"Another book, please, and not the last one."
"Really." As in "really good" the modifier or "really?" the question. (Okay, this could be from us.)
"Look, it's a Caldecott." You know, the ALA medal for achievement in children's picture books? He recognizes the sticker.
"What's this?" he asked me, pointing at his Dr. Seuss map book.
"Longitude," I said.
"This is latitude," he said, pointing at the next picture.
"Night is falling." No idea where this one came from.
He's also singing more now, including: the "This is Halloween" song from The Nightmare Before Christmas and "It's a Small World."
Showing posts with label speech. Show all posts
Showing posts with label speech. Show all posts
Monday, October 05, 2009
Saturday, March 14, 2009
"I did it!"
This is A's new phrase, which is fabulous, three words, two pronouns. His speech teacher's thrilled because he's now initiating three word sentences, some with subject-verb-object ("Daddy push truck") construction, instead of three words as verb-noun with modifier ("Push big truck" or "Push truck fast"). This is a Very Big Deal around here. We're pushing him for more around here, but he's doing really well.
He does have an ear infection, which we're in the process of trying to clear up, and then it's back to the doctor to see if he has any fluid in his ears, which would mean a referral to the ears-nose-throat doctor.
A is very sweet and lovey these days, lots of kisses and hugs and cuddles. So adorable, really.
This week he announced to me that he wanted to make cookies and took a cookie cookbook off the shelf. So I showed him the pictures in the Betty Crocker Cooky Book, he picked a cookie out from the pictures, and we made cookies. I'm the mommy and we make cookies, even when the mommy's trying the 30-day Shred and is hopped up on arnica and Advil.
He does have an ear infection, which we're in the process of trying to clear up, and then it's back to the doctor to see if he has any fluid in his ears, which would mean a referral to the ears-nose-throat doctor.
A is very sweet and lovey these days, lots of kisses and hugs and cuddles. So adorable, really.
This week he announced to me that he wanted to make cookies and took a cookie cookbook off the shelf. So I showed him the pictures in the Betty Crocker Cooky Book, he picked a cookie out from the pictures, and we made cookies. I'm the mommy and we make cookies, even when the mommy's trying the 30-day Shred and is hopped up on arnica and Advil.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Progress reports
Yes, we get them. It's been about twelve weeks now since A started the extravaganza of classes and speech therapy, so we've got progress reports.
Preschool says he's doing super. He participates in circle time, initiates two-word phrases, and they're pressing him to say, "May I have such-and-such, please?" which means the "More such-and-such, please," requests we've been hyping at home are no longer going to cut it.
His speech therapist is thrilled with him. She's caught him saying three-word sentences, and saying everything from descriptions to commands/requests to narratives, which is fabulous. He has mad play skillz, yo. He's demonstrating new uses for objects and toys every time he sees them, which shows his creativity, problem solving acumen, and general astonishing brilliance. And the speech therapist says his family is super too.
His speech is getting more coherent, but I'm not sure how many other people would be able to tell. The swarms of friends are descending from Portland and Denver in quick succession, so hopefully we'll be able to tell then.
Cross your fingers that when they start turning out lights and closing offices all over California tomorrow due to budget morasses, A's speech therapist and preschools still get paid.
Preschool says he's doing super. He participates in circle time, initiates two-word phrases, and they're pressing him to say, "May I have such-and-such, please?" which means the "More such-and-such, please," requests we've been hyping at home are no longer going to cut it.
His speech therapist is thrilled with him. She's caught him saying three-word sentences, and saying everything from descriptions to commands/requests to narratives, which is fabulous. He has mad play skillz, yo. He's demonstrating new uses for objects and toys every time he sees them, which shows his creativity, problem solving acumen, and general astonishing brilliance. And the speech therapist says his family is super too.
His speech is getting more coherent, but I'm not sure how many other people would be able to tell. The swarms of friends are descending from Portland and Denver in quick succession, so hopefully we'll be able to tell then.
