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.