17 Months of Evelyn

You still love babies.  You point them out whenever you see one.   And, this month, you found a way to make your dollhouse a "baby" activity.  There is a little cradle in the dollhouse, and there is a baby that is made to fit into it, but I've never pointed it out to you or talked to you about it.  I walked into the living room, and you were saying "rock, rock...rock, rock" while rocking the dollhouse cradle.  I looked inside of it, and you had perfectly placed the little baby in the cradle.  You had a huge grin on your face and were obviously proud of yourself for playing with it "right."

You and Spencer were very sick for the last half of January and the beginning of February, but the plus side of that was you got to have your first popsicle.

Here you are doing your happy dance.  Oh, the deliciousness of a fruit popsicle!

Once you had your first popsicle, you have asked for them constantly.  You really don't like how cold they are, though, and you only "eat" them for a few minutes.

Now, whenever Spencer asks for a popsicle, you chime in with "Pop! Pop!"  When I say "No" you both scream at me in unison.  You call suckers "pop's" too.  You get a dum dum "pop" after I get my allergy shot; and you think you're pretty big stuff.

Here you are on a Sunday morning before church.

You didn't scream at me when I gently took out your paci, but you gave me this look, like, "How long am I supposed to sit here and act like that didn't bother me?"  

You enjoyed playing with your baby play mat when cousin Lucy was finished with it.  It made a nice breakfast table.  

You're wearing a romper that Gigi made for me.  You're such a little love.

Every afternoon around 3:30 you start asking for your daddy.  You love him so much.  You cling to him all morning while he's getting ready for work, and you usually throw a fit when he leaves.

You found one of my necklaces and just had to wear it--and then tangle it beyond recognition.  

Your Grandmother and Grandfather were sick some in January and February too, so they didn't come for a visit, but they sent valentine cards to you and Spencer, and you both enjoyed them.

That's yogurt on the side of your face.

You still like your electric toothbrush from your stocking.  "Brush my teeth, Mom!"

You and Spencer stayed with your Dad (and with your Nana and G-Dad when Daddy worked on Sunday) for four days while I went to Nashville to visit Hillary.  Ruby went with us and got all the attention for a change.

She ate, talked, slept, and pooped--to the point of needing baths.  We ate, talked, shopped, and watched tv--Vinsant Girl style.  It was a lot of fun, but by the third day I was missing you and Spencer so much!

We found some fun shops with cute kid clothes.  Ruby took a nap in her Moby wrap on me, proving that I have always been using it properly but never had a baby amenable to being worn.  

You and Spencer had tons of fun with your dad while I was gone.  He sent me pictures and texts so I could know y'all were doing good.

This is my favorite picture he sent me--you as the dragon and Spencer as the knight!

Don't worry, you have some girl-y costumes too; although now that I'm looking at this one more closely, it might be time to hand that one down to Ruby.  

As soon as I got home from Nashville, you, Daddy, and Spencer had a costumed sword fight.

You very much enjoy being right in the middle of things.

I got a few cuddles from my beautiful hazel-eyed girl too.

You don't shy away from physical confrontation.  Thankfully, your physical confrontations are always in good fun and closely monitored.

I peeked in the living room Valentine's Day morning, and this was what I saw.  I thought, "God did that just for me!"  I so enjoy watching you and Spencer become friends.

Jenny made you the sweetest shirt for Valentine's Day and you got to wear it to Spencer's school party, where you thoroughly enjoyed yourself.  He shared his cookies with you, you played with the baby dolls, and got a sucker out of the deal.  Spencer was beyond proud of you when we walked into his room.  He introduced you to everyone as "My little sister Evie" and talked about you the whole time.  I couldn't keep him interested in his "party" activities at all.  It was so sweet, and it took me completely by surprise.