Cross your fingers that when they start turning out lights and closing offices all over California tomorrow due to budget morasses, A's speech therapist and preschools still get paid.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Preschool #1
A just finished his speech therapy, during which he said absolutely nothing, but he picked up a fire engine for a week and his play is "fabulous." (I think the fire engine will have batteries before the weekend gets very long.)
I never realized until we started going through all this that play could be graded and assessed.
This morning A and I headed to a preschool for a test-run. I was concerned because he didn't sleep well and I think the cold has boomeranged back on him. He started motioning and pointing the minute we saw the playground, and then he didn't hesitate to run right into the room and start playing with a toy garage once we got there.
This is a regular preschool that has some developmentally disabled kids mainstreamed in the classroom. The DD kids have two teachers who specifically watch and guide them among the other two teachers for the regular kids in the room. It would be for two hours, twice a week.
The preschool itself seemed to be pretty loosely structured: free play time, snack, music/dance time, and then a special visit from the speech therapist (not ours). The time they would have spent on the playground today was spent with the speech therapist. He had a grand old time. I was concerned because all the art on the walls seemed to be from the regular kids, but I asked and was told that the DD kids always have the option to put their art up but most parents just take it home with them.
What else? The teacher asked me if I'd like the speech therapist to do an evaluation of A, and I said, no, not really, he's been evaluated a lot. The speech therapist took a minute at the end to ask me if I really had no concerns because she thought he certainly should see someone for his speech. I explained that no, he's been evaluated about six times by now, he's tracking here for expressive and there for receptive, and we've been prompting two- and three-syllables from him, pressing on two and celebrating three.
A had to be dragged to the car, crying. I think this preschool's certainly a contender, but there's still one other one I'd like to see.
He's sick. We did Costco and IKEA (his idea; he kept frantically pointing at IKEA and would not let up, so we went, jeez) and he fell asleep by the time we pulled into the garage; unfortunately, he wouldn't sleep for longer than half an hour before he'd wake up, crying and sniffling. He took a two-hour nap in half-hour increments with me rubbing his back. He may be sleeping in the car seat tonight.
And tomorrow's Thanksgiving, and we're having raclette and sweet potato pie, which just made me remember the sweet potatoes steaming on the stove. Yikes.
I never realized until we started going through all this that play could be graded and assessed.
This morning A and I headed to a preschool for a test-run. I was concerned because he didn't sleep well and I think the cold has boomeranged back on him. He started motioning and pointing the minute we saw the playground, and then he didn't hesitate to run right into the room and start playing with a toy garage once we got there.
This is a regular preschool that has some developmentally disabled kids mainstreamed in the classroom. The DD kids have two teachers who specifically watch and guide them among the other two teachers for the regular kids in the room. It would be for two hours, twice a week.
The preschool itself seemed to be pretty loosely structured: free play time, snack, music/dance time, and then a special visit from the speech therapist (not ours). The time they would have spent on the playground today was spent with the speech therapist. He had a grand old time. I was concerned because all the art on the walls seemed to be from the regular kids, but I asked and was told that the DD kids always have the option to put their art up but most parents just take it home with them.
What else? The teacher asked me if I'd like the speech therapist to do an evaluation of A, and I said, no, not really, he's been evaluated a lot. The speech therapist took a minute at the end to ask me if I really had no concerns because she thought he certainly should see someone for his speech. I explained that no, he's been evaluated about six times by now, he's tracking here for expressive and there for receptive, and we've been prompting two- and three-syllables from him, pressing on two and celebrating three.
A had to be dragged to the car, crying. I think this preschool's certainly a contender, but there's still one other one I'd like to see.
He's sick. We did Costco and IKEA (his idea; he kept frantically pointing at IKEA and would not let up, so we went, jeez) and he fell asleep by the time we pulled into the garage; unfortunately, he wouldn't sleep for longer than half an hour before he'd wake up, crying and sniffling. He took a two-hour nap in half-hour increments with me rubbing his back. He may be sleeping in the car seat tonight.
