Home of the Four Trans

I watch Desperate Housewives religiously every Sunday; it’s fun drama. Usually, I do not relate to many of scenarios or any of the housewives on the show, but tonight, there was a scenario that struck a chord with me.

Lynette, a housewife, was carrying a potentially brain injured twin due to falling to the ground and the placenta tearing from the uterus, limiting the blood flow to the child’s brain. Although there was medical intervention available to save the baby, the doctors could not say for certain how physically and mentally affected the child would be. Just as the team were pushing Lynette to the OR, she fell into a dream, imagining what it would be like to raise a disabled child.

She envisions herself fourteen months into the child’s life breaking down during a physical therapy session as her child screams during his stretches meant to keep him from getting too tight which could damage the development of his limbs. She wondered if anything they were doing for him was working or worth trying. The therapist reminds her to focus on her son’s progress and not compare him to other children his age. She then envisions that child more than a decade later walking into her kitchen with the assistance of a cane, his right hand in a fist, and tucked into an L shape at his side as he asks for a sandwich. She forces him to make his own if he wanted one because she wanted him to learn to be independent even if it pained her to see her son struggle; with one hand weaker than he other, he did not have the same dexterity as his dominant hand, so opening the bread bag was even difficult for him; silverware clattered to the ground, he dropped his cane. Eventually, though, he did it–he made his own sandwich. A decade or so later, the boy is at his law school graduation ceremony thanking his mom for pushing him to live beyond his physical limitations because as he quotes Mahatma Gandhi,

“Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will.”

I couldn’t stop watching, and I did not want that very moment to end. The portrayal of the mother and child were so accurate, I saw a bit of me and lots of Justin in those characters. I saw and felt hope for Justin.

Lynette woke from that dream to learn that her baby didn’t make it. I felt heartbroken and thankful. Heartbroken because I had hoped the producers would introduce and maintain a character with physical disability to the show which would create awareness about many issues: strokes in children, family life struggles, the child’s struggles and triumphs. I mean, there is so much potential for drama there, no? Secondly, I was thankful because I have Justin. Even with the heartache and hardships we’ve endured together as a family, and I as a mother, and he with all his physical pain, I would never wish we never had him. Giving him the chance at life even when the prognosis was poor (according to one perinatologist) and being granted that power to carry his life means everything. I don’t have to live my days in a dream like Lynette wondering the what ifs, because I know.

My brother, after watching the show with my sister, asked me if Justin would be like that boy he saw on TV, if he’d walk and carry himself the same way. My answer is, “I don’t know.” Whether or not he’ll need a cane or any type of equipment for mobility in the future is really for the future to tell, although it is a possibility. Will his right hand ever be the same as the left? That, I know for sure, is no. He will not be able to use his right hand in the same way as the left, but I hope that it will become his “helper” hand to assist in things like holding down a piece of paper or carrying things with two hands/arms. And, yes, some of the things he does and will do will look funny and different to you and I. In the end, though, gaining his independence and living a fulfilling life is our goal.

Things have been coming along for us day to day. The boys are well and happy, learning, and growing. I suppose if you were to see us on the street, you’d say we were a pretty adjusted family, a mom with her boys, put together and carefree (with the exception of the stroller which is always packed with stuff).

Justin has been making progress with his gross motor, language, and cognitive skills. He’s taken a few steps on his own between Loi and I, although not consistent in his abilities. His favorite words are Elmo, yes, no, please, milk, Mama, and thank you. He can put two to three words together now, like “more milk please.” He’s becoming more proficient with board puzzles, naming things, and matching. He can also follow instructions much better than before and has a longer attention span. He’s come quite a long ways in this past year.

Nathan is still Nathan, as bright as ever. He is still homeschooling with me, although we’ll be registering him for kindergarten this coming September for the half day program. He loves teaching his little brother new things and announcing to the house when Justin achieves something new. His favorite things to do are build Lego, assemble jigsaw puzzles up to 48 pieces, draw and color, play the Wii (on limited time of course), play with his many cars, learn how things work and why, and read. He started basketball at the beginning of the month, but quickly grew bored of it, and wants to pursue tae kwon do and soccor instead. He still does not like a structured school program.

