Mark Twain Is My Kind Of Guy

One of my favorite quotations ever, and so so SO apt today:

"In certain trying circumstances, urgent circumstances, desperate circumstances, profanity furnishes a relief denied even to prayer." -Mark Twain

Circumstances have tried my patience massively this week in general and today in particular.  And I have little enough of that virtue to begin with, God knows.  I guess I should just be happy that the kids have not learned any new and unacceptable vocabulary words today.  Time to drink a big glass of wine and hope that tomorrow is less frustrating.   

Irregular English

Reflecting on the fact that the plural of "mouse" is "mice," while the plural of "house" is "houses."  Learning English as a second language must be absolutely infuriating.  So very many exceptions to memorize.  

I studied Mandarin Chinese in grades 7-12.   The first few months were an uphill battle of learning how to use tones in speaking and read an alphabetless language, but after that it wasn't really all that difficult.  It is an old language, so old that it is grammatically simple.  No genders, no tenses, no endings.  It has rules and observes them. 

The university I subsequently attended had only a rudimentary Mandarin program at the time.  Since I had a language requirement to fulfill and did not want to repeat basic Mandarin, I chose to take German instead.  And does it ever have RULES.  Holy cow.  Endings and cases and genders and tenses and I don't even remember what all else.  By virtue of my wandering childhood, I somehow managed to miss out on grammar lessons in English, so most of the grammar I do know came courtesy of my foreign language classes.  And I learned a hell of a lot of that in German.  I actually understood German quite well by the time I was done, but was far too afraid of banging up the grammar to speak it much.

Listening to two small children talking yesterday started this train of thought.  Children who are learning to speak understandably make grammatical errors, in any language.  English-speaking children have the additional hurdle of all the illogical exceptions to master as well.  But fortunately for them, they lack the self-consciousness of the adult who is acutely aware of all the lurking grammatical minefields.

No wonder kids pick up languages faster.

  

Progress. For Which I Am Always Profoundly Grateful.

Thing Two has some learning challenges.  This, combined with his "my-way-or-the-highway" fundamental personality, has made for some rough years.  To put it mildly.

I thought he was the worst two year-old in the history of two year-olds.  Any deviation from routine would provoke a tantrum.  He would not do anything that we asked him to do.  I had to carry him into his preschool every day because he categorically refused to walk in on his own.  I was so very, very far beyond my wits' end, especially since The Girl was a newborn babe and Thing One only four at the time.  I was completely exhausted and hanging on to my sanity by the thinnest of threads. 

I also thought that there was something wrong with his language skills, but the pediatrician kept telling me not to worry.  Thing One was so advanced as a preschooler that I started to wonder if I was just making unfair comparisons.  I finally listened to my inner voice and took Thing Two to the speech and language center at our local hospital for an evaluation when he was about 3.  The speech pathologist told me that the tests showed a profound language deficit--he understood virtually nothing that was being said to him.  No wonder he did not follow directions.  He couldn't process them.  No wonder he didn't want to go to school.  He had no idea what was going on there.  Routine?  The salvation of a child desperately trying to make sense of the world around him.  I began to sob right there in the office.  How could I possibly not have figured this out?  What kind of God-awful horrible mother did that make me? 

Himself and I grieved.  Then we picked ourselves up.  Then we called our local school and fought for services for him.  And I am not exaggerating when I say "fought."  But we got the services he needed there.  And we also get extra services for him on our own.  This has been going on for years now, and our labors are bearing fruit.  

The experts still aren't sure what exactly is wrong with him.   A significant language processing problem, for sure.   Probably some level of ADHD too.  Possibly a spectrum-type diagnosis in the mix as well, although that is looking less and less likely as he gets older.   Maybe a sensory thing, as if the kid needed any more issues.  All of these can intersect and result in similar behavior.

I am with him all day every day.  It's hard for me to see changes since I am too close.  His therapists see him often enough that they don't really notice changes day-to-day either.  His grandparents are actually good judges of his progress, since they don't live near enough to see him often.  But I am always on pins and needles for weeks before his annual visit with the neurodevelopmental pediatrician, because she sees him only once a year and gives us perspective on the whole year's progress.

We saw her today.  She was very pleased.  We are beyond relieved.  He had a great school year last year, far beyond expectations, and her assessment today was consistent with that.  He speaks, he understands.  He participates.  He tries.  Not perfectly by any means, but he is no longer the child who raged in frustration because he couldn't understand others or express himself.  We still have a lot of work to do, and we know that. 

But there is a light at the end of the tunnel now, and it is not a train.   

At Least I Am Not The Only Dork In The House

Himself has bachelor's and master's degrees in Engineering.  He just came downstairs wearing a t-shirt I bought for him last year that made us both laugh.

It is black.  In white block letters on the front, it says:

"Resistance is not futile.
It's voltage divided by current."

One of the great blessings of our marriage is that we still find the same things funny.  Clearly our senses of humor are totally and irrevocably warped, but that's okay.  At least they match.  


“The real marriage of true minds is for any two people to possess a sense of humor or irony pitched in exactly the same key, so that their joint glances on any subject cross like interarching searchlights.”