And tomorrow's Thanksgiving, and we're having raclette and sweet potato pie, which just made me remember the sweet potatoes steaming on the stove. Yikes.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Last Day of First Five
Sigh. I'm melancholic here. A is trying to figure out all the ways the Aquadoodler pens interact with the humidifier.
Today was A's last speech class with his wonderful teacher. I made blueberry muffins for the staff there and C and I baked several batches of fussy butter cookies from Cook's Illustrated which I put into cute tiny gift bags for his caseworker and his speech teacher.
The other kid (who has some issues, shall we say it kindly?) in his class didn't show, so she got A all to herself for their last class, which they both enjoyed.
His teacher was teary-eyed. She talked about how much she loved working with him, what a sweetie he is, how far he's come with his language. He has come far. He can produce three-syllable phrases now, puts two words together, has expanded his vocabulary significantly, by at least fifty percent if not more, and imitates our speech more often. She's been really good for him. Besides, how can you not love anyone who recognizes how amazing your child is and enjoys him as much as you do?
It's hard to have a melancholic farewell with a two-year-old, though. We were saying goodbye and she and I were teary. I was trying to emote the fact that we wouldn't be back again to A when another family with a dog showed up. He completely focused on the dog and didn't give his teacher a backwards glance, let alone a goodbye hug. Happily, she knows the ways of two-year-olds, and I do too, so we left it at that. The upshot of two-year-olds not having a concept of time is that they don't have a concept of grief.
One phase over, another begins. Tomorrow we try out our first preschool, then home for a nap and lunch before the speech therapist comes over. At least I've already vacuumed. (This is an issue of consternation when you have a virtual stranger sitting on your floor for an hour.)
Today was A's last speech class with his wonderful teacher. I made blueberry muffins for the staff there and C and I baked several batches of fussy butter cookies from Cook's Illustrated which I put into cute tiny gift bags for his caseworker and his speech teacher.
The other kid (who has some issues, shall we say it kindly?) in his class didn't show, so she got A all to herself for their last class, which they both enjoyed.
His teacher was teary-eyed. She talked about how much she loved working with him, what a sweetie he is, how far he's come with his language. He has come far. He can produce three-syllable phrases now, puts two words together, has expanded his vocabulary significantly, by at least fifty percent if not more, and imitates our speech more often. She's been really good for him. Besides, how can you not love anyone who recognizes how amazing your child is and enjoys him as much as you do?
It's hard to have a melancholic farewell with a two-year-old, though. We were saying goodbye and she and I were teary. I was trying to emote the fact that we wouldn't be back again to A when another family with a dog showed up. He completely focused on the dog and didn't give his teacher a backwards glance, let alone a goodbye hug. Happily, she knows the ways of two-year-olds, and I do too, so we left it at that. The upshot of two-year-olds not having a concept of time is that they don't have a concept of grief.
One phase over, another begins. Tomorrow we try out our first preschool, then home for a nap and lunch before the speech therapist comes over. At least I've already vacuumed. (This is an issue of consternation when you have a virtual stranger sitting on your floor for an hour.)
Friday, November 14, 2008
You can't push a string.
A had speech therapy for the first time this week. These are in-house visits, where the speech therapist comes to our house (which requires a certain amount of cleaning, of course) for an hour or so. (Of course, A turned over a glass of water on the couch, which required the couch being disassembled for the course of her visit.)
So she showed up, said, "Hi, I'm Janis," and in she came with a bag of toys, sat on the floor with A, and played with all the toys.
I sat nearby and watched and tried to stay out of the way. She played with him and talked to him in short, one or two word sentences about what they were doing. He was interested in the toys and didn't say much at all, like he normally is with new people.
I had to restrain myself from not translating when he did speak. He was funny. He would decide a toy was boring and sing a little bit of the clean-up song and put the toy away so he could move on to the next toy--what a fabulous little guy.
Janis desperately wanted A to play with a fishing set. This had: various small felt fishes, two fishing poles with strings that had a Velcro piece on the end.
