Speech Therapy Evaluation

We took a family walk after dinner. Alden lit our way through the twilight with his flashlight. Occassionally I would feel a stab of anxiety and think, “What is that?”

“He exhibited minimal eye contact and did not consistently respond to his name.”

Our neighbor has a new puppy. She was kind enough to suggest we’d be doing the puppy a favor if we let her meet the boys. Delight all around.

“Elliot frequently did not respond.”

Back at home we watched Little Einsteins and raced toy cars. The boys laughed and laughed. So did I, except for when my stomach would suddenly drop a little bit.

“Results of the REEL indicated receptive language at the 2nd percentile with a descriptive rating of poor and expressive language below the 1st percentile with a descriptive rating of very poor.”

Damon and Elliot were just getting started on building a train track when I took Alden down for bed.

“In the initial session, he frequently said ‘look’ but without meaningful intent. He also said ‘ba’ for ball… No other vocalizations or verbalizations were noted during the session.”

Looking back on our walk I realize that Elliot did not make a single sound the whole time.

I dreamed last night that I was watching my boys from the top of a high hill. They ran into the street and I was yelling for someone to get them. No one did, but they still crossed safely to the other side.

Sunday Dinner: Deviled Fried Chicken

There are a few reasons it doesn’t make sense for me to make fried chicken.

I don’t eat chicken.

Damon doesn’t like chicken.

Neither kid has ever had chicken.

I have never fried anything.

Raw chicken is gross.

Still, chicken is something my Dad used to make for me. It was actually his barbecued chicken, which he made on the grill every year for my birthday. At least until I stopped eating meat. That recipe was in his DNA, though, and I can find no written copy.

And if I’m going to jump into this Sunday dinner plan where I work through my Dad’s recipes, I’m not going to make it too far clinging to the produce aisle. I think Dad would have been pleased to be able to say he went his entire life without trying tofu.

I usually like to move in tiny increments. Pick pick pick at that Band Aid. Inch slowly into the pool. For this, though, I decided to go nuclear. No creeping in via grilled salmon or twice-baked potatoes. Chicken. A whole one. From a real chicken.

I went to the market and got an organic, free-range, happy-died-of-old-age chicken carcass (allow me my illusions tonight). I had the butcher cut it up for me and remove the innards. I did manage to take it from there, although I never touched the raw flesh. I am, it seems, quite handy with kitchen tongs.

The batter seemed great. Lots of powdered mustard, onion powder, coriander… interesting things. I learned in researching the recipe that “deviled” is a Southern term for anything highly spiced.

The frying was surpring. Everywhere I expected it to go wrong (batter clumping off, unstable oil temperature, a grease fire that burns down my house) it didn’t.

I didn’t eat the chicken. Neither kid did either, although I offered it. Damon, who doesn’t like chicken, at two pieces. The rest I took to a cookout and left there. Baby steps.

Recipe #2: Deviled Fried Chicken printed from Epicurean.com, sourced from Bon Appetit, August 1998

Star Wars Growth Chart

Internet, I love you so much. Before you there were all these brilliant geeks wandering around and I had no window into their world, no way to enjoy their bright ideas.

Check it out.

It’s a growth chart. Love.

Geeky Dad created this for his daughter, and was generous enough to offer the full-size PDF for download. I sent that over to a print shop and will be picking up our chart as soon as I get back to Knox.

I don’t even know for sure who all those figures are. Darth Vader, Princess Leia and Yoda were enough to make it worth my while. I hope that admission doesn’t make me a geeky growth chart poseur. I don’t want a hoard of cranky Magic: The Gathering players to show up at our house and rip it off the wall.

Can anyone ID the whole chart?

Life List: Go to Disney World With My Mom and the Kids

Writing this one up was a long time coming. We did this last fall, when life was flying at me pretty fast and I was flush up against a total writting logjam.

The whole trip, that whole season, was one long lesson in how there are plans and there is what happens. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

In the run-up to the trip I said the same thing to everyone who asked: “I’m looking forward to watching my kids at Disney. And I’m looking forward to watching my Mom watch my kids at Disney.” I made enormous emotional and financial investments to make it happen.

We had a great trip, but it was not the trip I anticipated.

It was hotter than we thought it would be. Herding both kids proved a big challenge. Elliot was not impressed. Mom didn’t like the crowds or the waits. The best way to cope was often to leave Elliot and Mom to play at the hotel (which was fantastic) while Damon and I took Alden on rides.

It is possible that both Alden and my Mom’s favorite part was riding the monorail. They had a routine down where she would act confused as to when it would start and where it was going, allowing him to guide and reassure her. They had lengthy debates about whether it had wheels (It does. He was right, he would like you to know.). We did many recreational circuits, Alden perched on the back of the seats.

It is possible that my favorite part was the day Mom kept both kids and let me and Damon run around Epcot Center and ride big-kid rides together.

So no, not at all what I imagined.

I did manage, though, to let go of what I was hoping for and enjoy what I was getting.

Also, indulge me in a little before-and-after:

Disney World, February 2009

 

Disney World, September 2010

2009

2010

How Not to Get a Tennessee Driver’s License

I’ve lived in Tennessee for three years and still carry my New York driver’s license. I know this is bad and wrong, but the picture is great. My work ID makes me look like a Molly Ringwald sidekick reject.

Wrapped up in the insult of turning 40 was the fact that the license expired. I’m willing to stretch the law by carrying an out-of-state license, but I’m not going to drive around without a valid one at all. I don’t know what happens to you if you get caught doing that.

So fine. About a week before my birthday I decide to go get my new license. (I did consider flying to New York to renew, but didn’t get my act together fast enough.) What do I need? Two photo ID: check. Old license: check. Proof of residence: check. Certified birth certificate or current passport: Oops.

As an aside: I discovered that my passport was expired when I flew to Chicago with it as my only ID. An expired passport does NOT count as valid ID for TSA purposes.

And where is my birth certificate? Heck if I know. We found everyone’s but mine. And we spent the whole week looking. So by my birthday I was without a valid license and just then calling the vital statistics folks in Ohio. Why didn’t I call right away? Heck if I know.

They were kind enough to get me a replacement very quickly. And so this morning I drove (don’t tell!) over to the DMV. I was so proud to hand over my birth certificate. Then the guy said, “Now I need your old license.” Uh…. Yeah. I didn’t have it and had no idea where it might be.

“I just had it!” is on my family crest.

I blamed Elliot, “Oh my gosh! My toddler was playing with my wallet. He must have taken some cards out.” Total lie.

I called Damon and whispered into my phone, “Help! Help! I can’t find my license. Can you look in my coat pockets/pants pocket/washing machine/couch cushions/refrigerator/any fool place I may stick something?”

Ultimately I admitted defeat.

The license has since been located and I will try again tomorrow morning.