Oddly comforting words when your neck will only turn one way comfortably and the kids have emptied the kitchen cupboards into an elaborate labyrinth of tupperware and pots in the living room. The list of projects I have unfinished outnumbers the list of projects I do have finished, and my ears are sagging dejectedly (metaphorically of course) from all the depressing news I hear constantly about my kids.
"Jamie should really know how to count to 25 by now " (he can only count to ten).
"Charlie may have to be referred to a specialist for his speech delay. (really? Here we go again)
"Your son (Jamie) has a problem. He refuses to color." (Yes. Tell me something I don't know)
All minor problems, something easily squelched by the magnitude of oh... Death crushed forever. Perspective Esther, get a grip.
Charlie started speech therapy yesterday. It's one of those mommy-and-me type classes and Charlie has struck up a friendship with a little German kid his own age who has a pregnant mom. She chilled comfortably on the floor with her multi colored leg warmers, and knit wool hat like some sort of adorable gnome. I wish I'd had the nerve to dress like that when pregnant... or look as serene while sitting on the floor covered in toddlers.
I get the impression Charlie sort of stresses out the speech pathologist. She followed Charlie around the entire 45 min with a box of tissue. Catching the drool that dripped from his chin and whisking away every toy that got slobberfied each time Charlie snuck one past her and slimed a ball or block. There was an entire box full of toys awaiting for Lysol by the end of the class...all of them there because of Charlie. Maybe I should be concerned. He does drool and slobber an inordinate amount and has done so since the beginning, teething or no teething.
I woke up in the middle of the night to Jamie's little voice cracking as he bravely tried to fight back tears. "Mommy, I'm scared." I told him there was nothing to be scared of and to go back to bed. That's when I felt his arms wrap around my neck. "help me mommy. I love you." Pause. "a lot. " Oh well, shoot. If you put it like that....come on in. Charlie was already in there. It was a rough night in the Ramsey household. Hence the kinked neck this morning. A queen sized bed wasn't made for the UFC fighter that is Charlie when sleeping. Jamie was on the floor next to the bed.
I'm blaming the Easter candy.
The kids and I had fun yesterday taking pictures of our Asian market. You can check them out here, where I wax eloquent with Bethany.
2 comments:
If it makes you feel any better - Connor certainly cannot count to 25. He can barely count to 10 in the right order.
Until last Sunday, Connor had almost zero interest in coloring. It's still not his favorite, but he's discovered he can do a decent drawing of cowboys and Robin Hood (stick figures), so he thinks that's cool.
Why, oh why is refusing to color a problem?
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