A has a fishing set, a pole tipped in Velcro (no string) and some fish, so I guessed he would be pretty bored with her fishing set, and he was. She was firm in trying to redirect him to play with the fish, finally showing him how she fished. She put the string over a fish, pressed the Velcro piece into the fish, and picked it up by the pole. "Look, fish! Fish up!"
With a look I can only characterize as bemusement, he took the other fishing pole, pressed the Velcro to the fish with his hand, picked up the pole, and dumped it into her bag. Yes, this is how it works and this is the most efficient way to play with it instead of messing around with that string; next toy please.
So at the end of the session, I asked what I should be doing or if this was representative of how their sessions would go. She said she's using short sentences to urge him to imitate her and eventually she'll encourage me to use short sentences for periods of playtime throughout the day (though not obviously the whole day, since we can't live our lives in caveman-like grunts).
She said his receptive language is extremely high and she was surprised by his focus, because the report she read said he could be somewhat distracted.
He's two. Distracted is the name of the game. But A is a pretty focused kid.
So I'm not sure how it went, but I think he had fun and she left a toy here for him to play with, so it's all good.
So she showed up, said, "Hi, I'm Janis," and in she came with a bag of toys, sat on the floor with A, and played with all the toys.
I sat nearby and watched and tried to stay out of the way. She played with him and talked to him in short, one or two word sentences about what they were doing. He was interested in the toys and didn't say much at all, like he normally is with new people.
I had to restrain myself from not translating when he did speak. He was funny. He would decide a toy was boring and sing a little bit of the clean-up song and put the toy away so he could move on to the next toy--what a fabulous little guy.
Janis desperately wanted A to play with a fishing set. This had: various small felt fishes, two fishing poles with strings that had a Velcro piece on the end.
A has a fishing set, a pole tipped in Velcro (no string) and some fish, so I guessed he would be pretty bored with her fishing set, and he was. She was firm in trying to redirect him to play with the fish, finally showing him how she fished. She put the string over a fish, pressed the Velcro piece into the fish, and picked it up by the pole. "Look, fish! Fish up!"
With a look I can only characterize as bemusement, he took the other fishing pole, pressed the Velcro to the fish with his hand, picked up the pole, and dumped it into her bag. Yes, this is how it works and this is the most efficient way to play with it instead of messing around with that string; next toy please.
So at the end of the session, I asked what I should be doing or if this was representative of how their sessions would go. She said she's using short sentences to urge him to imitate her and eventually she'll encourage me to use short sentences for periods of playtime throughout the day (though not obviously the whole day, since we can't live our lives in caveman-like grunts).
She said his receptive language is extremely high and she was surprised by his focus, because the report she read said he could be somewhat distracted.
He's two. Distracted is the name of the game. But A is a pretty focused kid.
So I'm not sure how it went, but I think he had fun and she left a toy here for him to play with, so it's all good.
Sunday, November 09, 2008
"Car, please?"
We're back. C's putting A down for a nap while I sort years of cosmetics, bath gels, and expired medications that are taking up valuable space in our too-small bathroom. The purge is on.
I forgot to blog about Halloween. We had Halloween. We have a costume for A but did not dress him up. C got off work early, which allowed him and A to carve a pumpkin together. Then dinner, birthday cake, and bed for A.
Tuesday night, basking in the warm glow of Obamarama, we headed to Disneyland. C was off work Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. We bought annual passes (for an absurdly low price compared to the WDW tickets, good God) and rode rides: the new Finding Nemo submarines (very cool), the Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh (for the small boy who loved every minute and was ready to go again), Space Mountain (smoother and darker than its WDW counterpart), and all sorts of other stuff. We walked onto every ride. We left at four-ish so I could make my read-and-critique group.
Thursday A had speech and a vision test. C had a meeting at work to check in for. His vision is fine (-0.25 in the left eye, 0 in the right, which for right now, is within normal tolerances). His speech class went great; he was the only one and the teacher adores him.