Spencer loves you so much.  He asked to rock you for your nap the other day, and I let him.  He got in your glider, you laid down in his lap and drank your bottle, and he sang, "Jesus Loves Me" and "Jesus Loves the Little Children" while I pushed the glider back and forth.  You were smiling up at him so big!  Neither of you would have been cool with this a year ago (when you were more the appropriate age for being rocked with a bottle, ha!).  We have these glimmers of peace and love more often these days which is such an encouragement.  You and Spencer are both such sweet, loving kids.

I couldn't hold out any longer--Gigi and I got you some cute new spring clothes.

The Monday I got home from Nashville, Miss Natalie and her little Audrey threw a fun Valentine's Day party.  I was afraid I wouldn't be home in time to take you; but I was, and it was so fun.  Natalie had everything that should be at a toddler / preschooler Valentine party, including treat sacks with hand made cards and no candy at all!  She's my hero.  Since your dad took off work that day to take care of you and Spencer until I got home, Spencer insisted that he come too--it was a family affair.

Here you are playing with Audrey's toys.  I hope you girls get to be friends like her mommy and I are friends.

You had a big month, little lady, and to top it all off, on February 20, 2012,  you said your name.

I think you've been attempting "Evelyn" for a couple of months when prompted, but it's hard for a baby to say that, making it harder for me to be sure you that's what you were saying.  I you would try to say it some, but I was never sure which times you did and which times you didn't. (Ha!)  You're still not the clearest talker.  However, we were looking in the mirror and talking, pointing, and I was saying our names, etc., and then, I told you to say "Evie."  You immediately said, "E-bie!" and smiled the biggest smile.  I cheered and clapped--I was so proud of you!  You do not say it very often, but every now and then I can talk you into saying "E-bie" again.  Way to go, E-bie!  Keep up the good work!

Evelyn At Sixteen Months

The day you turned 16 months, we celebrated an early Christmas at Gigi and Papa's house.

You love your daddy so much.  You follow him around the house in the morning while he gets ready for work.  I never noticed how much attention you were paying to his morning routine until you found a q-tip the other day and stuck it in your ear and twisted it around.  Ha!  I have never done that in front of you (because I don't do that at all); but you have seen your daddy do it and you copied him perfectly!  After you cleaned out your ears with it, you cleaned out your baby doll's ears too!

"Are you telling me I have no bottoms to match this amazing top, Mom?"

You loved your dancing baby!  We've already changed the batteries.

You also loved your play necklace and bracelet!

You got boots and a new coat just in time for a Christmas snowstorm.

Your dad took a trip to the Music City Bowl with some friends, then we all got a stomach virus, the flu (just you and Spencer had that), and then another stomach virus and then you had an upper respiratory infection.  While on an antibiotic for that, you got an ear infection in both ears and started another stronger antibiotic.  Thankfully, that cleared it all up.  January was rough.  We missed Aunt Hillary's visit to Little Rock because of the stomach virus, and she didn't get to come back to visit you for another month and a half.  She couldn't believe how much you had grown!

This was a late Christmas celebration in Benton following the first stomach virus of January.  You loved opening all of your fun gifts from Nana and G-Dad.

There were a few healthy and fun days thrown into all the craziness.  You and Spencer were both so cute this Sunday morning, that I tried to take your picture together.  You were excited about it and willing to participate.  You sat where I told you to and would say, "Cheese!"

As soon as you sat down by Spencer for the picture, he ran off.

Aunt Hillary got you that sweet Cinderella dress for your birthday.

Spencer wasn't really excited about taking a picture.

I love your little expression while he's screaming in your face.  I feel like you're thinking, "What's the big deal, Spencer?"

Then, you were tired of his screaming.  I was with you.

You had such a great holiday season, despite all the sickness that followed.  You got to briefly play with my the Hart cousins, the Stones, and the Mertzs.  You were a trooper in the ice storm from Conway to Little Rock and sleeping at Gigi's house while our power was out, and even while you were sick.  You slept through the night when you had your ear infection, which is something you still don't do when you're healthy.  You also took two naps a day while you were sick--you were pretty pitiful.  You're such a funny, smart, energetic, precious little lady, Evelyn Rose.  I don't know how it's possible, but I think I love you more every day.  

