Wound A Bit Tightly?

The night of the Sugar Bowl, I could not get over the behavior I witnessed from Spencer.  In the forefront of my mind swirled images of his less-than-joyous reactions to many of the "new" people and schedule amendments throughout our Christmas rounds.  I fully expected him to behave basically the same way towards all of the guests that would be dropping by his Gigi and Papa's house to watch the game.  Instead, he reinforced my slowly-learned "clarity statement" that I should employ any and every time I enter a room with my Spencer--expect the unexpected.

Had he not been identical in appearance, weight, speed, and strength to the Spencer I'd been with throughout the winter holidays, I would have sworn he was not the same child.  He smiled, squealed--still running off from many who greeted him--but he did so with a skip in his run (he doesn't take many "steps") and a welcoming grin on his face.  Spencer's countenance was inarguably unprecedented for a group event.  I could easily write enough for a year of blog posts with my hypotheses for this bewildering phenomenon; but suffice it to say I think it has much to do with his parents' subtle differences in mood and expectation levels--differences that I would argue are not so subtle to their young child.  Those of you who know us well know that we're both wound a bit tightly.

I don't hold that our every negative or ambivalent emotion is the cause of Spencer's every negative and ambivalent action.  And, I'm in no way new to the idea that there exists some sort of correlation.  These ideas are in no way an epiphany to me; but there was no ambivalence in the display of good will and excitement on this particular evening.  Not from me, not from Jonathan, and not from Spencer.

And since y'all don't come here just to hear me play psychologist, see for yourself.

"Hillary, come here!  I've got a plan."

"Not too bad for a rookie."

"I'd prefer you not catch me when I dive."

It's hard to get good pictures, no matter where I moved, he was turning the other way.  But, just know, behind those curls is a big smile alternating with looks of determination.  Either way, he wasn't screaming.  

Perfect angle for maximum leverage.

"Now they're off."

"Time for some bouncing."

Abusing Creatively arranging the sofa cushions take one hundred eighty six million.

"It was the best day."  --Ross reminiscing about mini-muffins at work.

I include the sheer volume of sofa cushion pictures to give you a proportional insight into what the evening entailed.  Yeah, it was mostly this.  He certainly stayed true to himself and continuously ripped the sofa cushions off of his Gigi's Century sofa.  [Side note, if you squelch your fear of his seemingly un-tameable physical conquests and invite us to your home, I won't let him do this to your furniture.]

Later, Spencer discovered a wooden recorder that was left out of his Christmas booty because his Gigi didn't think he'd be able to use it.  If you've ever seen Spencer anguished in the mire of frustration, you understand the importance of not setting him up for it on a holiday past his bedtime.  However, although Spencer was able to blow into the recorder and make one high, woodwind note fill the air; he was much more interested in forcing me to play it.  A failure at the piano for many, many years, I can still play the rendition of "Amazing Grace" taught to my entire fifth grade class in Music on the recorder.  Spencer ate it up.  He wouldn't let me quit.  Really.  I eventually had to switch to "Hot Cross Buns" just to make it less boring for me.  My mom and sister were cracking up; and it's hard to laugh and play the recorder simultaneously.  Spencer had no patience for my nonsense.  He will make quite the conductor someday--or merciless dictator.  We're all pulling for conductor.

While forcing me to play the recorder, he sashayed around the room.  Again:  expect the unexpected.  In my naivete, I'd pictured him running through the house, blowing on the recorder as hard as he could.  Glowing in his new found ability to add piercingly high sound waves to the already raucous atmosphere he enjoys creating.  Wrong again.

The testosterone was palpable that evening--which also may have contributed to putting Spencer at ease--and Spencer zeroed in on the one grown man who could match him bounce for bounce in both energy level and overall craziness--Steve Craig.  And bounce they did.

Again, to know Spencer is to know the rareness of this occurrence.  He doesn't let other people with whom he is not intimately acquainted bounce him.  Apparently Steve Craig ain't people.  

That same night Spencer spontaneously counted to four with coasters for his Gigi.  And when I say, "counted to four," I expect you to know that the average person on the street would have recognized the word "three" maybe.   If they'd had kids, who hadn't talked well, in the past two years--ha!  He does these sorts of things best when we are attempting to ignore him.  If we talk amongst ourselves, he'll approach us with a trick that he knows will get attention.  If you ask, or even invite or suggest, that he do an activity of this nature--you're sure to be left high and dry.  I found a great article about this "type" of kid.  It was written by an SLP about (surprise surprise) another boy.  She had to explain to his parents that "testing" him was  not the way to get him to learn how to do things or to evaluate whether or not he was able to do them.  Poor kid.  I think he was three or four and his parents still hadn't figured this out about him.  I could also write a year's worth of blog posts about that!  But, don't worry, I won't.