Swim Lessons, Part 2

As I am sure you have already figured out, summer is our busiest time of the year. There isn't a lot of kicking back and relaxing, what with four kids at home All The Time and a husband whose job kicks it up a couple notches when teenagers are out of school. Add to that doctor/therapy appointments, a visiting niece and nephew, and regular summer excitement, and things can get a little crazy at our house (or wherever we happen to be). 

My plan is write about all of these things, but you all already know how that will probably go down.  It may be next May before that happens.  So let's start slow.  Swim lessons.

The three big kids had swim lessons the first two weeks of June. Once again, Kate has been bumped up to the big kids' class because Mama is lazy (ie., the boys' class was at 9, and the class she was supposed to be in was at 11). I don't want to spend 3 hours at the pool chasing Jack, so they all have to do it together. I was worried at first, but she totally held her own, as usual.

The funny one, also as usual, has been Will. You may remember that he and Ben had swim lessons five years ago? Ben loved it, but Will complained pretty much the whole time.  They were 5 and 3 at the time. 

I called to schedule the lessons last month, and Will overheard the conversation and freaked out. I eventually calmed him down enough for him to tell me why he didn't want to take swim lessons:

Will: Swim lessons are scary!
Me: What is scary about them?
Will: I don't know, but last time I remember I was scared. They asked me to do things I couldn't do.
Me: Will, you were 3 at the time. Do you remember what they asked you to do?
Will: No.
Me: Well, they wanted to you put your face in the water, and that scared you. Are you still afraid of putting your face in the water?
Will: No, but...
Me: And they wanted you to swim in areas where you couldn't touch. Are you still afraid of being in the deep end of the pool?
Will: No...
Me: They also wanted you to jump off the side of the pool, and you were scared of that. Aren't you diving now?
Will: Yes (smiling)
Me: So do you think you can handle swim lessons?
Will: I guess so.

He now informs me that swim lesson are soooo booooring, because he knows it all. He doesn't actually know it all. For example, he has now learned to tread water, do the elementary backstroke, and bob to safety in an emergency. But he knows everything.

(And sorry I don't have a picture to share.  My camera spent the first half of the summer broken, until the good people at Canon sent me another one.  Thank goodness for warranties.)

This Moment

Life as a mother of four has not slowed down in the past year. I don't know why I thought it eventually would, but I did.  And maybe next year when Jack is in preschool, I might possibly have a child-free moment in my day, but for the moment my free time is often measured in seconds instead of minutes or hours.  Which means you are much more likely to find me on facebook than Blogger.  But that is ok for now.  I will take my adult connections where I can get them.

I honestly do miss blogging, and I frequently have moments that I want to capture, but the space in my brain that holds such things is currently occupied with swing set sale ads, online courses I need to take to keep my teaching certificate current, and vacation ideas.  Not to mention school projects, IEPs, and speech therapy appointments.

But right now, in this moment, I am having a moment I want to remember.  A moment when the children are not fighting over video games or whining about their supposed boredom.  And I want to write it down instead of making dinner or folding socks.  Because I make dinner and fold socks all the time, but how often do I get a moment like this?

For the past two hours, my house has been wonderfully argument free.  Will has decided to organize his younger siblings into an afternoon of playing school.  I can hear Will announcing that it is math time, leading them in singing their ABCs, and telling them to line up for recess outside.  (He even sang praise songs while he was "lesson planning". And right now he is reading them a story.  He has taken them on learning adventures all over the house, and they are having so much fun.  The only angry sound I have heard was when it was "lunchtime" and Will made them milkshakes, and Jack loudly insisted that his should be 'NANA!  (He really likes bananas.)  Jack and Kate adore their big brothers, and so they are just soaking up all of this attention. 

Meanwhile, Ben has a massive science project due on Wednesday. I am a terrible mother who used to try to help with such things, but found that this quickly devolved into frustration and yelling.  And so now I just watch.  His dad graciously takes him to the hardware store to pick out wires and switches for his circuitry project, and then helps him to test it all and make sure it works before Ben finishes it off.  The project is almost complete.  Ben just explained to me the difference between parallel and simple circuits, which I also learned in the 4th grade but have long since forgotten. I just go out to the garage every so often to "ooh" and "ahh" and pat them on the back, literally and figuratively. 

And so I want to remember this moment.  When all is peaceful.  I know that soon there will be hungry children to feed, tired children to put to bed, and more socks to fold.  But for right now, in this moment, all is right with the world. 

Happy Jack Yintao Day!

One year ago today I met my son, Jack Yintao. We celebrated tonight with Chinese food and home movies from Nanjing. (He was so tiny when we met him!)  His gift this year was a set of beginner chopsticks, which his siblings quickly claimed as their own.  Which was only fair since when I showed them to him he screamed, "NO!", which is is favorite word.  (He is two, after all.)

 

He is still as funny, cuddly, and sweet as he was then.

He is a charmer - even though he greets everyone he sees with a hearty, "NO!" people still seem to think he is adorable.