I’ve been counting and recounting my blessings. We are so blessed. My children, Loi, and I shared many trips, adventures, meals, walks, reading sessions, and family time together. The year had been so good for us that I’m sad to say goodbye. This next year holds many new and uncertain things for us with Justin’s next open heart surgery on the horizon and him starting preschool (without my attendance!), and Nathan starting Kindergarten. I suppose while starting school is a big milestone for both our children that brings me some anxiety, Justin’s next open heart surgery is the main event that has been weighing my heart and mind. I question how he’ll come out of it this time around, and how our hospital stay will affect Nathan, how all of it will affect Nathan. We don’t have a date for surgery, yet, but my heart’s been heavy thinking of it. It can no longer be pushed to the back of my mind because this year is the year…

I can’t decide if it is the changes I am anticipating in the coming year that is making our move to a  new home so much more difficult, or the fact that we’ve shared so many good moments in our former apartment. I walked through our apartment today gathering some of things–children’s books, a stepping stool, my purses, air fresheners, shoes, Justin’s Elmo DVDs he got for Christmas–and held my breath in fear of breathing out tears. I looked at our kitchen and thought of the meals I cooked for the kids and Loi, the cupcakes and cookies Nathan and I baked together, and the birthday cakes I baked for the boys. I looked around our living room and thought of all the games we’ve played on that floor. The dining room brought back visions of craft projects we had done. The walkway leading out our front door reminded me of the many stroller rides I’ve taken them on. A corner reminded me of where the Christmas tree was and the 2 Christmases we spent together there. Justin was with me, and I didn’t want him to worry, so I didn’t cry. Inside, though, I was drowning in a puddle of tears because this was our home for almost two years, a place where we lived and led life and were a family.

The reality is home is where we are together. It’s not the house or apartment that determines our home. But, leaving this place behind is like leaving a part of us behind, a good part, and accepting the changes that are upon us. Change and uncertainty are the obvious realities of life that we had learned to accept early on in our pregnancy with Justin, and it is the foundation of how we live our lives. Yet, when the changes come and and the uncertainties appear in the rearview mirror of our forward moving lives, no matter how prepared we think we are, we’re never prepared enough. So sometimes, it’s nice to pretend, step away from reality, and find some thing to attach myself to, some thing that isn’t as fluid as the seasons of our lives.

These past two weeks included my cousin’s wedding to the love of her life and the funeral ceremonies of Loi’s 90 year old grandmother. My heart and mind is brimming with emotions, and here I am just pouring some of it out (I don’t want to flood you all at once). The following thoughts are very close and dear to me that I’d like to share with you, though I do not expect you to agree with me. Thanks for allowing me the time to share a piece of me with you.

What weddings and funerals do for me is they remind me of life as a God sent gift. During these types of celebrations, I’m able to step out of the haze of everyday life and focus on these minute but significant moments that magnify what matters most.

At a wedding, the bride and groom look into each other’s eyes after up to a year of planning the reception, flowers, music, dance choreography, savings…to exchange these few words…

“I  take you  to be my wife/husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”

that are meant to bind them for the rest of their lives even after the flowers wilt and memories fade. It is in this small pixel of a moment that would determine the rest of their lives where two would become one…what God has put together cannot be undone…”until death do us part.” Powerful words of commitment, no?

That absolute moment in the entire wedding ordeal is what does it for me. It is that moment that reminds me of my own marriage and all that I promised my husband when we stood up on that church alter 6 years past. That excitement and full fledged willingness to do anything and all for him is how I should always feel because I had promised him so. Of course then, when we had said those words, I was 23 and he was 25, we had no children and had only us two to make happy; life was much simpler then. Baggages of resentment, anger, and failure soon enough came from the pressures of working and parenting, meeting our finances, (un) realizing our dreams. These baggages, though short lived, were never unloaded which eventually accumulated into strain on our marriage; for those who are married, you know that these are the facts of life, for those who are not, I’ll be the first to to tell you that marriage is not all bliss all the time, but you work at it. It is events like witnessing the exchange of vows between two people in love that encourages me to unload the unnecessary baggage in our lives to feel like I felt on our wedding day–excited and eager to pursue life together.

