- I read an average sized paperback book in 3-4 hours. This sounds wonderful until you realize how quickly I can blow through a $40, 5-book series and how long I have to wait for the next installment to be published.
- I'm a cat person. Aside from two years in a college dorm, I've never lived without a cat. Currently, we have four. (I also adore ferrets. I owned one in graduate school and refuse to get rid of the cage just in case we have room for another at some point in the future.)
- When we were young, I once told a cousin that I was going to have eight children. I believe the assertion had something to do with why he should sit in the middle of the back seat and cede the preferred door seat to me. (Don't ask.) He likes to periodically ask me when I'm going to deliver the additional six children he had been promised.
- I'm fairly short - 5'1". My first job post graduate school was in a middle school and the children would often mistake me for another student in the halls.
- I have an inexplicable love of sharpies. I recently told my husband that a bouquet of sharpies would be much superior to a bouquet of flowers.
A Speech Pathologist Mother and Her Daughter Diagnosed with Childhood Apraxia of Speech
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Quick Trivia
I'm pressed for time, and so in lieu of a full post here's five quick fairly random trivia facts about me.
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Saturday, August 18, 2012
What Came Out When I Let My Mouth Run on Autopilot
Forgive me while I take a few paragraphs to properly set the scene. I am blessed. My children still nap every afternoon. It takes some effort though. We go upstairs together at 2pm. If necessary we change into comfortable clothes, potty, and read books. Then I let Michael play independently in his room while I sing Ava to sleep. This can take anywhere from 10-20 minutes. Then she's out for the next hour and a half. If I don't stay with her until she falls asleep, she'll play and skip the nap altogether.
This works out well because Michael runs off some excess energy while playing in his room waiting for me to finish with Ava. Once I close Ava's door leaving her sleeping peacefully I slip into Michael's room where he's usually so busy in imaginary play that he doesn't even notice me come in. I tuck him under his covers and sing him to sleep too. That takes another 15-20 minutes, but then he's also out for the next hour and a half.
From the time I go upstairs with both children to the time I make it back downstairs it is usually a full hour. Then I usually have an hour to myself (hello blog post) and the children have a much calmer evening than they would have without the nap.
So, a few days ago, when I slipped into Michael's room he was kneeling on the floor facing the door to his room. I could tell something was up because he was wide-eyed with that "you caught me" look on his face. Also, he was completely silent. My brain hadn't quite caught up with my immediate sense of suspicion enough to voice a question when his mouth opened and a river of marbles spilled out. Seriously - it seemed like a neverending stream of marbles spilled out of his mouth onto the floor followed by one or two stragglers spit out for good measure at the end.
My heart sank down into the general vicinity of my stomach while the speech-path in the back of my mind gibbered about the diameter of the trachea and what could have happened if he had inhaled sharply when I opened the door, or coughed, or sneezed, or tried to talk to me before spitting out all those marbles. The calm part of me shut off. All rational thought was completely absent. I wasn't even mad. I didn't even come close to losing my temper. I am completely unaware of making any decisions about what I was going to do next. I was on some kind of autopilot.
Michael knew there was trouble. He was spewing about 80 kinds of "I'm sorry mama." at me, but I knew he was just telling me what I wanted to hear. I pulled the door shut quietly behind me and I sank down on my knees and asked him to come see me. I pulled him in my lap wrapping my arms around his still breathing body and tucking his head under my chin for a moment. Then I looked him right in his eyes and I picked up one of the 12 to 15 marbles scattered about us and showed it to him.
I told him that marbles were the exact same size as his windpipe. I told him that if he had coughed, or stumbled, or sneezed, or tried to talk, or put one too many in his mouth they would have slipped right into his windpipe and kept him from breathing and he would have died. I told him that I wouldn't have even been able to hear him because I was in Ava's room singing to her. I told him he wouldn't have even been able to call me for help because his windpipe would have been blocked off. I told him I would have come in to sing him his songs and he would have been dead. I told him to never, never, never put marbles in his mouth again - NEVER. I told him mommies only give big boys marbles because big boys know better than to put their toys in their mouths. And then I hugged him, wiped away a few of his tears, tucked him in, and sang him to sleep.
He'll be five in November. He's not a baby any more. He never puts toys in his mouth. He's had free access to marbles for months now. What on earth was he thinking?!?!?! I realize that telling a four year old that they could have died because of their actions was perhaps not my most well thought out parenting moment, but to be honest, I don't regret it. It was a serious moment. It could have had life-altering consequences. I needed to kick him out of the automatic "sorry" mode and into a more serious "think about what you've done and really see it with open eyes" mode. I think it worked. But I'll be seeing that river of marbles every time I close my eyes for the next month.
This works out well because Michael runs off some excess energy while playing in his room waiting for me to finish with Ava. Once I close Ava's door leaving her sleeping peacefully I slip into Michael's room where he's usually so busy in imaginary play that he doesn't even notice me come in. I tuck him under his covers and sing him to sleep too. That takes another 15-20 minutes, but then he's also out for the next hour and a half.