-Edith Wharton

One of My Heroes

I've been taking martial arts classes for almost a year now.  One of my instructors is a very devout Muslim woman of Egyptian heritage who always wears a hijab (headscarf) and long sleeves.  She is actually married to the local imam (Muslim leader.) 

To put it mildly, NOT whom you would be expecting to see as a black belt-wearing instructor at the dojo.  And this woman is fierce as hell and tough as nails.  I am tall and she is not but she would absolutely kick my tail in a real fight.  In addition to the discipline she teaches, she is also a student of two other disciplines, one of which is fricking Krav Maga!  In the immortal words of Dave Barry, I am not making this up. 

She is also positively overflowing with personality.  In the best possible way.  She has been known to attach holiday lights to her hijabs, and everything the woman owns is bedazzled.  You should see her phone.  Even her bowstaff is covered with purple crystals.  Probably her nunchuks too.

I just had to ask her how she got into martial arts. 

Her answer was simple: she wanted to show her preadolescent daughter that the headscarf does not limit her.  That she can be an observant Muslim while still participating in whatever activities interest her, even activities as nontraditional as martial arts. 

She rocks.  I want to be like her when I grow up.


 

More Murphy's Law

So, I posted some thoughts on Murphy's Law here yesterday.

It has now become clear that I am going to have to deal with it whether I am running late or not.

My roof is being replaced today.  The house sounds like it is under siege with all the banging and stomping up there.  The Hound is cowering in her crate and refuses to come out.

It was bad enough that the A/C repairman also had to come to the house this morning.  We lost a capacitor over the weekend and they could replace the part today.  Fine.  It was a quick repair, and it's hot outside.  The job needed doing.  The repairman's job description should not properly include the dodging of flying projectiles, but at least most of the old shingles are being tossed off the roof away from the side of the house where the A/C units live.  And he has a good sense of humor.  No small blessing.  The A/C is now working, thankfully.

However, the final straw came when there was a break in the pounding from above and I heard the unmistakable sound of a weedwhacker in my yard.

Now, the lawn guys have not been here for about two weeks.  They work on a system where they just keep track of what the yard looks like and come whenever the grass needs cutting and the weather permits, so they have no regular date or time.  I never know when they will show up.

My entire driveway is currently full, between the roofing trucks and a dumpster.  My car is down by the road so I can use it if I need to.  There are piles of debris and stacks of shingles and ladders and tools everywhere.  A series of tarps descending from the edge of my roof are collectively covering a good chunk of my front lawn. 

I ask you:  What part of this scenario would say to any reasonable lawn guy: "Looks like a great day to mow this yard!"  Seriously??  I cannot F'ing believe that they are even trying.  I gather that the head lawn guy has come to some mutually acceptable arrangement with the roofers.  I don't have the energy to mediate, and the lawn guys were well into the job already by the time I heard them.  What the hell?

Roofers and the A/C guy and the lawn guys all at once.  In the spirit of this day, I am now just waiting for the guy who was supposed to come on Friday to powerwash the house (but didn't) to decide that he will do it today instead and show up unannounced.  Which task is just not physically possible with all the tarps in place.  If he arrives, I solemnly swear that I will either blow my stack or start in on Himself's wine supply, which is blessedly abundant.

Murphy's Law can bite me.

Early Birds and Night Owls

I haven't used an alarm clock in years.

Thing One wakes up every morning at 6AM.  He has some kind of internal alarm.  It makes no difference what time he's gone to bed or whether the sun is up.  He has (finally) learned to be relatively quiet in getting up and going downstairs, but it took a while to get there.  It's not his fault that I still usually hear him and wake up--I have ears like a hawk after listening for three babies in the night for so many years.  (And under pain of death, he is not to go downstairs until the hour hand on his bedroom clock reaches the 6 under any circumstances!)

Thing Two wakes up between 6 and 6:30.  Unlike his brother, he can be relied upon to wake the dead.  RattleRATTLErattleRATTLE (the stairway banister) followed by the THUMPthumpTHUMPthumpTHUMPthump of clomping feet on the wooden hallway floor.  If I was not already awake, this does it.  The only blessing is that I no longer have to get up with the boys immediately.  I lie in bed, catch up with my blogs and the news on my laptop, and mentally gird my loins for another day.  When I've mustered the necessary energy, I go downstairs, see to The Hound, and get the day started.  This involves much coffee.

The Girl, like her parents, is a night owl.  (The boys take after their paternal grandfather, who is up before the birds.)  Left to our own devices, we would go to bed very late and then sleep in.  Since the whole sleeping in thing does not happen (see above), it takes the three of us a while to get going in the morning.  The Girl usually comes stumbling down the stairs around 7:15, grumbling about her brothers and their racket. 

I'm told that eventually my sons will start to sleep in.  I hear that happens when they hit the teenage years.  And I can't wait.  Why?

Because our regional high school starts its school days at 7:30.  And the school buses pick up around 6:30 out here.  I will enjoy getting to wake THEM up every day.  Payback is sweet.