murmurs

Phoebe’s last doctor’s appointment was a while ago now. Her 18 month appointment. (She’s now 21 months old.)

For those of you who haven’t taken a baby on a well visit to the doctor, they tend to follow a predictable pattern, at least in our experience. You go into a room strip the baby down. A nurse weighs the baby, and measures the baby’s length and head circumference. Then you wait a bit and the pediatrician comes in. She looks over the measurements, and pokes and prods the baby. Looks in ears and mouth, listens to lungs and heart. Asks questions about development. How much milk does she drink? Does she still drink from a bottle? Eating solid foods? Using a spoon? Is she babbling? Yodling? Falling asleep on her own? Crawling? Walking? Dancing?

We answer the questions, and it being us, we joke around a bit with the doctor. Happily, she has a sense of humor and understands when we are joking. The visit goes pretty uneventfully, typically. We learn that Phoebe is big and tall for her age. We rattle off some of her accomplishments. Things are all smooth sailing till the doctor leaves and the nurse comes in to give the shots. And then it’s over till next time.

But this last time there were a couple of things that caught me by surprise. One was that the doctor heard a heart murmur. And the other was that she thought that Phoebe’s speech was lagging.

After the visit, we got the referral for the cardiologist to check on the murmur. We weren’t too worried, as the doctor didn’t think it was likely to be a troublesome murmur. But of course we followed through. We wouldn’t take risks with Phoebe’s heart. We sought the expert opinion. And the cardiologist confirmed that the murmur is completely benign.

The speech part of the story is ongoing.

Phoebe is a quiet child, for the most part. She takes after her parents. She started saying a few words at around 12 months old, and over the following months added quite a lot of words. But the thing is, she would use a word for a day or two, and then move on to the next word. We wouldn’t hear the word again in most cases. Turtle was a favorite word for quite a while, and then yellow, and then uh-oh. And there would be all sorts of other words she’d use only once or twice, often carefully articulating. Shoe. Puzzle. Rubberband. She spent a whole day working on getting the production of hat just right, getting the /h/, and the vowel and fully released /t/ out there in a careful sequence.

So when the doctor asked for a list of words that Phoebe used regularly and consistently, we didn’t really have much of a list to offer. That wasn’t what Phoebe was doing. We could remember maybe 2 or 3 words. Ball. Uh-oh. No. There were a couple of signs and gestures, too.

What’s funny is that I have studied language development in classes, and have read a textbook or two, and attended lots of conference talks on the subject. But up to that visit, I hadn’t really given much thought to whether Phoebe’s development was on schedule. I had noticed that Phoebe was not doing the things the textbooks had described, but I figured that intro textbooks tend to overgeneralize, and that individual babies have different patterns. Actually, I still think this is the case. Phoebe was using language productively, and showing remarkable comprehension of even quite complex sentences and structures. It hadn’t occurred to me to worry. So when the doctor mentioned that she thought Phoebe was behind in her speech, and that she recommended that we get an evaluation for early intervention, I was quite startled. My first first reaction was that this wasn’t necessary. But I agreed that we would take the information and consider it before the next well visit, which wouldn’t be till Phoebe turns two.

The doctor said that at 18 months, a child should be using at least 5 or 6 words consistently. I thought our list wasn’t that far off, especially as we drove home from that visit. I remembered a few more words here and there. I realized that had I been more fully prepared, I could have presented a list of 6 or so words. And perhaps the doctor would have just taken the list as adequate to meet the criteria of her checklist.

John was a late talker. His mother doesn’t remember the details of when he started talking, but remembers that she had a sign up over his bed saying that Einstein didn’t talk till he was 4 years old, or some such. John’s family says that once he started talking, he was using complete sentences. So it doesn’t seem too surprising that Phoebe is taking after her father. She has been a cautious child, much like John was, I’m told.

But the truth is, I’ve had murmurs of doubt. I know that children do vary a lot in their paths through language development. I’ve seen that other kids were much more verbal at Phoebe’s age, and even younger. A baby who lives next door to John’s parents was producing about 60 words consistently by the time she was 14 months. A friend’s daughter was saying all kinds of words when I’d seen her when she was 16 months, making requests, chattering away. I don’t necessarily think Phoebe needs to be as verbal as those other kids, but I sometimes wonder.

She does a lot of pointing. We do a lot of 20 questions, trying to figure out what she wants. We communicate quite a lot, and things go quite smoothly most of the time. She makes observations. She names objects. She responds to questions. She’s produced a few two-word combinations. There are times when she says fairly long things which we can mostly decipher, though other times when we have no idea. She has lately even gotten better at producing words on request, as in answering “what’s that?” or “what does a dog say?” And she’ll say “please,” now, on request. Which is so freakin’ cute I can’t even tell you.

