Christmas on Tuesday
"Where go?" Hands turned toward the sky, a little boy's face looks up at me in earnestness, eyes searching for a sister and an answer. We erupt.
"Girls? Girls? Did you..."
"I heard it!" exclaims an excited big sister's voice from the bathroom.
We all heard it. Clear as day. The boy turned to his mama, looked at her, and said. "Where go?" Just like that, with all the sounds in their proper places. And it was like Christmas.
For the record, we've also heard, "More book," nearly as clear.
And on the not so clear side, we often get, "Whas dat?" and a small cache of other words and phrases we've come to recognize as more than babble.
But that night, when he looked up at me with no prompting at all and asked the question that begged the knowledge of where his big sister hid and it was perfectly, perfectly clear, I cried to tell his Daddy later that night.
"Are you crying,?" Mark laughed.
"Yes and don't tease me!" I grinned. Because we expected our daughters to talk, we never doubted they would, and they did, so, so early. We never worried if their words would grow clear or always require translation for the uninitiated. And there are parents who raise their hands at the conferences we attend and they say with the struggle thick in their voices, "My son is four. He still doesn't babble." So we knew well in advance that words would come slowly (if they came at all), that clarity would elude. And this work of teaching our small one to talk, it's a family affair. Every. single. one-of-us works with that little boy every. single. day. His sisters are the best teachers, drawing sounds out of their brother when mom and dad and speech therapist fail to persuade him to try just once more. How we wants to do what they do!
We may not hear anything that clear again for weeks or months. But it's there. He has things to say. And someday soon, he'll be saying them.
Friday at the doctor, I chatted with his dermatologist making a plan with her about how to handle the latest outbreak of eczema and there that little boy sat, having filled his pants and the room with stink, oblivious to my embarrassment, chatting along with us, hands waving in the air and gesturing to the beat of his own fluent babbling.
"Well, don't you have a lot to say!" smiled the doctor. And Mr. Chatty went right on pontificating.
Today in Nursery, a little friend held up a puzzle piece shaped like a skunk. "PU," said our little friend. To which K replied in sign language, "Dirty!"
The loose ends--the isolated sounds, the sign language, the babble--they're all coming together to meet at the center. He understands what talking and signing are for. He wants to communicate with the people in his sphere. He grasps the give and take of conversation.
Another gift given, another received with open hand. We are grateful.
"Girls? Girls? Did you..."
"I heard it!" exclaims an excited big sister's voice from the bathroom.
We all heard it. Clear as day. The boy turned to his mama, looked at her, and said. "Where go?" Just like that, with all the sounds in their proper places. And it was like Christmas.
For the record, we've also heard, "More book," nearly as clear.
And on the not so clear side, we often get, "Whas dat?" and a small cache of other words and phrases we've come to recognize as more than babble.
But that night, when he looked up at me with no prompting at all and asked the question that begged the knowledge of where his big sister hid and it was perfectly, perfectly clear, I cried to tell his Daddy later that night.
"Are you crying,?" Mark laughed.
"Yes and don't tease me!" I grinned. Because we expected our daughters to talk, we never doubted they would, and they did, so, so early. We never worried if their words would grow clear or always require translation for the uninitiated. And there are parents who raise their hands at the conferences we attend and they say with the struggle thick in their voices, "My son is four. He still doesn't babble." So we knew well in advance that words would come slowly (if they came at all), that clarity would elude. And this work of teaching our small one to talk, it's a family affair. Every. single. one-of-us works with that little boy every. single. day. His sisters are the best teachers, drawing sounds out of their brother when mom and dad and speech therapist fail to persuade him to try just once more. How we wants to do what they do!
We may not hear anything that clear again for weeks or months. But it's there. He has things to say. And someday soon, he'll be saying them.
Friday at the doctor, I chatted with his dermatologist making a plan with her about how to handle the latest outbreak of eczema and there that little boy sat, having filled his pants and the room with stink, oblivious to my embarrassment, chatting along with us, hands waving in the air and gesturing to the beat of his own fluent babbling.
"Well, don't you have a lot to say!" smiled the doctor. And Mr. Chatty went right on pontificating.
Today in Nursery, a little friend held up a puzzle piece shaped like a skunk. "PU," said our little friend. To which K replied in sign language, "Dirty!"
The loose ends--the isolated sounds, the sign language, the babble--they're all coming together to meet at the center. He understands what talking and signing are for. He wants to communicate with the people in his sphere. He grasps the give and take of conversation.
Another gift given, another received with open hand. We are grateful.
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