Even though he is a total mama's boy and every time his brothers or sister (or anyone else) tries to talk to me he screams, "NO! My Mama!", his siblings still love him and attempt to hug and kiss all over him.

And apparently he still makes ridiculous faces when the camera is on him.  It is his, "What do you think you are doing with that camera?" face.  (Five shots, no smile? I promise he does generally like to be with us!)

 

And if you want to revisit that wonderful day, feel free to go back and read about the day Jack joined our family.

Smarty Pants

Jack continues to blow us away with that sharp-as-a-tack brain of his. He doesn't miss much.

He has this Leap Frog toy called a Text and Learn that Aunt Sally gave to Kate years ago.  When we brought Jack home we pulled it out for him.  He loves to play with phones, ipads, and anything electronic, so we needed a toy to occupy him in the car and at times when his brothers and sisters want him to stay away from their stuff.  It is a simple little thing with a small screen.  Nothing fancy.  The best game on it has bubbles that rise up with letters on the inside.  The game says the letter, and when you type it in, the bubble pops. 

So we were at the Olive Garden the other night, and they always give kids those menus with pictures and games on them.  One of the games had a series of random letters.  Jack points to the A and says, "A". 

Whoa.  Yes.  That is an A.  And then he does it with the L, M, and O.  That was as far as he could go, so I asked him where the T was, and he pointed to it.  And then the same thing again with the N, I, and a couple more.  He knew every letter on that thing.  Pretty good for a kid who has only heard the English language for eleven months.  And is only 2 1/2.

And have I been working with him on letters?  Nope.  Well, maybe the M because he has a race care with M&Ms on it, and I often point that out, but other than that, nope.  I didn't even know he knew how to play the Text and Learn game. I thought he was just pushing buttons for fun. 

Further, Jack said his first complete sentence today.  I asked him who poured him his milk.  He said, "Dat Nang oo it."  Translation: "That Dad do it."  Yes, I am aware that it isn't the most grammatically correct sentence ever, but I give him big time points for putting four whole words together.  This boy will do anything he puts his mind to.  Just watch him. 

Christmas in February?

Yes, I know that it is closer to Easter than it is to Christmas.  And yes, we celebrated in December, not in February.  And yes, Bri and Danielle, I know I haven't posted in a month.  (But I love you for caring.)

So, here is our Christmas 2012.  Unfortunately, when we went to my mom and dad's houses for Christmas, I forgot the brand new camera that my mom gave me at home.  Yes, the one that she gave me early so that I would have it to take lots of pictures at Christmas. I am awesome like that.

The kids got a Wii and three DSs for Christmas this year from the grandparents, so this was all we saw all through Christmas break:

 Then we headed to Tim's parents to see them and all of the aunts, uncles, and cousins. 

 

And Will's favorite gift turned out to be a fedora.  Go figure.

Did I mention Tim is learning to play the banjo? 

And there you have it. Your 30 second Christmas summary.  And now I finally feel like I can move on with the rest of the year. I will let you know when anything exciting happens (other than the 13 illnesses that have migrated through our house in the last 4 weeks) (Which is, of course, why Christmas was 6 weeks late being posted here.  Yeah, that's it.).

Jack and the Hearing Saga

When we first saw Jack's file over a year ago, it was noted that he had severe/moderate hearing loss.  At the time we had two thoughts concerning this.  First, it was probably conductive loss related to his cleft palate.  If so, a good set of tubes might go a long way in helping him hear. (As one of Kate's doctors told me once, it is hard to hear with tapioca pudding in your ears.)  Second, even if the loss is permanent we have lots of resources to help a child with partial hearing loss.

So, we started the process and honestly did not give a lot more thought to his hearing loss. It was one of those We Will Cross That Bridge When We Come To It kinds of things.

Fast forward to last April when we met him. We had some indication that there might be loss.  For example, he is really loud.  No really. He is loud. Also, (unlike Kate, who also had moderate hearing loss) he had no connection with his Chinese name, even when spoken by people at his orphanage.  Was it because he couldn't hear or was it that they just never called him by that name?

Within a few days though, we noticed he was easily turning his head towards all sorts of sounds, and he was responding to the name Jack. This confirmed - for us anyway - that his loss was moderate at worst, not severe.

Once home our regular audiologist (#1) confirmed this for us again through a series of tests.  However, everyone and their mama thought we still needed to get a sedated ABR hearing test to further nail down the type and severity of the loss.

Remember all of the rigamaroll I went through to get the ABR?  Blech.

So in August, after his tubes were placed but before Dr. L repaired his palate, an audiologist (#2) came in and performed an ABR.  I was so confident that his hearing would come back with minor or no loss that I didn't give it a lot of thought.

Except that isn't what the report said.  The audiologist (#2) (who I had never met before) told me that Jack had moderate/severe sensori-neural loss and that he needed hearing aids immediately.  That he wasn't hearing well enough that he would ever learn to speak without aids.  Honestly, it was a punch in the gut.  I cried for quite a while before I felt ready to go back into the waiting room.  In my head I knew that this was a possibility, and I thought I was prepared for it, but the reality was a lot more painful.