Funerals have the same affect on me in that while partaking in the ceremonies, I am given the opportunity to reflect on the unnecessary baggages in my life and am encouraged to let it go as to lead a more fulfilled life. Since having Justin and experiencing life like it’s a ticking time bomb, I’ve learned to strip myself of my many wants and material possessions. I’ve shed the anger and resentment layer by layer. Still, a stubborn human part of me can hold a pretty good grudge and am afraid to let it go (because it would mean that I have to change! *gasp*). Outside of the hospital setting, after adjusting to our normal life, it’s easy to think that life is anything other than a ticking time bomb. When times are good, it’s easy for us to fool ourselves into thinking time is all we have. But, the sun will continue to rise and fall as our time on earth dwindles. So, I remind myself to let go of the negative feelings that prevent me from nurturing the people and relationships in my life. Seeing a person laying lifeless there reminds me that in life, there is an end, and I need to say what I need to say to and do for those in my life before that silence settles between us forever. Sorry if this is a bit morbid. My heart is heavy.

Loi’s grandma lived a full life surrounded by countless children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, great great grandchildren (?) (Seriously, her family is so big, it seems like at every family function a new person pops out of the wood work). The effect of her life was so great that I believe she will live on through her children and grandchildren as they each carry a piece of her in the form of a memory, her mannerisms, facial characteristics, character, or a lesson she’s taught them. Though I was not nearly as close to her as her grandchildren were, I do know the effect she had on me: her undying spirit. Even in her last year as her health deteriorated leaving her wheelchair bound and unable to eat, she always mustered the energy to smile, the kind that would light up her whole face. She’d have conversations with me about my sons. She’d ask about Justin and genuinely cared about him even though she barely knew him. She’d let me massage her shoulders and legs and answer my random questions. The truth is I barely knew her and she barely knew me. But, for the short moments that we had together, I’d been touched. It is with those moments that I remember her by and shed these tears of mourning that I finally allow to fall. Rest in peace, Grandma.  You are loved.

Our season of change:

I’ve tried many times before, but the words wouldn’t come out right so I never pushed published. It’s been almost a month and I felt it was about time that I gave an update on our family’s status. There’s been lots going on, mostly in my mind, but in the real world, too.

I’ve started giving my time to my church volunteering as a teacher’s assistant for catechism class (I finally learned to make time). I love working with the kids and getting a refresher on the scripture while I’m at it.

Nathan and Justin got their first colds of the season with mucous filled throats and noses.

We’ve decided to homeschool Nathan this year as a test run for the next several years (I’ve been spending many a nights researching on different methods of teaching, support groups, and learning materials).

We’re planning for Justin’s transition into the school district as a special ed student next year; the actual process begins in January. The emotions are overflowing; I never considered having to accept the label of special ed for my son; to me, he’s bright and amazing…not special ed.

Our lease is up in January, and we’re still deciding which school district we should live in for the sake of getting the most beneficial special education program for Justin (some more research and school visits to be done within the next month so that we can make our decision) all the while contemplating the benefits of homeschooling him.

Also, with the president declaring the H1N1 pandemic a national emergency doesn’t help the worry any.

Since I don’t drink, I’ve been washing away my sorrows in shows like FlashForward, Grey’s Anatomy, Dancing with the Stars, and sometimes Ugly Betty and Cougar Town.

Please pray for us as we embark on these new journeys of our life. In particular, please pray for my children and their health (especially with the H1N1 going around).

Thank you for checking in on our family :).

are blossoming! His words may not be comprehensible to you, but to me, Nathan, and Loi, he makes perfect sense! We hear him saying the same thing enough to know what he’s trying to tell us. The important thing is he’s using his words to express his needs and emotions. Before this, he was  solely signing, pointing, grunting, nodding, and shaking his head.

Not only is he using words, but he knows how to use his words correctly.