She’ll say “more” if she wants something, and point, but beyond that it’s as if she hasn’t fully figured out that she can use words to make requests. She’s been getting better at this, though. But still, every once in a while, she gets frustrated. I can’t tell what she’s pointing at. Or guess what she wants to do.

I sometimes read about the verbal progress of kids Phoebe’s age, or younger, and I feel little pangs. I know she’ll be talking soon enough. But I do sometimes get impatient to reach that next stage. And I would really love it if she called me something. She knows I’m Mommy, but she never calls me that. She doesn’t call for me. For a while she called me Ada, which I realized came from “other.” (Maybe I’ll share the story some time.) She has said Daddy for a while, but there was a stretch when she’d use it to mean “good-bye.” She’s now started to say “bye,” but may have stopped saying Daddy.

Anyhow, the upshot is that we are having the early intervention evaluation. I realized that even though I know quite a bit about language development, I am not an expert, and I certainly don’t have a clinical background. I didn’t feel like the suggestion that we see a cardiologist was somehow a criticism of us or our parenting abilities, so it shouldn’t be any different for this. I still have this nagging feeling that they’ll tell us we’re doing something wrong, or that they’ll tell us we’re overreacting. And while I have decided that I am 85% sure that they will think that Phoebe is on track, I have realized that I don’t want to withhold from Phoebe anything that might be beneficial to her, such as early intervention services. Certainly not out of some sense of pride.

So some people are coming over to our house bright and early tomorrow morning. (Or this morning, if you want to get technical, since it’s after midnight.) Which means I should be cleaning, and not writing this. Because I can’t quite get over the feeling that they will be evaluating us, and not just Phoebe’s language.

some things about ThThTh

Some of you may have noticed that I like to put together lists. In fact, at this point, I have now tagged 96 posts as “lists.” That’s a lotta lists. I have also, for the past half year or so, started making a regular weekly list. A list of things. Things that have some sort of theme in common. And these themed things, I bring them out on Thursday. Occasionally I get asked what this is all about. Often people are just confused by my lists. And I’m okay with that. But I have been meaning to write some sort of ThThTh about page for a bit. And seeing as I’m a bit burnt out from the excessive blogging of NaBloPoMo reading and writing, rather than bring you a new list, I’m going to regurgitate a list of old lists. A nice, big mega-list of a meta-list. And maybe a wee bit of explanation.

What the hell is ThThTh?

ThThTh is a tag I use when I put together a list of things on a theme on Thursday. What these lists have in common is that they are lists of things that have one thing in common.

Why do you do this craziness?

Putting together these lists helps satisfy my desire…to put together lists. I like to categorize like things, and have been doing this in my mind for years. I have a tendency to collect things, as in the physical objects, but this new outlet for collecting collects a lot less dust.

What sorts of things are they?

I like to pick from among the universe of things, and not be limited to a medium or category. So my lists will include things like movies, books, folktales and myths, songs, cliches and other sayings. The lists may include toys, products, names, and other totally random things. (I also will more than occasionally put together lists of just one type of things, such as books, movies or songs. But I consider those a separate type of list.)

What sorts of themes are they?

I often pick themes that are somehow loosely related to something that is going on in my life, or something seasonal. Or sometimes based on nothing much at all.

My inaugural ThThTh post was on teeth, to pay tribute to the usefulness of teeth in producing the voiceless interdental fricative that we represent as “th” in the words theme, things and Thursday. I have now posted 24 ThThTh lists, on top of those themed lists I threw together before I’d settled on having Thursday be my special list day.

At this time, you can find lists on topics such as turkeys, turtles, trees, squirrels, birds, parrots, pigeons, pigs, and pigtails. There have been spiders, ants, bats, balls, shoes, and black clothing. There were blue, green and red dudes, vegetables, peaches, berries, pumpkins, apples, tomatoes, chocolate and cheese.

I even made one list of things I did not expect to make lists about.

support

Even though I had some things in mind, I’m really too tired to post much of anything creative. I’ve been staying up too late again, and perhaps pushing myself a bit hard. And I have some more work I’ve committed to doing tonight, if I can manage to keep my eyes open.

But I’ve been wanting to say some thank yous.