Tim and I together decided we weren't ready to share this news.  Keep in mind that we were still dealing with the fact that our 2 year old was in surgery.  And for my part, I knew that I needed to get to a point where I wouldn't cry every time it was mentioned.  The last thing Jack (or I) needed was pity.  We needed resources and strength.  Jack would need the confidence to know that hearing aids would not slow him down or stop him from anything he wanted to accomplish in life.  It had to be no big deal.  And honestly I wasn't there yet.

We went in to see our regular audiologist (#1) a couple of weeks later.  Immediately, she questioned these results.  She questioned the type and severity, maintaining that Jack's loss was conductive and minimal, and she tested him again.  Over the course of the next few months she repeated those tests more times than I could count.  I carried the results to pediatricians and ENTS, looking for answers to these conflicting reports.

In the meantime, Jack was starting to talk.  He said the word ball.  Daddy. Wah (water). And one night I was putting him to bed.  It was pitch black in the room, and we were whispering to each other. He would say, "Mama," and I would say, "Jack."  Back and forth we went. And then I said, "Time to sleep, Jack." And he rolled over and went to sleep.

I know some of you are marveling that he listened to me, but I was marveling that he heard me! I whispered!

I went in to see audiologist #1 and told her, and she cried. I love that woman.

Then last month Dr. T, the international adoption doc, suggested we see her friend who is an audiologist (#3).   I had been considering a third opinion from the place this woman works anyway, so I was game.  They got us right in, and audiologist #3 did a series of tests and then says, "Jack has normal or near-normal hearing.  He does not need aids." And I cried again. I asked, "How could this other, supposedly objective test have been so wrong?"  And she explained to me how the instruments can sometimes get covered in the blood and other fluids present in a surgical situation, thereby making them inaccurate.  It wasn't anyone's fault. It just happened.

And so here I am, considering all of this.  I am extremely grateful that his hearing is fine, not only because I am a normal parent who wants their child to have normal hearing (even though I was perfectly willing and able to parent a child with hearing loss), but also because now we only have to have hearing checks a couple times a year. Which is really great, considering my recent complaints about frequent doctor appointments.

But through this process I have also thought a lot about what it would mean to have a child with something the rest of the world considers a disability.  I have given a lot of thought to parents who want their child to not be seen as a deaf child, but a child who happens to be deaf.  Do you see the distinction?  They don't want the emphasis to be on the deafness, but rather on a child who has infinite possibilities for success in his life.

This is another post without a neat bow.  I am thankful for Jack's hearing. I have twice been given the gift of a child whose hearing loss was restored.  (And twice the gift of children who have no hearing loss but severe selective hearing loss, iykwim.) I guess what I am saying is that maybe when I hear a child has a diagnosis, I will think twice before saying, "I am sorry."  Not that there isn't a time and place for I am sorry.  There is.  I just know that it wasn't something I wanted to hear. I did not want anyone pitying my son, who is one of the smartest kids I have ever met. (He is starting to recognize letters.  He is 2 and has only heard the English language for the past 8 months, 4 of which his ears were full of tapioca pudding.)  He is going to do amazing things, and it has nothing to do with how well he hears.  Next time I will be more likely to look past whatever the child has, and see the child's potential.  That is what is best for the child.  And for his mom.

Confessions of a Bad Blogger

Since I have been overwhelmed with life in the past year lately, I may have passed up a few bloggable moments.  But there are a few things I would never forget to tell you from 2012.

1. I would never forget to mention that Will learned to ride his bike this past spring.

2.  And I am sure that I remembered to post photographical evidence that we actually did spend a week at the beach with Tim's family. No?

 3. Likewise, I would never fail to blog if Kate learned to read.

4. If Ben had continued to write funny comic strips to amuse his teacher and me, I would post every single one.

5.  I am sure that if Will had visited the local newspaper office and become inspired to write his own newspaper, complete with cover story, sports section, interviews, comics, and puzzles, of course I would have told you about it!

6. I got a new camera just before Thanksgiving, but if a tall, skinny stranger tried to eat my youngest while I was messing with the settings, I am sure I would have remembered and posted a photo.

7.  I always remember to post the Annual Cousins-on-the-Stairs pic, especially if it is Jack's first one.

8. And if Kate ever won an award at school for never giving up or quitting, I would have taken the time to blog about it.

9. We didn't do anything fun like decorate gingerbread houses. And Jack-Man did not eat his house before it ever got decorated.  (Thanks again, Lilly!)

10. And of course, Jack did not fall on his face shortly before said gingerbread adventure, getting a large contusion on his forehead which is still visible more than two weeks later. 


I am also sure that the astute readers among you noticed that I still failed to mention our Christmas celebrations, but maybe I will get to that before the spring thaw. Or maybe I won't. Who knows what you will get from this bad blogger.