Friday we were slated to go to the last of our parenting classes, the review and post-test, and C and I decided we would rather spend the day going to Disneyland. So after breakfast, we bundled A into the car, drove up, and were at the front gate not much later than we were Wednesday morning. Plus, A got his normal morning nap in the car. It worked out beautifully.
It was more crowded than Wednesday but still mighty manageable. We had completely skipped Fantasyland on Wednesday, so we took some time letting a small boy point us from ride to ride. After Peter Pan, the carrousel. After the carrousel, Dumbo. And so on. The pommes frites at Cafe Orleans are fabulous, btw. We drove home at seven or so, got home in time for our normal bedtimes.
So Saturday morning, A leads me to the door to the garage and points. "Car?"
"You want to go in the car?" I say. Happy acknowledgement noise from A.
"You want to go in the car and go to Disneyland?"
Happy dancing from A. "Car, please!"
It's bizarre to me that Disneyland is within a reasonable drive. I think of it as being very far away, but it's not any farther than Park Meadows used to be from our house in Colorado.
I forgot to blog about Halloween. We had Halloween. We have a costume for A but did not dress him up. C got off work early, which allowed him and A to carve a pumpkin together. Then dinner, birthday cake, and bed for A.
Tuesday night, basking in the warm glow of Obamarama, we headed to Disneyland. C was off work Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. We bought annual passes (for an absurdly low price compared to the WDW tickets, good God) and rode rides: the new Finding Nemo submarines (very cool), the Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh (for the small boy who loved every minute and was ready to go again), Space Mountain (smoother and darker than its WDW counterpart), and all sorts of other stuff. We walked onto every ride. We left at four-ish so I could make my read-and-critique group.
Thursday A had speech and a vision test. C had a meeting at work to check in for. His vision is fine (-0.25 in the left eye, 0 in the right, which for right now, is within normal tolerances). His speech class went great; he was the only one and the teacher adores him.
Friday we were slated to go to the last of our parenting classes, the review and post-test, and C and I decided we would rather spend the day going to Disneyland. So after breakfast, we bundled A into the car, drove up, and were at the front gate not much later than we were Wednesday morning. Plus, A got his normal morning nap in the car. It worked out beautifully.
It was more crowded than Wednesday but still mighty manageable. We had completely skipped Fantasyland on Wednesday, so we took some time letting a small boy point us from ride to ride. After Peter Pan, the carrousel. After the carrousel, Dumbo. And so on. The pommes frites at Cafe Orleans are fabulous, btw. We drove home at seven or so, got home in time for our normal bedtimes.
So Saturday morning, A leads me to the door to the garage and points. "Car?"
"You want to go in the car?" I say. Happy acknowledgement noise from A.
"You want to go in the car and go to Disneyland?"
Happy dancing from A. "Car, please!"
It's bizarre to me that Disneyland is within a reasonable drive. I think of it as being very far away, but it's not any farther than Park Meadows used to be from our house in Colorado.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Individual Family Service Plan
That's the IFSP, which sounds like a Meyer-Briggs personality type. C and I met with the intake coordinator to establish an IFSP for A. This sets up goals (that the family--that's us--can measure) and, more importantly, lists what classes and services he'll be getting.
Right now, he's set up for twelve sessions of speech therapy and an hour or two of pseudo-preschool twice a week. The speech therapist will be coming to our house weekly (eep); A and I have to tour all the available preschools until we find one we like (maybe not the one for behavioral issue kids, for example).
A just went down to sleep and he was so tired that I'm tired. He didn't want to sleep; he kept being almost asleep then waking up to say, "Daddy?" Daddy should be on his way home from work.
A had speech today; they played musical instruments to practice blowing air. He's only got a couple weeks left there; I'm hoping they'll let him finish. There will be one week of overlap with the Regional Center stuff. I can't mention enough how immensely thankful I am that all of this assessment stuff has moved so quickly. I know government and bureaucracy is bad and evil, especially in an election year, but man, I'm glad they have all this stuff available for free, so quickly. These little people grow fast.