Here are some instances of how he’s blown my mind with his newfound language skills:

After completing the scavenger hunt challenge at his friend’s 2nd birthday party, he opened his box of prizes to find a plastic wrapped candy necklace. He called “Mama! Mama!” to open it. I had just finished explaining to Nathan that he may not eat the candy, so I turned to Justin and told him the same thing, “Justin, Mommy will open it for you, but you can only hold it, not eat it, OK?” And, just like his brother, his response was, “Wah (Why)?” It took me a moment to realize what he had said. Once I did though, I was ecstatic. I’ve been telling this story to everyone, including the parents at his school during the parent discussion meeting!

“Hmmm…what’s in here?”

“M! M! (open)”

“Why?”

Justin’s second favorite new word is “Stah (Stop)!” He’ll use the word stop as in, “Stah! Stah! Stah!” to get me to stop the car to pick up the toy bus that he’d dropped on the ground; or, “Stah!” to make his point that he does not like the music that’s playing on the CD player; or, “Stah!” to get my sister to stop wiping his hand with a Wet One.

Here are some other words he knows.

1. ta (diaper in vietnamese)

2. Mama/Papa/Cuh-Cuh (older brother)

3. Mah (me)

4. Nah, Nah (no)

5. Mah (milk)

6.  wah wah (water)

7. mow (more)

8. go

9. ca (fish in vietnamese)

10. ba (grandma)

11. buh (Boy, my brother)

12. bah bah (bye)

13. woah woah (dog)

14. dow (down)

15. uh oh

16. bubboh (bubbles)

17. buah (book)

18. paw paw (carry me in chinese)

19. oo oo, ah ah (monkey or gorilla)

20. ba (bath)

He’s also mimicking more when I ask him to repeat after me. For the things he cannot say, he’ll make up for by pointing, gesturing, or signing.

One reason (I think)  for his blossoming language skills is music. He loves to listen to the CDs in the car and sing along in his special sort of way; his favorite songs are ‘Alouette’, ‘Wheels on the Bus’, and Music Together Summer Edition songs. He also responds well to the songs sung during circle time at his preschool, and knows one song, his favorite, well. He’s starting his Mommy and Me music class called Music Together this Friday after a month’s hiatus which I hope will encourage further language development from Justin.

Even with his most recent burst in language skills, Justin definitely has speech delays. Children his age (25 months) should know how to say about 50 words, and be able to put two words together. In order to help him with his expressive language delays, we started him on speech therapy with a speech pathologist one hour a week. So far, he’s had two sessions though not much work has been achieved because he hasn’t quite adjusted to the long day (his speech sessions follows his 2.5 hour school sessions) and new therapist, yet. His speech delay may have something to do with his stroke though his hospitalizations, general aneastesia, and low oxygen levels to the brain may have something to do with it, also; it’s difficult to tell for sure.

Regardless of the reason, we are enjoying the fact that he’s making progress, and trying not to worry too much about something we don’t have answers to. Justin really is so much fun to be around!

“So, how is he…you know, up there?”

I get asked this question quite often about Justin’s cognitive development. Most people assume that since he has had so many medical issues that he is cognitively behind, or even mentally retarded.

Well, Justin is cognitively behind, by about 4 months for his age. Justin’s cognitive abilities were measured by a test. The tests included shape matching, block stacking, self care tasks such as undressing, picture matching, etc.

Justin is also behind in his receptive language skills. In Justin’s case, receptive language is his ability to understand spoken language (it could also include written language). The assessment done by his teacher shows Justin understands the spoken language at about an 18 month old level. However, if you interact with him, you’ll find he understands a lot of what you say, and ask of him to do. It’s only when the teacher tests him is she able to see how behind he is. I personally think the tests are not accurate enough in measuring his intellect. Seeing him every day the way I do, I know he knows more than he is showing. And, as always, I look for progress as positive signs of his development.