Therapy Thoughts--Friends and Success

When it comes to early developmental issues and question marks, it's nice to have a friend.  God has given me one such friend who has traveled a parallel journey of evaluations and therapies with her oldest son.  She's been so kind to listen to me go on and on about whatever my current concern may be.  She's been quick to encourage and is to be credited with (but not responsible for!) my thoughts in this post since I do my best thinking "out loud."  She's also graciously allowed me the privilege of praying for her son and their family as they've faced decisions and challenges.  Our boys are different in some ways and similar in others, as is the case with her and me.*  While we've both felt the void of having someone who knows exactly what we're dealing with, it's been encouraging and normalizing to have each other.

 One thing we have had in common through the past couple of years has been our feelings and questions--feeling as if everything depends on us, specifically, as the "mom," questions of what's "quirky" and what's truly "a-typical."  We've both been on the receiving end of loving encouragement as well as impolitely delivered bad advice.  We've struggled to figure out practical logistics with our kiddos as well as spent hours thinking through preschools, therapy centers, and schools--from grade school to beyond.

And all of those school thoughts include so many unknowns and what if's.  Receiving appropriate therapies early is so great for little minds that there is really no way to predict outcomes from child to child.  This is both encouraging and maddening.  You almost just want to know right now what you can reasonably expect from your child in five, ten, and fifteen years.  The idea deceptively implies life will be easier or you'll be more "at peace" if you can just know how it's all gonna go here and now.

But, you can't.

And, the more I've read about the instances of dyslexia accompanying apraxia, or the parts of Spencer's speech that may or may not ever sound completely "normal," or the possibility of accompanying fine motor delays, or the common co-morbid sensory processing disorders that may or may not be the underlying cause for the still-too-frequent "emotional outbursts," the more I've thought about the comments we received about the necessary measures for Spencer to be "successful" at communication and, ultimately at school.  And, as I mentioned previously, when we decided to keep Spencer at home as opposed to sending him to day treatment, I had occasion to think even harder about the "success" I was supposedly gambling away.   And, while talking to my friend, I had a bit of an epiphany of sorts.  It's really nothing new or special at all; and, it's good news.

It really doesn't matter if Spencer is exceedingly "successful" at traditional "school-based" disciplines.  It's not success for me as a parent or for him as a person if he makes straight A's his whole life.  On the contrary, I might be tempted to argue that sort of achievement early on sets you up for quite a bit of heartache later in life.  It doesn't really mater to me whether or not he speaks "perfectly" by the time he's ten.  My heart won't swell with pride someday because of my son's "success" at sounding "normal."

Don't get me wrong, I want Spencer to have a happy, full life.  I want him to work hard for things and to be able to feel the satisfaction of achieving his goals.  I don't want school to be hard for him.  I don't hope kids make fun of how he sounds in fifth grade.  But I won't feel that he or I are living a life of any less "success" if that's the case.

My hopes for him are the same hopes I have for his sister, and for any future children we might be blessed to have:  to know in no uncertain terms that he is loved--by his dad and me, and by God.  I want him to know what it is to know and love God.  I want him to have a personal and corporate relationship with Jesus Christ.  I want him to show others God's love through his actions.  I want him to find interests, hobbies, jobs, and career(s) that pull on these true measure of success and put all the pieces together for a watching world.

I know that Spencer and Evelyn are both capable of this sort of success, but should I ever have a child who is not, I would, of course, tailor my definition of "success" for him or her.  The point here is not to outline what "success" should be, but more to encourage thinking long and hard about what you may, even unknowingly, believe "success" to be for both you and your children.

So, I have to be careful, because at this stage it is so easy to lose perspective.  I have to put proper emphasis on working hard for his therapy and academic success.  I have to encourage him to do his best; but I have to remember that achieving therapy goals is only success in so much as it is a means to an end.  It is not success for him.  It is certainly not success for me.