From the time I go upstairs with both children to the time I make it back downstairs it is usually a full hour. Then I usually have an hour to myself (hello blog post) and the children have a much calmer evening than they would have without the nap.
So, a few days ago, when I slipped into Michael's room he was kneeling on the floor facing the door to his room. I could tell something was up because he was wide-eyed with that "you caught me" look on his face. Also, he was completely silent. My brain hadn't quite caught up with my immediate sense of suspicion enough to voice a question when his mouth opened and a river of marbles spilled out. Seriously - it seemed like a neverending stream of marbles spilled out of his mouth onto the floor followed by one or two stragglers spit out for good measure at the end.
My heart sank down into the general vicinity of my stomach while the speech-path in the back of my mind gibbered about the diameter of the trachea and what could have happened if he had inhaled sharply when I opened the door, or coughed, or sneezed, or tried to talk to me before spitting out all those marbles. The calm part of me shut off. All rational thought was completely absent. I wasn't even mad. I didn't even come close to losing my temper. I am completely unaware of making any decisions about what I was going to do next. I was on some kind of autopilot.
Michael knew there was trouble. He was spewing about 80 kinds of "I'm sorry mama." at me, but I knew he was just telling me what I wanted to hear. I pulled the door shut quietly behind me and I sank down on my knees and asked him to come see me. I pulled him in my lap wrapping my arms around his still breathing body and tucking his head under my chin for a moment. Then I looked him right in his eyes and I picked up one of the 12 to 15 marbles scattered about us and showed it to him.
I told him that marbles were the exact same size as his windpipe. I told him that if he had coughed, or stumbled, or sneezed, or tried to talk, or put one too many in his mouth they would have slipped right into his windpipe and kept him from breathing and he would have died. I told him that I wouldn't have even been able to hear him because I was in Ava's room singing to her. I told him he wouldn't have even been able to call me for help because his windpipe would have been blocked off. I told him I would have come in to sing him his songs and he would have been dead. I told him to never, never, never put marbles in his mouth again - NEVER. I told him mommies only give big boys marbles because big boys know better than to put their toys in their mouths. And then I hugged him, wiped away a few of his tears, tucked him in, and sang him to sleep.
He'll be five in November. He's not a baby any more. He never puts toys in his mouth. He's had free access to marbles for months now. What on earth was he thinking?!?!?! I realize that telling a four year old that they could have died because of their actions was perhaps not my most well thought out parenting moment, but to be honest, I don't regret it. It was a serious moment. It could have had life-altering consequences. I needed to kick him out of the automatic "sorry" mode and into a more serious "think about what you've done and really see it with open eyes" mode. I think it worked. But I'll be seeing that river of marbles every time I close my eyes for the next month.
Friday, August 17, 2012
The Weekly Review: Week 73
SLP Resource of the Week
If you're looking for more picture prompts by phoneme, Caroline Bowen's website has a wide selection of worksheets with picture prompts. The page sorts phonemes by manner of production (stops, fricatives, etc.). Scroll down to the phoneme you're looking for and click on the link and it will bring up a multi-page .pdf with pictures and words for that phoneme. Many of the words are CVC in syllable shape. Some of the words include vocalic /r/ and final consonant blends. Still, this is a great resource if you're looking for a phoneme I don't have or to supplement your collection for a specific phoneme.Ava this Week
Ava started "big girl school" this week. She does beautifully when being dropped off. She seems to enjoy her day and will share something simple about what happened at school when asked. So far, she's melting down at pick up though. The teachers, understandably, want the children to line up when they get outside rather than scattering in every direction instantly running to find their parents. That would be a dangerous recipe sure to end up with a lost child. Ava hates seeing me and not being able to run over to me immediately. She bursts into tears every time. I need to remind her when I drop her off about the class rule for pickup time. Perhaps she just needs more mental preparation?Weekly Michael
It is like "boy" is bubbling out of every square inch of skin lately. All of a sudden, it's all about making rude noises and thinking it's funny, pretending things are weapons, crashing toys into each other or the floor, and talking at three times the speed and volume necessary for any given situation. How long does this stage last exactly? Where did it come from and how do I return it?Weekly Weight Loss
Things have been much more on schedule this week both in life and trundling along on the calorie tracking plan. This week I'm down. 1.2 pounds. I was looking back over the past 7 1/2 weeks. 7.5 weeks is how long I've been tracking my weight accurately. Over the past 7.5 weeks I've lost 6.5 pounds. Given that I'm eating about the minimum an adult should eat in calories a day, and I haven't yet managed to dig up the time, energy, motivation, or willpower to increase my activity levels that's about as high a rate of weight loss as I could reasonably expect. And so, success. At this reasonable rate of weight loss I only have to keep this up until the end of the year to reach my target. Then I get to tackle the issue of maintenance. It is humbling to realize that I've been consistent for over two months and it takes months and months of consistent work to take off weight that sneaks on so easily. I'm trying to keep a positive attitude that this is a learning and recalibration experience that will reap long-term benefits.
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