Speech and the Language Sundae

Buffy: "Stop new wordage? Never gonna happen."
In addition to being bouncy, our speech therapist Buffy was also into slaying anything that interfered with speech and language development.

A playful area rug on the floor, a foot massage with fragrant lotion, a little song performed as though Lei’s toddler feet were microphones: thus began her early speech therapy sessions. Her speech therapist was petite, perky, blond Buffy, a person worthy of sharing a name with the Vampire Slayer. Her approach to speech therapy was to get the child’s nervous system regulated, to give them all the sensory input they needed, to get the muscles of their mouths and faces all working in perfect concert, and only then work on speech. She was (and is) the best.

All this laying of foundation taught me something about speech and language.

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From the archive: Controlled chaos all over my shirt

White pit bull terrier

This is a post from December, 2005, that first appeared on my now-defunct blog, Today in the Life. The funny thing about reading this now is the idea that I had any kind of “control” over the chaos. Em … no. Coco was our white and brindle Staffordshire terrier (a.k.a. pit bull), who died in October, 2014. 

Lei just came into her playroom where I am trying to escape my parental responsibilities and made a sign I couldn’t understand. It wasn’t the sign for HOT, but she sounded like she was saying “hot.” I followed her into the living room.

White pit bull terrier
When Coco came to live with us in October of 2005, she had heartworm and was just not well. She was in the pound, a day away from being euthanized when a rescue group swooped in and delivered her to us. She was a handful, way more than I was ready for, but she got better and mellowed out eventually. We loved her dearly.

I still don’t know what she was trying to convey, but when I got into the living room I saw a big puddle, complete with surrounding splash, of watery dog vomit. I guess it’s time to feed Coco.

Coco hasn’t been fed yet this morning because I have to make her food for her. Yes, boiled ground chuck and instant white rice, because anything else gives her the runs. She eats better than three quarters of the world’s population.

But before I could make her food, I had to wipe up the mess. I grabbed a receiving blanket – our answer to towels of all kinds – and used it to absorb the foamy liquid, then added the blanket to the bag of puked-on stuff from last night. We’re not doing so well when it comes to keeping peristalsis heading downward. Continue reading

From the archives: This I believe

In 2004, my brother emailed me that I should think about submitting an essay to NPR’s then new series, This I Believe. About a year later, near the end of my daughter’s second year of life, this playful reflection is what I wrote. I never did submit it to NPR, just posted it to my long-defunct blog, Today in the Life. Anyway, enjoy!

Someday they really are going to grow up.
Someday they really are going to grow up.

I believe that housework offers its own reward, and those who perform it are bounty hunters.
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