This idea of "success" is something I did not consider or research when looking into where I wanted Spencer to receive therapy services.  I would recommend asking at least one or two "big picture" questions when speaking to directors and therapists.  If your child's therapist or teacher is only ever speaking of or focusing on goals and academic success in so much as it devalues what is ultimately important in life--whatever that might entail to you--then it is time to find a new place for your child and for yourself.  If what you value as a family cannot factor in to the therapy or treatment plan, call around.  A good therapy center will seek to partner with you to help your child thrive in his or her family first and then in school or society as a whole.

Life is more than the sum of it's parts, and therapy and school should be focused on much more than a ticket to the best college where your child is put on the fast track to a high paying job.  Please resist the urge to "therapy" and educate your child to those meaningless, empty ends.

*If the word is an object of a preposition, you use the objective case, thus the "her and me."  "She and I" would be wrong--free grammar lessons right here, ladies and gents.

Therapy Thoughts--Opinions, Research, and Conflicts of Interest

Last year around this time, we were told in no uncertain terms that Spencer would not be able to make "great progress" in his speech development unless we enrolled him in a specific "day treatment" center. The director of this center was the one making the recommendation.  She had spent in total ten or fifteen minutes around Spencer.  This announcement came after months of his therapists assuring me that he was doing great in therapy, that an increase in his minutes would not be helpful or necessary, and that he did not need any sort of supplemental or additional treatment in their opinion (he had two different SLP's in the first four months at this therapy center).

To make this all the more odd, the only factor that changed during this time was that Spencer became eligible for funding that would pay the tuition for day treatment services in full.  I hoped that was not a factor in this new, seemingly spontaneous piece of "advice" from the center's director; but I could never be sure.  The director was very transparent with me in saying that they now, suddenly had two spots they needed to fill in the class where she believed he would be a good fit.  She went on to tell me he would be a leader in this class and that would be good for him (in a myriad of ways).  And that we had to act now while these spots were still open.

This same director could not be bothered to reply to my questions via email for over a month and also would not return my phone calls for weeks at a time.  She actually never did answer any of my emailed questions via email, nor did she ever converse with me on the phone.  This, after giving me two different phone numbers of hers and her email address and telling me to call or email her any time with questions.

We ultimately left this therapy center I'd been told was "the place for apraxia treatment," where he'd been for nine months, because I couldn't send Spencer somewhere for therapy where he and I were so undervalued as to be completely ignored for over a month because the director was "too busy."  Her job was to communicate with me and do the best thing for Spencer.  She also had his speech therapist tell me that the changes the director and I agreed needed to be made in Spencer's speech therapy sessions would actually not be made at any time in the forseable future, again, because she just didn't know when she'd have time to help his therapist implement those (exceedingly simple) changes.  This after two months of me patiently waiting for her to find room in her schedule to spend a total of ten or so minutes with Spencer's therapist.  That cowardly delivered announcement sealed the deal.  They were too busy to do what the director herself agreed was the best thing for Spencer--at the place where their whole existence is allegedly dedicated to helping kids like Spencer.

But just because they weren't awesome, I didn't want to write off their "expert" advice about what Spencer needed to help him make "great progress" (their words) with his speech and to mitigate future academic struggles (their alleged concern).  Perhaps they really were completely overwhelmed.  That didn't necessarily make their recommendations incorrect.

I went on to, you guessed it, research all of this information.  The director assured me there were no studies comparing children with apraxia who didn't attend a "day treatment" program with those who did, because no parent would sign their child up for that study.  No parent, genuinely concerned about the welfare of his or her child wouldn't send the child to day care with teaching aids paid at or barely above minimum wage to be in a class with only other children who have a severe language delay.  Where the "teacher" and aids would not understand anything he said all day, nor would they really have time to listen.  They did, however, dangle the prospect of a better speech therapist for Spencer if he enrolled in this class as well as him being potty trained without much if any effort from me.