Right now, he's set up for twelve sessions of speech therapy and an hour or two of pseudo-preschool twice a week. The speech therapist will be coming to our house weekly (eep); A and I have to tour all the available preschools until we find one we like (maybe not the one for behavioral issue kids, for example).
A just went down to sleep and he was so tired that I'm tired. He didn't want to sleep; he kept being almost asleep then waking up to say, "Daddy?" Daddy should be on his way home from work.
A had speech today; they played musical instruments to practice blowing air. He's only got a couple weeks left there; I'm hoping they'll let him finish. There will be one week of overlap with the Regional Center stuff. I can't mention enough how immensely thankful I am that all of this assessment stuff has moved so quickly. I know government and bureaucracy is bad and evil, especially in an election year, but man, I'm glad they have all this stuff available for free, so quickly. These little people grow fast.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Please!
Everyone's braces-free in the C/K/A household, and there is much rejoicing. We are now accepting your donations of toffee, sugar-crusted nuts and pizza bones.
A had the speech teacher all to himself today, and he talked up a storm. He did all the animal noises with his teacher, then sang (sang!) and said, "Please!" He's signed please for the longest time, but now we're supposed to make sure he says it consistently. His teacher places a finger under her lower lip sometimes to remind A to talk, and if he's not paying enough attention to her, she'll do it to him, so that's something we're supposed to work on with him.
But she thinks he's making excellent progress, so there we are.
A and I went to the Birch Aquarium today after speech with a writer friend of mine and her two-year-old (who is huge! huge!). We all had a good time. They have these elaborate water tables with partitions you can move around to create currents and flows and float tiny boats down. A loved that. C would love it. I would have loved it more if I wasn't on baby duty and got to play with it myself.
They have tidepools (which we did not go into since A's apparently allergic to starfish protein) and fake tidepools with all sorts of rubber creatures (lobsters, starfish, crabs, shells, shrimp). Unfortunately, they're right next to each other, so A decided he would reallocate a rubber tiger shrimp to the tidepool. "Happens all the time," a docent told me, but they had to debate how best to remove it because A threw it pretty far. They needed a stick to get it.
It's a small museum but it's pretty neat. The displays are well-thought out. I think the boat thing alone is probably worth a membership.
A had the speech teacher all to himself today, and he talked up a storm. He did all the animal noises with his teacher, then sang (sang!) and said, "Please!" He's signed please for the longest time, but now we're supposed to make sure he says it consistently. His teacher places a finger under her lower lip sometimes to remind A to talk, and if he's not paying enough attention to her, she'll do it to him, so that's something we're supposed to work on with him.
But she thinks he's making excellent progress, so there we are.
A and I went to the Birch Aquarium today after speech with a writer friend of mine and her two-year-old (who is huge! huge!). We all had a good time. They have these elaborate water tables with partitions you can move around to create currents and flows and float tiny boats down. A loved that. C would love it. I would have loved it more if I wasn't on baby duty and got to play with it myself.
They have tidepools (which we did not go into since A's apparently allergic to starfish protein) and fake tidepools with all sorts of rubber creatures (lobsters, starfish, crabs, shells, shrimp). Unfortunately, they're right next to each other, so A decided he would reallocate a rubber tiger shrimp to the tidepool. "Happens all the time," a docent told me, but they had to debate how best to remove it because A threw it pretty far. They needed a stick to get it.
It's a small museum but it's pretty neat. The displays are well-thought out. I think the boat thing alone is probably worth a membership.
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Buh, buh, buh; puh, puh, puh; muh, muh, muh
Today A had speech and he was the only one there--lucky! His teacher dotes on him (and really, who doesn't?). She's working on the bilabial sounds with him: B, M, P. So they colored in baby birds and momma birds and then played crash with the buses and trucks and blew bubbles. He said bubbles, beep-beep, and pop. I haven't heard pop at home, so that's good.
She invited me to a parenting class that starts tomorrow on how to help A speak, so I ran over and got the kindly old lady next door signed up to watch A for the next few Friday mornings and we will be in class.