I suppose the numbers are disappointing to see because if anything, I’d rather that he not be behind. But, he is, and so we deal with it. I can’t stop buying stuff to help with his development (like things will actually make him all better) because I’m always so hopeful. Just today, I went out to Toys R Us on what Loi called a shopping spree to buy him picture books, flash cards, and learning toys (Nathan got a Hungry Hippo game and a 100 piece jigsaw puzzle set). And, I’m so glad I did because with one of the books, I was able to see how smart my little boy is. I worked with him on a magnetic book called “Let’s Learn Our First Colors,” by Priddy Books.

Justin was able to match the magnetic pictures to the outline of the pictures on the book. I was so proud of him for being able to do this because it was always so difficult for him to do this just a month ago! I went through 11 pages with 3 objects to match per page with him before he got tired. I was too excited that I forgot to take pictures of him doing the task! But, above is evidence of some of his work! I’m so proud of him, can you tell?

I don’t care what the tests say, Justin is just something else!

“Do what you feel is right. Follow your gut/instincts. You are the parent and you know what is best for your child. You know him/her better than anyone else.”

Parents raising children with special needs hear this a lot from everyone, even each other. For the most part, the advice is good and true, and I follow it. There is no one who knows my child better; I’ve been by his side every step of the way, and asked all the questions that I knew how, and read up on journals and blogs and researched on the internet until my brains made me cry (so listen to me when I voice my concerns!). As a parent, sometimes, I just know what is right or wrong for your child because I do.

As well meaning as the advice may be, it also places immense pressure upon the parents’ shoulders to try to make the “right” decision. I mean, what is the right decision, anyway, when either way you look at it, you have a chance of losing.

This is pressure. If I really think about things this way, that Justin’s whole life is dependent on the decisions that I make for him, that is A LOT of pressure.

For example, deciding whether or not to enroll Justin in a group program was one of those times when the “right” thing to do was not so clear. Given his CHD and asplenia, I wondered if the benefits of the program were worth the germs (and viruses aka H1N1) that he’d be exposed to at the preschool. Of course, with my desire to instill a bit of normalcy in my child’s life, and given the cardiologist’s green light, I decided to give it a try. I’d heard many good things about the program, and wanted to give Justin the opportunity to grow cognitively.

If all goes well, then I’m a good mother for taking such risks. But, if devastation occurs (I’m not being dramatic, it’s a reality), then I am all to blame.

But, you know what? Along this journey with Justin, I’ve learned to relinquish the control that I thought I had over my life and my child’s life. The reality is, I never really had any control to begin with. Life will come as it will, and all I can do is trust in the Lord. I recall planning Justin’s arrival down to the tee. I wrote a step by step plan as to how I wanted Justin to be handled, and where he would go. I chose the surgery date and hand picked Justin’s cardio thoracic surgeon. I prepared myself for Justin’s arrival by reading medical journals and blogs about what to expect after his first open heart surgery. I looked for glimpses into the lives of children with CHD anywhere I could find it, mostly on the internet. I came into the game with my hopes held high. I thought I knew.

What all my researching and planning and reading didn’t tell me was what would happen to Justin. It didn’t tell me that he would suffer from complete heart block that required him to get a pacemaker, or that he’d flatline two times in a day after his heart catheterization or that he’d bleed after surgery, or that he’d suffer a stroke. I wasn’t prepared for those events because those things were not supposed to happen…at least, not to my child, I thought.

As those events unfolded one by one, we found that we were without control, as were the doctors. They could not agree as to why Justin’s rhythm was so intermittent, and why he suddenly came back from flatlining for 8 seconds, then another 30 seconds. When the doctors didn’t seem to understand, I knew there was no logic or reason left in Justin’s journey, that all our trust had to be in the Lord.

I am taken back to that day when I saw Justin’s blue and lifeless body lying in the hospital bed swarmed by a team of medical professionals whenever I have a difficult decision to make for him. Both times, he came back, on his own without resuscitation. I am reminded that I can only make a decision based on what I do know, and the rest I must trust in the Lord.

Here is an image I found on a blog that I follow. This piece of art titled, “Chief of Staff” by Nathan Greene, really speaks to me.

As difficult as it is to hand my child, my life and blood, over to strangers, I find peace in knowing that the Lord is by the surgeons’ side to guide his hands.

