Secret Ears

Back in March I spent an hour or so visiting the preschool Zoe is going to attend this September. I was there for circle time, and I remember thinking how advanced the language skills of the children were, and that Zoe was nowhere near that level. I was worried that she would struggle to keep up with the other kids, fall into a deep depression, and start following the moody Oscar the Grouch above the cheerful Elmo. But suddenly Zoe is talking almost perfect sentences (by perfect I mean non-grammatical, three or four word, frequently random, and often needing some parental interpretation sentences). She sometimes gets a little embarrassed when we can’t figure out what she is saying, but after I ridicule her and… I mean encourage her to repeat herself or show me, if she can, we can most often figure out what she is saying. Anyway, I’m no longer worried that she won’t be able to speak well enough to keep up with the other kids. Now I’m worried that she’s going to start talking and never stop.

Talking about school, back in my February 22 blog, The Preschool Edition, Part 1 I mentioned that we were soundly and unceremoniously rejected from one particular preschool. I suspected that that particular school actually enjoyed sending rejection letters and probably published a booklet each fall filled with the names of every family that was turned away, which would then be handed out to parents of children who were accepted. It would instill in those parents a sense of superiority that would help soften the blow of the monthly registration fee. A few days ago I received a call from that school telling me that they had an opening, and if we were still interested the spot was ours. I soundly laughed my rejection of their offer (by soundly laughing I mean I politely said no thank you). I also heard from another family that they too received the same call. They also turned the offer down. So I say, Ha! How the mighty have fallen. Actually I didn’t really say that, but I wondered how many people they had to call before they got to me? As a reminder, Zoe was accepted into The Gay Austin School, the most prestigious preschool in Berkeley (by prestigious I mean one that is within a fifty yards of both a coffee shop with free WiFi and a pizza parlor), and certainly the school with the most embarrassing name.

Back on the subject of language, Zoe has started mirroring our speech. If we say something she will often repeat it. We are often in the habit of talking over her, having a conversation that we think is either too advanced for her, or speaking when we think she is distracted is some activity. The other afternoon I was beginning to prepare dinner and Zoe was sitting in her usual spot in front of one of the cabinets, removing items and placing them strategically around the kitchen so that I would periodically trip. She appeared focused on her task and I assumed she was not really paying Alison, who was in the other room playing with Calder, or myself any mind. From the living room Alison said to Calder, “All righty.” And a moment later Zoe whispered to herself, without pausing in her play, “All righty.” So, in the future, when I have to ask her a half-dozen times to do something, I will from now on assume she is simply ignoring me, and not that she is suffering from some sudden onset of hearing loss.

I had fallen behind, but now you can see recent photos of Zoe and Calder at http://picasaweb.google.com/dbglass

Pizza Pie

I’m standing in the kitchen watching Zoe peel an orange in the back yard. As she peels off each small piece she looks over the edge of the porch, places the orange peel on the edge, and pushes it over. Then she then leans over and looks down to see where it landed. She does this with a half a dozen pieces before she notices me looking out the window

Zoe: “Fell.”

Dad: “The orange peel fell off the porch?”

Zoe: “Yeah.”

Dad: “How did they fall?”

Zoe: “Pizza pie.”

Needless to say I let the conversation end there. Later we were going through our goodnight routine. It’s my job to say goodnight first to all the stuffed animals in her bed, then we go through her friends, people we know and family. Alison has been pushing for Zoe to say to the goodnights herself. I try to help her along, but she has trouble thinking of people.

Dad: “Whom should we say goodnight to?”

Zoe (in a whisper): “Pizza pie.”

She really knows how to stump me.

Communicating with Zoe is both challenging and amusing. She says things out of context, pizza pie, and because her vocabulary is so limited she will use one or two words to convey an entire thought. In fact, the phrase ‘no mine’ is used almost exclusively to convey dislike, especially in those cases in which another person is involved. In the pool today, at the YMCA, I got tired of that monosyllabic, non-articulated whine to convey her displeasure whenever I saved her from drowing. So I told her that if she wanted to do something herself, and did not want or need my help, to say ‘myself’. If she wanted my help she should say ‘help’. This actually worked pretty well, except for those times that she thought she needed my help but changed her mind at the last minute, and then forgot to inform me. Then it was back to, "no mine."

Last night, as Alison was saying her final goodnights, she told Zoe to get a good nights sleep because she had swimming in the morning. Zoe said Y (as in YMCA), but Alison interpreted it as ‘why?’ I was upstairs listening to the conversation over the monitor, and it was similar to the ‘Who’s on First’ skit. I speak not often well myself, so it’s a little scary to think that Zoe (and now Calder) will be picking up a goodly percentage of their verbal skills from me. In the meantime Zoe (and now Calder) make up for this deficit by being very cute. And really, isn’t that more important anyway?