now it feels like we're getting somewhere.

For now I let it be enough.

A bedtime story.

As the boys are ready to snuggle down into their giant shared bed, with me in the middle, I remind them:

"Don't forget to pick out a book for me to read."

Oliver and Sami both make their way over to the crammed bookshelf. Oliver looks for 2.3 seconds and chooses an old favorite. Sami takes longer, looking for a book about submarines that I don't remember.

The boys finally take their place on either side of me, I draw the comforter up high and tuck it in under all our chins, for the house is chilly with November, then I begin to read. After just three words Oliver begins to get up. I stop him and ask:

"Don't you want me to read the book?"

"Yes," he replies. But I know I haven't asked the right question because "Yes" doesn't tell me what is on his mind.

Then he offers: "I want to go downstairs."

"Why?" I ask.

"Why." He repeats back.

So I help by getting him started: "I want to go downstairs and get. ..." I lead, even though I know I'm not supposed to lead him in this way.

But he finishes my sentence with: "A ball." Only I can't be sure if that is what he said because Ls are hard and I scratch my head trying to think of what he could mean.

"What?"

Then he says: "Read the book." Ah, I think, he meant book, not ball. He was looking at a book about museums earlier and we left it by the couch.

"OK, sweetie. Go ahead and get the book but be quick. It's late."

And he is off and I hold my breath hoping that he doesn't get distracted once he is downstairs. Hoping that he remembers where the book is in the living room. Hoping that he comes right back upstairs so I don't have to call him. I hate calling him. I hear his feet on the steps. At eight he weighs eighty pounds and has never walked anywhere lightly. "Please," I pray silently to myself, "let him have the book." Let him have the book.

And then he rounds the corner into his room and I see he is holding a large blue ball. He carefully places it near the edge of his side of the bed and climbs back under the covers saying, "Read the book."

Okay, then.

It all began with the bubble wrap

Remember awhile back when I posted this link to the bubble wrap website? Oliver had taken quite a liking to it and I predicted that soon he would have the mouse/cursor thing figured out. I had, from time to time, tried to get the boy to use the computer but learning how to use the mouse or track pad did not come easily to my boy who really struggles with eye-hand coordination. But I was right about the bubble wrap and learning this skill opened up a whole new world in terms of computer-based learning.

We own a couple of copies of Rosetta Stone language learning software -- I'm perpetually trying to learn German (and I'm actually making headway these days, danke!) so that one day I can actually converse with my mother-in-law. And RT studied Spanish throughout high school. If you aren't familiar with Rosetta Stone, it is marketed as the "Dynamic Immersion method." And now that I'm using the new, online learning system, I have to say that it is pretty remarkable. You never really have a grammar lesson but you are gradually introduced to more and more complex language through reading, writing, speaking and visuals. (And the pictures? They are goregous!) So, for a long time, I thought it would be cool to see how Oliver would do using the English learning software. But since he didn't have the cursor thing worked out it didn't make sense to try.

Last Friday we finally sat down to try. And do you know what? I was amazed at how Oliver breezed through the initial parts. Intuitively he knew what to do each time a response was required from him -- either speaking or matching a picture to a verbally given description. The verbs and the colors are easy. He does have trouble distinguishing between, for example, "woman" and "women", "he" and "she" but does usually get "they".

What is really cool about the program is that it gives me another little window into what Oliver understands and what he doesn't. Also, it was gratifying to see that he picked up the system right away -- no explaining necessary. Some of the content is hard for him but he LOVES sitting at the computer and going through the lessons. And every time he gets one right his face just completely lights up and he turns to me as if to say: "See, Mom? I get it! I know the answer!"

Kind of makes me realize for about the one thousandth time that usually it is all about how we ask the questions!

A little homefront update: language and sleep

Someone asked me today why I think the words -- the sentences -- are coming easier for Oliver. And there is no doubt that it is getting easier for him. When Oliver becomes distressed during the course of any day I remind him that he can tell me what is wrong and then there it is: "I want a turn." "I feel hungry. I want to eat." "I want to go upstairs and get dressed." "I want to have that." "I want Sami to stop it." "I'm full. I don't want to eat that." "I want to put my bathing suit on and I need help."

I don't know, really, why everything seems to be coming together for my boy. But I do know that his receptive language has reached a point where there is no doubt that he understands almost every single thing that is said to him. I am sure of this because I have purposefully grown less careful in how I communicate. I am less explicit. For example, the other day we were collecting our milk from the farm, I had taken about a dozen steps from the milking shed with my arms full when I mentally noted that I forgotten to close the door behind me. "Oh, shoot!" I said. Then, pointing with my pursed lips in the direction of the door, I asked: "Oliver, could you get that for me?" Without missing a beat Oliver walked back to the building and closed the door. Then, later, Oliver closed his car door and started to buckle himself in without noticing that the door didn't latch all the way. From outside the car I said: "I don't think that did the trick!" In one fluid motion, Oliver looked up, saw what I was talking about and closed the door more securely. There are more examples, I'm sure (like telling him to skootch over when I wanted to sit, then having him do just that!) but these are the ones that come to mind.

Oliver is also -- unbelievably -- still sleeping through the night. We had a couple of rough weeks this summer when I wondered if our lucky streak had ended. But I think that had more to do with the copious amounts of pool water that Oliver was drinking every day! It took us some time to get that sorted out and soon we were back to sleeping all night every blessed night. It feels like we've won the lottery. Seriously.

I don't know what to think about all this wonderful language that we've been hearing. Obviously, Oliver is still greatly impaired when it comes to his ability to communicate. He still struggles. A lot. But hearing these words, these sentences, come forth has allowed a little blossom of hope to grow and I can almost imagine the day when we will have a conversation. 

The Tomato Post -- that wasn't. Or, About a boy and his words.

So, I'll bet you thought this post was going to be about how we to took that gazillion pounds of tomatoes and handily whipped up giant batches of sauce and salsa that will keep us going all winter, right? Um, yeah. Well,  instead, it is about how I begin to hyperventilate every time I go near the kitchen and catch a sight of these angry veggies staring back at me:

What was I thinking? And there is at least that much again on the vine outside. I ought to have my head examined! Clearly I am a warped individual.

But instead of persevarating on the tomatoes, I'll tell you a nice little story about a mostly non-verbal little boy. Oliver, it seems is figuring out this communication thing. And it is happening in great, giant, delicious bursts. Full sentences like: "I want to sit here. Get up." and "Sami, I want to draw pictures." and, "Papi, can I have a quarter?" And my personal favorite (said while handing me a plate full of green beans): "I don't want to eat this. I want chips with cheese."

All of Oliver's words and sentences are said slowly, with space in between the words, in which I imagine the words and the sounds traveling some complicated neural backwoods road. But they are finding their way out and he is making himself understood. For a boy of almost eight, a boy who once could not produce a single word, it feels like we are nearing some mountaintop of achievement.

It makes me think anything is possible. And that, my friends, is a very nice feeling.