So…

The school Justin is attending isn’t any ol’ school. Of course not, because Mr. Justin always gets star treatment (he does!). Justin is enrolled in a pre-school program offered by Interventional Center for Early Childhood (ICEC). This program is designed for children who are developmentally delayed, and the service is paid for by our local Regional Center.

I am grateful that we have access to this program. Justin has many therapists and early childhood trained teachers at his disposal. The teachers and therapists set up a themed curriculum each day where all the activities emphasize that theme. The first day was about “Back to School,” and the second was “All About Me.” The activities are categorized and separated into stations: fine motor, gross motor, cognitive, music, oral motor, speech, etc. All the lessons incorporate social skills such as listening, taking turns, asking for things, etc. While rotating through the stations, Justin also has access to his peers. I am hoping that he will learn by mimicking as well.

All the children in the program are delayed in some way, although not all have a definitive diagnosis. Some may just be delayed in one area of development, while others have many challenges that pertain to a certain diagnosis such as Down Syndrome.

Now, the topic of Justin’s developmental delay (in all areas) may be an uncomfortable one for some to discuss with me, for whatever reason. But, let me tell you, I am not at all shy about expressing my thoughts about it. First and foremost, I am so proud of my son. He’s been through so much in his little life and still…just look at him. He’s a hard worker, motivated, and bright eyed. Second, it’s hard for me to see how delayed he is, especially when he’s not among his peers (like in Mommy and Me classes). I’ve grown to see the way he cruises and scoots as ‘normal’ for him; I’ve grown accustomed to him using his left hand as the dominant hand for everything. Third, I tend to look at his many achievements than at what he’s yet to accomplish. Considering what he’s been through, I think he’s amazing.

However, when I do see how different he is in his inability to walk independently or talk like other 2 year olds do, I get worried. As a mother, I will love my child for all that he is until the end of time, and there is nothing more I’d rather do than to protect him. At the same time, I realize that my time is limited, and as much as I’d like to protect and care for him, there comes a time when I will have to let go.

But, rarely do I contemplate about this ‘difference’…because rarely do I contemplate about the future. There is an immediate battle we must tend to, and that is keeping him well and healthy for the less immediate but near battle of the third surgery. Any thought of future surgeries weighs my heart heavy enough.

Some may call me short sighted for not pushing Justin enough to regain his abilities (which cannot be fully recovered) lost from the stroke. Some may call me a worry wart or pessimist. The way I see it, we’re doing the best we can with what we got. As much as I want to enroll Justin in various programs (HBOT or CIMT) to increase his skills, I need to enforce a sense of balance in his life. Justin is a kid, and I want him to enjoy what he can while he can. When the time comes, all will be as it should, I believe this. The light years between now and the future is too far and wide–many things can still happen, especially with that surgery ahead of us. The future is too far away to plan for. For now, Justin is making progress, is motivated, lovable, and happy. Really, this is amazing. Amazing.

So, I suppose how ’sad’ Justin’s situation is really all depends on the eye of the beholder. And, you know, I can only see him the way a mother could.

*Sigh*

At last.

My love, I could not have been prouder.

There were butterflies in my stomach the night before as I made a list of things to pack and do for your first day at school. I wanted everything to be perfect for you.

Every day, you stand by the garage door to watch your brother leave for school wishing you could do the same. I know this because on some days, you’d cry and point at the door, thrusting your body and up and down to convince me to take you. On other days, you’re content with me telling you that we have things of our own to do. You are a curious and social boy, and you just want to have a turn at it.

It is now your turn, and I didn’t want to disappoint.

So, I made your snack of blueberries and homemade whipped cream, Kashii Sunshine cereal, and milk. I also made sure to pack you a cup, straw, napkin, spoon, and bowl. I put it into an insulated lunchbox covered with cars, trucks, and emergency vehicles. The smile that spread across your face when helping me carry out the door to the car was priceless; you were so proud of yourself.

I dressed you in a big boy outfit with blue Converses, jeans, a shirt with a car on it (your favorite!), and even a belt.

I asked you if you were ready for school, and of course, you nodded yes.