I really appreciate all the comments that people have left recently, especially on the posts where I have been writing about my grief. People have offered wise advice and shoulders to cry on, and I have been very touched by the sympathy and empathy. I have wanted to respond to each comment, but I have been feeling emotionally drained. I may yet manage to reply, but if I don’t, please know that I have read and valued those comments.

And for others of you who have read and thought sympathetic thoughts, I thank you, too.

I have also been very fortunate to have support from other friends and my family. I’m someone who likes to feel like I’m there to help others in times of need, and it’s been very heartwarming to know that people are there for me, too. I sometimes stubbornly like to think of myself as self-sufficient, but I know that my strength comes in large part from the support of those who care about me.

As you might expect, I am still working through my grief. But it has been very comforting to me to know that I don’t need to work through this alone.

Dude? Dude!

Wanna know something kinda funny? I had occasion to mention a beer commercial during a work/research meeting this afternoon.

We were talking about an experiment we will be running, which will involve getting people to judge whether two similar-sounding spoken utterances of the same text are being produced with the same intonation contour (or the same meaningful “tune”). Because, as you probably realize, you can say the same words a whole bunch of different ways. Or the same single word, even.

(Thanks to tabba for sharing the video, which I hadn’t seen before. Dude.)

Now with more Polysyllabic Nonsense

I think most of you have seen this item making its way around the bloggy world: the blog reading level score. I’ve seen it a bunch of places:

You wanna know what I got?

elementary_school.jpg

(Note that my blog shares this honor with Sassy of eye heart internet, who can even blog at the elementary school level bilingually.)

Actually, the first time I tried this, a few weeks ago maybe, I got junior high level. But apparently my writing skills are deteriorating.

What I find funniest, though, is that I also tried my other blog: The Minsitry of Silly Blogs. This is a blog I threw together on a whim to go along with a NaBloPoMo group I started. See what it scored?

genius.jpg The Ministry of Silly Blogs

It would seem that when I am making efforts to sound Officious and Pretentious, as well as Silly and Pompous, my writing appears more erudite. Even if what I am writing is Utter Nonsense. (Which is not to say that I believe that all those whose blogs scored higher than elementary school write Officiously and Pompously. But perhaps you all write Utter Nonsense?)

All in all, I find myself terribly curious about the means by which a reading level score is achieved. Is it sentence length? Average word length? Does anyone know?

sulking

I’m just feeling down today.

The memorial service for Elizabeth was last night. We drove up from New York so that we could be back in time to make it there. It made for a long day, and a lot of time in the car. Poor Phoebe was not happy to have to get back in the car after only an hour back home, following close to 5 hours in the car. John ended up needing to take Phoebe out to the vestibule before the service began, as we were heading into a meltdown.

It was a nice service, if long. It was the first time I’ve been in a temple, as far as I can remember. I haven’t been to many religious ceremonies at all, and felt a bit like a visiting anthropologist. (I feel much the same way when I’ve been in a church.) I appreciated the ritual and the music. Though I did find myself craving to hear more about my friend. There was a 3-page paper of thoughts about Elizabeth from her family, but I found I couldn’t read it there without risk of excessive blubbering. The service included some words from a college friend of Elizabeth’s, and a poem written and read by her aunt. I found the poem particulary moving, as it spoke of the Elizabeth I knew. Her wit, her quirks and her complexity.

Some of my other friends who also used to work with Elizabeth also went, and I was glad to see them, and to be able to sit with them during the service. A couple more friends couldn’t make it, due to travelling for Thanksgiving.

There were a lot of people there, overall. It was moving in some ways. But in other ways it made me feel small and insignificant. I felt an outsider. I was glad to meet some friends of Elizabeth’s whose names I had heard, but had never met. I saw her parents, met a sister-in-law. But mostly there was a crowd of strangers.

The friend who spoke said that Elizabeth made everyone she knew feel like they were her best friend. And for some reason, this made me feel sadder. I wonder how often people feel this way at memorial services. Peripheral. One of many. It made me feel a bit like I wanted to stake out my claim in the grief. Declare that I had known her for 12 years. Proclaim that I had shared in the pain of witnessing her illness. Announce that I felt her loss deeply.

At the same time, I feel like I didn’t do enough. Or maybe that I really was a bit of an outsider.

I feel bad that I didn’t visit her more often. I didn’t know about her other hospital stays till after the fact. But maybe I should have known. Maybe I should have called more. When I’d call she’d often be too tired to talk, or on her way out the door. So I didn’t call much. I took her to her chemo treatments twice, and would gladly have gone with her more. Maybe I should have offered more.