I observed the class, and I can make the above statements about it with confidence.  The aids smiled hardly at all the entire time I was in there.  The teacher was exceedingly unprofessional and had poor command of what would be considered "professional" English.  They would, however, be singing loudly in his face every time they "transitioned," as if that was going to somehow ensure he didn't have later language learning issues.  They were going to read the same book every day for a week, to, you know, meet these kids "where they're at" cognitively.  Clearly, no one would pass up putting their child with above average cognition in that situation.

And, again, after much research, we signed Spencer up for that morally reprehensible "study" I'd asked about.  The one where he continues to receive high quality, frequent, intensive speech and occupational therapy (the recommendation you will find everywhere when you google treatment for Childhood Apraxia of Speech.  I could not find one recommendation on any apraxia website for enrollment in "day treatment").  The study where, as a just turned 3 year old, he remains in his home environment where he is successful at communication, loved, known, mentally challenged and encouraged.  The one where the children he is around 40 hours a week speak in appropriate, educated, English prose as opposed to grunts and temper tantrums.  You know, the one where he goes to the grocery store, Little Gym, the zoo, the playground, his grandparents' houses.  The one where he lives real life as opposed to group care life called "school" before he's even 3.5.  The one where he learns how to be himself as opposed to learning how to be herded around without getting in trouble.  The one where he bonds with his baby sister.  The one where he learns that every part of every day is not just about addressing his entertainment or academic needs.  The one where he lives and learns as part of a bigger whole.  The one where he learns to be part of a family.

Lest you think we made this decision quickly, please know that I consulted with no less than ten unrelated professionals in both the therapy and academic world of children.  All of them were removed from our situation.  Some of them met with Spencer and me to help inform their opinions and some of them just spoke with me or with Jonathan.  I included his pediatrician, multiple experienced pediatric speech and physical therapists as well as some early childhood educators.  Neither his first nor his current SLP would give me their opinions.

Not one of the ten plus professionals thought Spencer was a good candidate for day treatment in a classroom set up for language-learning impaired children.  In fact, all but one were staunchly opposed to the recommendation for Spencer.  The one who was not "staunchly opposed" recommended a re-evaluation by someone unrelated to the therapy center he was attending for a better picture of what Spencer needed.  The group was made up of both males and females, some of whom had children of their own who had attended daycare full time from a young age.  I point that out to say that neither my inquiry nor their responses were intended as an argument for or against daycare.  Rather, it was an inquiry into whether or not that was truly the best or, as had been put to me, the only environment in which Spencer would be able to experience timely, clinical success.

I should also point out that besides the ethical alarms going off regarding conflicts of interest for their "day treatment recommendation," I have no problem saying that Spencer spending time with a (good) teacher and other kids who are communicating well for a few hours a day sounded like a great thing for him, with probable and clinically proven outcomes.  However, at this center they offered no in between or part-time options.  He had to spend a minimum of forty hours a week there, no questions asked.  He had to spend a longer amount in day treatment than twelfth graders spend at school all week, because, why would that amount of time be stressful at all for a 36 month old child who had never attended any sort of part-time program who also just had a new baby sister?  (The director also attempted to make the argument that since Evelyn had come along, it'd really be best to send Spencer off during the day anyway, to give me more time and energy for "the baby.")

I write all this to say that one year later, no one who knows Spencer can keep from commenting how well he is doing speech-wise.  So, apparently, you can put one tally mark in the column for success for those poor children whose parents dared sign them up for the unpardonable neglect study.

The take away message of this post is to exercise caution as others tell you what's best for you child, aware that as the parent or full-time caregiver, no one knows your child's needs or wants the best for him like you do.  The take away message for a therapist is to please always seek to give ethical, truthful opinions and recommendations.  Your position as an authority on a specific topic, holds you to a high standard.  Slanting your opinion or recommendation based on what your boss thinks should be done is unethical at best and, honestly, criminal in my mind.  If you find out this is being done at your work place, I would encourage you to look elsewhere for employment.  Children have to depend on others for protection and advocacy, please think twice before allowing anything besides your objective (as much as it can be) opinion to shape your recommendations or lack there of.

Coming up next, what does "success" means to a child with apraxia--or any child?