A has a flu shot today. This will not help the doctor rehabilitation program.
She invited me to a parenting class that starts tomorrow on how to help A speak, so I ran over and got the kindly old lady next door signed up to watch A for the next few Friday mornings and we will be in class.
A has a flu shot today. This will not help the doctor rehabilitation program.
Friday, October 03, 2008
Regional Center Assessment
Today we had another speech evaluation. It's the same-old, same-old: two assessors, one graduate student observing, playtime for A, talking to me.
His official assessment is 27-30 months for receptive language - with some 33-36 month behaviors - and 15-18 months for expressive language. So he understands everything and says hardly anything. He's very bright and right on track for all his other developmental areas. They mentioned how outgoing and sociable he was. None of this is different from any of our other assessments.
So he meets the 33.33% delay requirement in expressive speech, which is the cut-off line for qualifying for Regional Center services. So next week our coordinator (who was out today) will start setting up a plan for him. He'll probably see a speech therapist regularly as a start.
I just wanted to thank everyone who's asked about how he's doing and how the assessments are going. It means a lot to me that other people are interested in him.
His official assessment is 27-30 months for receptive language - with some 33-36 month behaviors - and 15-18 months for expressive language. So he understands everything and says hardly anything. He's very bright and right on track for all his other developmental areas. They mentioned how outgoing and sociable he was. None of this is different from any of our other assessments.
So he meets the 33.33% delay requirement in expressive speech, which is the cut-off line for qualifying for Regional Center services. So next week our coordinator (who was out today) will start setting up a plan for him. He'll probably see a speech therapist regularly as a start.
I just wanted to thank everyone who's asked about how he's doing and how the assessments are going. It means a lot to me that other people are interested in him.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Speech pathologist (finally)
We met with the speech pathologist today. It's the same song and dance we've done the rest of the time: A plays while she asked me questions, then she played with him for a bit. She confirmed what everyone else has been saying; A has a mild to moderate developmental delay in speech.
She's the gate-keeper to all the services, though, so now we get to be on the track for services. He's wait-listed for the Communication Group, which is like the group he goes to now, only smaller and specifically for speech. He'll get a hearing test the next time the hearing test cavalcade rolls into town (once every two months). C and I will get to attend a parenting class to determine how to help A.
The one new thing today was a referral to Regional Services. The department we've been going to is a stop-gap measure to help kids who are a little behind catch up so they're prepared for preschool/kindergarten. There's another department that offers more extensive services for kids who need more help. A is borderline between the groups, mild to moderate. The criterion he's being assessed against is the 24-27 month old criterion, and he's at the beginning of the range. So the pathologist asked me if I wanted to get the paperwork rolling to get him into Regional Services or if I wanted to wait and see how he did in his groups.
I thought about it for maybe thirty seconds, then said, "Let's get the paperwork started." I know that it's a lot harder to get someone into a program than it is to take them out of it, and even if he does great, I want him to have all the resources he can.
He seems to be liking Group; there's lots of toys and books there for him to play with. He's not done at the end of class and has to be convinced that it's time to go home. The facilitators say he's doing really well, pays attention, remains on task, cleans up. I still waver (worry) about the qualities of the other parents, but he's getting playtime with other kids and attention from trained teachers, and I figure that can't hurt.
Oh, and he's got two new words: baby and bear.
She's the gate-keeper to all the services, though, so now we get to be on the track for services. He's wait-listed for the Communication Group, which is like the group he goes to now, only smaller and specifically for speech. He'll get a hearing test the next time the hearing test cavalcade rolls into town (once every two months). C and I will get to attend a parenting class to determine how to help A.
The one new thing today was a referral to Regional Services. The department we've been going to is a stop-gap measure to help kids who are a little behind catch up so they're prepared for preschool/kindergarten. There's another department that offers more extensive services for kids who need more help. A is borderline between the groups, mild to moderate. The criterion he's being assessed against is the 24-27 month old criterion, and he's at the beginning of the range. So the pathologist asked me if I wanted to get the paperwork rolling to get him into Regional Services or if I wanted to wait and see how he did in his groups.
