The Filing Cabinet

A couple of months ago, I finally got my son into another speech therapy program.

Back story: He was in one, briefly, a couple of years ago for a speech delay. I ended up pulling him out because we moved, but since he also started talking non-stop, I thought it was no longer as big issue. Around the time he turned three, even though he talked all the time, it became clear that he had some difficulty enunciating many words; I could easily translate what he was saying, but I guessed that everyone else understood him 50% of the time. Maybe less. Again, I thought he would just "grow out of it," that he'll eventually be able to sound out the letters R and L, etc. It wasn't until I met with his preschool teachers earlier this year that I realized how much his speech issues affected other things, most importantly, his social interactions with other kids. They were concerned that my son had not made any real connections with any of the other kids, even though they have been in the same classroom for several months already. They said that perhaps the biggest hurdle is because the other kids have trouble understanding him; if they try to speak with him and he either can't answer them or answers unintelligibly, then they get frustrated and/disinterested.

While not totally uncommon, they also told me that at this age (4-5), kids generally start to really play with one another. It was very surprising and sobering to hear, since my son is far from being a shy kid; he will talk to complete strangers at the store, and is known for always having a beaming smile on his face. Consequently, I began to notice when I dropped him off in the mornings, there were definite "groups" of kids who generally played together ... and there was my son, who played by himself. It broke my heart. Now, it wasn't like my son sat in a corner and cried - he was happy to play alone, or briefly with the occasional kid who stopped by to check out what he was doing, but as his mother, of course I want him to have friends and be able to have fun with them. I am an introvert, so I fully understand the preference to do things alone, but I was/am afraid that my son's speech difficulties could lead him to be treated as an outcast.

So I finally got off my ass and got him into therapy. Great! But then they made me realize something else. While he definitely needs help with articulation, he also has problems simply communicating. Ask him a question, and he could give you a seemingly random or unrelated answer. Yes, this was something else I knew, but didn't think too much of. That is, until I took into consideration how it affects his interactions with other kids.

The best example they gave me was this: it's as if his mind is like a filing cabinet. Talk to him, and instead of pulling out the right piece of paper, everything just falls out and he picks up the first piece that he thinks makes sense. That is so completely him. Again, I was able to figure him out because most of the time, I knew what he was referencing. But to others? Talk to him about food, and he will blurt out something like, "But the kids won't have good food to eat!" While I could recognize that he's recalling something from the book, "The Little Engine That Could," others would generally be like, "WTF?"

So we're working on it. He has speech therapy twice a week, I take him to as many of his classmates' birthday parties that we get invited to, and he'll be in preschool for five days a week (instead of three) starting in the fall. If it comes up again (his speech therapist mentioned the possibility of him being ADHD), I'll do what I can to help him work it out. My son is a crazy, happy four-year-old - and I think as most parents are wont to do, I'll be damned if he's ostracized or bullied in some way because he has difficulty talking.

OLDchella - Part One

Every year, a group of our friends head out to the California desert to attend Coachella. Many of them go every single year, while my husband and I make it out when we can. Sometimes only my husband goes, while other times we've had to cut the trip short. This year, because the planets aligned just right—and my mom was available to watch my son for five days—we were both able to go and stay the entire time.

The theme this year: OLDchella ... when the average age of festival-goers is almost half as yours!

We drove up on Thursday with a couple of friends who flew in from the Bay Area, arriving at the hotel in the late afternoon. This year we stayed at the Marriott Shadow Ridge, sharing a two-bedroom suite with the couple we drove up with. The suite had plenty of space, and our bedroom had a little patio that overlooked a quiet stream.

Most of our group arrived earlier, so the party was already well underway by the time we got there. (Translation: drink up to catch up.) The group always goes out for a big pre-Coachella dinner on Thursday night; this year our reservation was at 8pm at Cliffhouse Grill & Bar in La Quinta, so I had time to drink a couple of Bloody Marys and a glass of wine before we had to pile into the huge van that would take us to and from the restaurant. I had a glass of Zinfandel with my sugar-spiced salmon, followed by coffee and their ridiculously rich Happy Point S'mores for dessert. Between me and two friends, I don't think we even ate half of it. You know you're old when you've got a massive sweet tooth and can't even finish your dessert.

After dinner, the party continued at the hotel in one our friends' suite, where my arm was twisted (with very little resistance) to have a shot of tequila (meh) and Absolut Whipped Vodka (yum). By that point, the room was definitely spinning. I think I switched to water, but I honestly don't remember much after that second shot.

To be continued. Next up, Coachella Day 1.

Love and Vomit

There are many, many things I never thought I would do or say before I became a parent. (How often I make references about my son's toilet habits, for example.) But there is one specific thing that I remember my mother doing that catches me by surprise every time I find myself doing it: I'm talking about catching my child's vomit with my bare hands.

Gross, I know. Which is why I'm surprised each and every time I have done it myself.

When I was about five years old, the open windows in my bedroom suddenly slammed the door shut behind me. Unfortunately, one of my fingers was still back there. On the plus side, it wasn't severed completely, and the doctors were able to reattach the wayward tip. I was knocked out for the operation, and I remember waking up feeling very, very ill. As soon as I sat up, out came the vomit, and I very clearly remember my mother rushing over with her hands cupped just below my mouth.

For the longest time I thought, "Damn, that some nasty shit right there!" I never understood how she could have done that. (As an aside, my parents were both workaholics and we spent a lot of time with nannies. Apart from the finger incident, I don't really recall any memories of being sick with the flu or a stomach bug as a young child.)

