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 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.