And I feel bad that I hadn’t told some friends about her illness. And I feel bad that I still haven’t contacted a couple of other friends I’ve lost track of.

Mostly I just feel bad today. And I find myself missing my friend all the more.

Is sulking a stage of grief? What about crabbiness?

for whoever

In case you don’t know the Beautiful South, allow me to introduce them to you. (Whoever you are.) Here is their song, “Song for Whoever.”

Oh Shirley, oh Deborah, oh Julie, oh Jane
I wrote so many songs about you
I forget your name (I forget your name)
Jennifer, Allison, Phillipa, Sue, Deborah, Annabel, too
Jennifer, Allison, Phillipa, Sue, Deborah, Annabel, too
I forget your name

What have you been up to, little girl?

upside-down.jpg

I’m terribly behind in updating the Phoebe Blog, where I try to document some of my daughter’s activities and accomplishments. That was my foray into blogging, and I still use the same software (iWeb) I started with. It’s somewhat cool in that I can compose everything on my computer and in that it links up automatically with my media files, but it has this irritating feature that doesn’t let you keep some drafts unpublished while you publish others. Since I now have about 10 drafts in various stages of completion, I’m pretty much stuck not publishing any of them till they’re all done. So the family doesn’t get to see what Phoebe’s up to.

Unless, of course, there’s an event like Phoebe’s run-in with the law yesterday morning. Then the whole family somehow learns. (Oh, right, now you want to know. Well, you know how some phones have an emergency number programmed into the speed dial? Did you know some phones have a big, pretty red button that is hooked up to such a number? Did you know that toddlers like to push buttons?)

We’re down at John’s parents for the holiday, by the way. We came down Tuesday night, to avoid the craziness of traffic that happens the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. We’ve driven up to visit John’s dad in the sub-acute care facility each day after Phoebe’s nap. There have been a lot of late nights, too. And yesterday there was a lot of cooking. (We packed up the feast to take up to John’s dad’s.) I made mashed potatoes, delicata squash (which is much safer to cut than KC’s Death Squash), and my famous stuffed pan. (I like stuffing, but not the things that tend to be stuffed with it. So I just make the stuffing.)

Also, at the moment, my feed reader folders are stuffed full of 272 unread messages. (158 of these can be blamed on people I just started reading with NaBloPoMo. Curse you, NaBloPoMoPeople. Curse yooooouuu! Oh, right. I’m guilty of this madness, too. Curse me! Curse meeeeee!) I’m not quite sure when I’ll be able to catch up. Make that “if.”

gobble, gobble, gobble

turkey_6.pngToday is Thanksgiving, a holiday here in the US traditionally (or at least moderately traditionally) celebrated by a day of feasting with family and by expressing thanks. It’s also a day when most Americans eat turkey, a large bird that is native to North America.¹ This has lead to many people calling Thanksgiving “Turkey Day.” So what better Themed Things list to bring you for this Turkey Day than a list of turkeys. (However, these are turkeys you won’t likely see at the dinner table.²)

Ten Turkey Things for Turkey Day

  1. Turkey in the Straw: an American folk song, often fiddled. (Listen to it, if you like.)
  2. hand turkey: a picture made by tracing one’s hand to make the approximate shape of a turkey. The thumb represents the head and neck, and the fingers the tail feathers. Usually, the drawing is adorned with a beak, an eye, wings and a wattle.
  3. a turkey: a movie that got bad reviews, or that otherwise was poorly received.
  4. a turkey: a bowling term meaning 3 consecutive strikes.
  5. talk turkey. An expression meaning “to speak frankly.” Has some debatable origins.
  6. jive turkey: one who acts as if they know what they are talking about, but really doesn’t.
  7. Wild Turkey. A brand of bourbon. My grandmother liked bourbon. Not sure if she had a preferred brand.
  8. cold turkey. The act of quitting abrubtly, without tapering off. As in “quit drinking cold turkey.” (Which may also involve quitting drinking Wild Turkey.)
  9. Turkey: a nation. (I wonder how often people not native to the US expect that there will be some sort of Turkish cultural event on Turkey day?)
  10. Twas the Night before Thanksgiving, by Dav Pilkey. A somewhat controversial picturebook about some kids who “liberate” some turkeys from a farm and have them over for dinner (but don’t have them for dinner). (I found the full text online listed as an “anonymously” written animal rights poem, but I think Pilkey was the orginal author.)

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¹ Some Americans will instead eat a tofurkey, such as a Tofurky, a tofu-based turkey substitute.

² Well, except maybe the bourbon, in some households.