Last night (and this morning), my son barfed. As I've done every time he's gotten sick in these past four years, my cupped hands automatically shot below his mouth to catch it. And after EVERY. SINGLE. TIME ... I think to myself, "Good lord, it's like what my mom did for me!"

I guess I like to think of it as something a parent would do, unconditionally, for her child. That, no matter little time my mom and I spent together, she would still do that for me. No matter how angry or frustrated I get at my son, I would still do that for him. There is no truer sign of love than catching someone else's vomit!

And, I'm somewhat shallow. Better my hands than that expensive rug? ;)

One Night in Vegas

What was the occasion? Write about the last time you stayed in a hotel.

November 2011. Las Vegas. Hard Rock Hotel.

For the past several years, my husband's annual holiday part has been held at the Hard Rock in Vegas. I almost didn't get to go since my husband's annual "boys trip" to Vegas turned out to be on the same weekend, and he almost took one of his buddies with him to the party. I was bummed. I love going to Vegas - the drinks, the food, and yeah, some gambling too. Thn the idea came up that I could just come out for one night for the party, then my husband would still have the rest of the weekend to spend with his buddies. Yes! But there was another caveat: I had just found out I was pregnant at the time, so that meant no drinking and no heavy partying*. Oh well, I thought, I could still have fun. I love Vegas!

We got there and checked into our awesome suite at the Hard Rock. We chilled for a bit before getting ready for the night. I wore the same dress and shoes from last year's party because...well, I don't really have many dressy things in my closet. Honestly, the annual holiday party is the only time I ever get to dress up. No worries, I thought; people were so blitzed last year that I doubt they'd remember.

The living room portion of our suite.

Behind the TV wall was the lovely, fluffy bed.

Speaking of...that was another reason I really wanted to go last year. I got SO SHITFACED the previous year that I didn't even make it to the party. Halfway through dinner, I was practically passed out at our dining table at Nobu that my husband and a coworker had to escort me back to our room. While my husband partied downstairs, I spent the rest of the night either in bed or with my head in the toilet. Good times.

So between my resolve NOT to repeat what happened at the previous party and the fact that I wasn't allowed to drink any alcohol, I figured I had a very good chance of making it to the party this time! We had dinner at Nobu again, but this time with a different set of my husband's coworkers and their partners. Dinner was lovely, even though I had to sneak a peek at my iPhone a couple of times to check whether this fish or that was safe for me to eat. We hadn't announced the pregnancy yet, so with my fake cocktail, no one was the wiser. After dinner, we headed to the party, which was already in full swing. They played a lot of hip hop and dance, which I managed to get my husband to dance with me for a bit. For much of the party we walked around and chatted with a bunch of other people, as well as sit down, rest, and people-watched. We even went back out into the casino or gamble a bit, but we called it a night fairly early. Tired, but certainly in much better shape than in the previous year.

The next morning, unfortunately, I had to catch an early flight back to LA. While I would have loved to stay longer, all in all, I had a great time and was so glad it worked out.

*As I briefly mentioned in a previous post, we ended up losing the baby in early December. From what my doctors said, the baby had stopped developing around the time of the party. When I should have been nine weeks along, I was only showing as six. Two ultrasounds made it clear that itnhad stopped growing. I'm now fine with the loss, but part of me can't help but wonder if it was anything I did that somehow hurt the pregnancy. I didn't drink, but I did have a few cigarettes. Was it that? Was it the dancing? The heels? The food? The fatigue of travel?? It was a blighted ovum; something, most likely genetically, caused the fetus to stop developing. I know that, but sometimes I still wonder...

Nerve-Wracking

The question from Mama Kat's Weekly Writing Prompts: A case of the nerves! When was the last time you had them and how did you get through it?

The last time? This past Sunday when I had to take my four-year-old to a preschool classmate's birthday party.

See, for as much as I "talk" online, I'm actually a very introverted person. I'm not necessarily shy, I just prefer to do things on my own. But I get very stressed out in social situations where I barely know anyone while everyone else knows one another. I'm not good at going up to people and having genuine chats with them. Sure, I can do small talk, but I'm not a fan of those. So I had been stressed out about this party all week, and by Sunday morning, I honestly felt like throwing up. In the shower, I stood there shaking, even though hot water was pouring down on me. I considered taking an Ativan.

How did I get through it? It just had to be done. If I declined the invitation, I would be doing my son a disservice. As I mentioned in my previous post, my son needs a little help in getting to know his classmates. I should be thankful that we were even invited. I have to cast aside my own fears if it helps my son even in the smallest bit. I left the Ativan in the bottle, took many deep breaths on the drive to the party, and steeled my nerves as best as I could. I'm pretty sure I thought to myself, "It won't be that bad, you'll probably be chasing him down during the entire party. There probably won't even be many instances where you're sitting there by yourself, all pathetic-like."

In the end, it really wasn't that bad. Sure, there was one awkward moment when my son and I sat down to eat, and he decided to sit at a table away from the rest of the kids—but in all honesty, was it such a big deal? Five minutes later, we were back outside to play, then it was time for the cake, and all the kids were able to gather around to sing "Happy Birthday." Yes, I survived, and I know I made it a bigger deal than I should have. (But isn't that what anxiety usually is?)

We have two more preschool birthday parties the next two weekends. On Sunday morning, I'll probably be hyperventilating again in the shower, but a mom's gotta do what a mom's gotta do.