Off we went.

Once we got there, before unloading you, I hung the camera around me neck and the diaper bag on my shoulder. As I lifted you out of the car, you wanted to be sure that the lunchbox was in your hand. You are so helpful.

We met the director who took us to your cubby where I stored away your lunch box.

We joined the other children in the gym as we waited for circle time to begin. You were just so curious of your environment and all the new (little) people. But, before you could even decide where to start…

Riiiiing. It was circle time.

I put you in one of the many colorful plastic booster seats around the circle time carpet. You tried to climb out and back into my arms. As I tried to seat you back down, the teacher began to sing and you soon forgot what you were fighting for. You love music. There was a camel, elephant, caterpillar, and gorilla that came out to welcome you and the rest of the children to the class. Your eyes lit up with each new song, and you even participated in the hand motions. Then, it was time to meet the rest of the class. The teacher slowly pulled out picture cards of each student in your class, and we all sang their names and the card was handed to that child. You knew your name and your picture, but were too shy to take it from the teacher’s hand. But, you had no trouble following directions. When the teacher told all of you to put down your cards on the floor in front of you, you did.

Then, it was time for your studies!

You made artwork by stamping while singing (sensorial).

You learned to ask “What is it?” by placing your two hands up by the side of your head and shrugging your shoulders. You made airplane, dinosaur, and car sounds while playing with the toys (speech).

You sang, “The Wheels on the Bus,” and made hand/body motions to each part of the song. Your favorite was putting your left index finger to your lips and shushing when singing, “…the parents on the bus go, shush, shush, shush…” You successfully pointed out all the parts on the bus (cognitive).

You filled rubber fish with water and squeezed it out into a cup. You scooped water up with a cup and poured it back out (fine motor).

You crawled up stairs, rode in a car, and soared in an airplane swing (gross motor).

I was so proud of you. I could not help kissing and hugging you after every accomplishment because I was so proud (you don’t know how to be embarrassed of this, yet). You’ve come a long way, Baby, and seeing you respond to instruction and mimicking the teachers  the way you did made me so happy.

The teachers all commented on what a great first day you had. Of course, they all loved you. I mean, who doesn’t, right?

Even when I had to leave you in the care of a teacher for a parent discussion session (my first time ever leaving you in the care of someone else that was not family!), you didn’t mind. I saw you watch me as I left the gym area, but just as quickly you returned to reading your book. I think it was harder on me to leave you, than for you to be left by me. The teacher said you did really well until they started to change your soaking wet diaper and pants. Then, you only wanted Mommy. It’s OK, you’re allowed to want Mommy.

We reunited and all was well, again. We even had a picture taken of ‘our’ first day at school together.

I’m so proud of you. You never fail to amaze me.

Love,

Mama

…too bad it wasn’t in the same instance.

Saturday was a glorious day because Justin bm’d on the toilet for the first time. We have not officially started toilet training, but he’s definitely been showing interest, so on that particular day, we decided to plop him on the toilet after a couple minutes of his straining in his high chair, and plop, plop, plop came the the little (and big) logs from our boy’s tiny bum.

Parents, you understand me when I say, it was so cute!, right? For those who are not, when it comes to our own children, even their poop is cute, ok?

So, I took a couple of pictures then Nathan took a couple of pictures to honor the moment, but I’m not sure if it’s, um, decent to post them. So, I won’t.

But, what I will share is this…

These boys share a brotherly bond that even their own mother cannot understand sometimes.

What I do know is that Justin admires and adores his older brother so much that everything Nathan says or do is just plain cool.

Like, today, Nathan was being naughty and said to my younger sister, “No! Poo, Poo!,” after she had asked him to do something. Then, just like that, Justin followed with an assertive, “Poo! Poo!” to my sister.

I couldn’t help but stifle a laugh (before scolding Nathan) while hearing all this from the dining room. Justin is just beginning to show the aggressive side of himself, and it’s strange to see and hear coming from such a sweet face with such a sweet voice.

Now, all he needs to do is transfer that energy into telling me when he really does need to go poo poo.