I thought about it for maybe thirty seconds, then said, "Let's get the paperwork started." I know that it's a lot harder to get someone into a program than it is to take them out of it, and even if he does great, I want him to have all the resources he can.
He seems to be liking Group; there's lots of toys and books there for him to play with. He's not done at the end of class and has to be convinced that it's time to go home. The facilitators say he's doing really well, pays attention, remains on task, cleans up. I still waver (worry) about the qualities of the other parents, but he's getting playtime with other kids and attention from trained teachers, and I figure that can't hurt.
Oh, and he's got two new words: baby and bear.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Developmental Assessment
At A's two-year check-up, (he's fine, btw), I talked to our pediatrician about A's speech. He used to use more words than he does now; he used to use two-word phrases and he stopped. This is one of those autism signs that gives me the heebie-jeebies, but he's still very tuned into people and situations, so I thought, no, not autism.
But it's something.
And our super-cool pediatrician agreed that it was odd and so last week we started out on the journey of assessment.
And so here we are. I figured I'd blog before it got to be too much to describe. He's got the first of the playgroups tomorrow. We have a more in-depth meeting next week with a speech pathologist who will assess him in more detail and set goals.
The last specialist recommended a specific communication-focused play group, an audiology test, and a parenting class for us to be able to help him specifically with communication, but all of those have to be seconded by the speech pathologist.
The audiology test is to make sure he's hearing us since the specialist noted a delay between when A hears a request and when he acts on the request. The suspicion around here is that the delay is the time A takes to decide whether or not he's going to follow a request, but it's good to get him tested anyway.
We're all ambivalent here. I'm glad we got early intervention; I just want to know what's up with him. C still thinks, much like walking, that A just needs to decide he wants to talk and he'll talk. I think assessment is always a good thing, and the earlier the better. But every specialist has taken great pains to tell me: he's smart. He's really really smart. And I say, well, duh.
But it's something.
And our super-cool pediatrician agreed that it was odd and so last week we started out on the journey of assessment.
- Tuesday: initial screening: a questionnaire, asked verbally of me, to determine a general development level in five categories: gross motor, fine motor, personal/social (interactions), cognitive (problem solving), communication. He's off the charts for everything but communication, where he's in the 12-24 month category. Ouch. Come back tomorrow to meet with a speech specialist.
- Wednesday: not the speech specialist. This is a more thorough general screening, done by someone who questions me and plays and talks with A. He's in the 30 month range for everything but communication, where he's in the 15-18 month range. Come back tomorrow and meet with another specialist to do a speech assessment, plus we're going to put A into some monitored play groups to make him play with other children and force him to develop communication skills in self-defense.
- Thursday: Speech assessment, general. This is one-hour where the specialist talks mostly to A and some to me and asks him to say things, accomplish tasks, play. He's in the 15-18 month range for expressive communication (him talking) and the 18-21 month range for receptive communication (him listening to what people say).
And so here we are. I figured I'd blog before it got to be too much to describe. He's got the first of the playgroups tomorrow. We have a more in-depth meeting next week with a speech pathologist who will assess him in more detail and set goals.
The last specialist recommended a specific communication-focused play group, an audiology test, and a parenting class for us to be able to help him specifically with communication, but all of those have to be seconded by the speech pathologist.
The audiology test is to make sure he's hearing us since the specialist noted a delay between when A hears a request and when he acts on the request. The suspicion around here is that the delay is the time A takes to decide whether or not he's going to follow a request, but it's good to get him tested anyway.
We're all ambivalent here. I'm glad we got early intervention; I just want to know what's up with him. C still thinks, much like walking, that A just needs to decide he wants to talk and he'll talk. I think assessment is always a good thing, and the earlier the better. But every specialist has taken great pains to tell me: he's smart. He's really really smart. And I say, well, duh.
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