Extra, Extra!

If you've been with me for the last few months, you know I like to switch it up.  One week you'll get adventure pictures, the next you get a lecture on love and kindness, the next you get school updates, etcetera, etcetera.

Today we are going to go a little deeper again.

Into the realm of what it's like to be a parent of someone with "extra" needs.  

I prefer to use the term extra.  "Special" needs doesn't seem to cut it for me.  We all have special needs.  Needs that are unique to us as individuals.

What are some of yours?

Braeden, to me, has extra needs.

We are learning another language together (American Sign Language), so we can communicate effectively with each other.  Within that, we are also able to share that language with others -- expanding their horizons and opening communication with others that use ASL daily.

To me, that is extra.  It's a bonus.

I have to drive Braeden "to town," which is anywhere from 36-52 miles from our house, a couple times each month for therapy.

He has speech therapy in Calumet and physical therapy in Houghton.  Let me tell you, I am not a fan of driving to town, especially in the winter with a morning appointment and a blizzard.

But it is important that he gets assessed.  That I am given tips for further progression.  That he is praised for what he has achieved in the last month.  That we keep wow-ing his therapists.

The drive and the praise are extra.  And they are both worth it.

Braeden has extra medical needs.  Besides a yearly well-child checkup, he gets his blood drawn to check his thyroid levels and make sure his thyroid medication is at the right dose.  Extra appointments and extra number checking for me to make sure that what the doctor says matches what I believe.

He had open-heart surgery at 4 1/2 months old.  This May we go to see his cardiologist for a two year check-up to see how that operation is holding up.  He will also see his urologist in Ann Arbor, Michigan this summer to make sure his urethra surgery is still keeping things clear.

I believe he is fine in both these areas, but I will go the extra (700) miles to make sure.  For a half an hour appointment.

These are the things I've been doing from the beginning.  Luckily, with the physical and emotional time and energy of grammies and grampies along the way.  But to me it's "normal" until I realize how extra it really is.

The other day, Braeden came up to me, expressed his cuteness, turned around and walked away.  But there was something about that moment.

Wow, I thought.  I am raising that little boy.  And he has Down syndrome.  I am just doing that.  Not everybody would do that.

And it's true.  Not everybody would.  It is a choice I make everyday.  Not just to keep a small child alive, but to keep on top of all his appointments, all his medical records, all his therapies, all his progress.

To make sure we get out each day to bask in the glory of the snow or the sunshine or the lake.  To have extra giggles while we have our dance party.  To take extra time to show him my mouth while I sound out words that I know he wants to say.  To clap extra loud when he actually does.

Having Brady P. in my life has taught me a lot.  A lot, a lot.  And I am grateful for the schooling that only he could bring.  

He might be extra work, but he is so worth it.  If you ever meet him, or you already know him, you know this to be true.  

If you have someone extra in your life, I hope you know you are fortunate.  And they are fortunate to have you.

Splashers and Woofers

Even though we had a teaser of spring, it is still winter.  The fresh few inches of still falling snow just keep proving it.  But hey, it's the Keweenaw.  What do we expect?

Braeden and I expect to make the best of it.  Today is the first day I had to bundle him in his one-piece snow suit since he's been back from Wisconsin.  Otherwise he had the freedom of his lined nylon pants and jacket.  Room to run, run, run!

And run he did.

On Friday he ran and pushed his wagon almost the whole way from the Lake Fanny Hooe boat launch back into town.  At one point we stopped to listen to a wood pecker in a tree, and I realized he was panting.  Really panting like he was working hard.

For a child who had open-heart surgery three years ago, the panting, rosy cheeks and energy to sustain his pace was a miracle to me.  He is doing awesome!

He has also been running along the road to get to the creek in my love's neck of the woods.  We'll run to the creek, then find a nice spot to watch the sunset.  Sweet Bryce will stomp off chunks of snow to throw and sploosh into one of the few spots of open water on Lake Superior's shore (from the running creek).  I make dramatic splooshing sounds, and Braeden throws his arms around like a splashing wild man.

"More." 

"More," he signs after each snowy boulder splashes and busts apart in the shallow water.  Bryce stomps off another edge of the banks.

I admire him as he exerts all that energy to stomp boulders of snow for Braeden's entertainment -- the bigger the better in Brady P's eyes.  Then he climbs up the snow mound and lifts a dripping snow chunk over his head.

"Are you ready, Braeden?" he asks.  

Braeden smacks his head for a yes while his mouth opens in extreme excitement at the size of the next chunk.  I am amazed myself.

"Kasploosha kapew kapew bawoowoowoosh!" I shout as the splashing commences.

Braeden flails in delight.  And signs more.

Mama and Brady P. watching a sploosher

Bryce even took our picture during a sploosher.  Pretty nice view for splashing in the creek!

On Saturday, the Copper Dog came to our town.  The block was nuts.  It was like Fourth of July in Winter.  My body went slightly into panic mode as I saw all the people moving about.  

But Braeden didn't seem to notice.  He just held my hand, looked straight down at the icy slush his feet were stomping through and marched straight ahead.  He only looked up to point when he heard a dog barking.

After a walk through the crowd (and his nap) we came back to try the dogsled ride.  One of the mushers ran his six-dog team that afternoon in the midst of three days of racing 150 miles to let 50 kids take a ride, two at a time.  Bless his heart.

Braeden didn't want to go.  

I asked him two dozen times.  "Do you want to ride with the puppies?" 

He shook his head no each time.  So we waited in a nearby bank, so he could at least watch the dogs and be next to them.

Rosy cheeks waiting for the doggies

The dog team is in the upper right corner under the cedar trees.  But this was the only picture where Braeden was smiling, so I used it!

Sooner than I thought, it was his turn to ride with his friend Maddie from school.  He kicked and screamed.

"He can go with you next round, Mom," the helper told me. I was relieved -- for B and Maddie.

At our turn, I plopped down and set him on my lap, half expecting him to cry and flail.  But the dogs started running right away, and he had no time to figure out how he felt about the situation.  He was instantly excited to be moving and see the puppies running ahead of us.

He pointed and squealed in delight the whole way.  We had a great ride around the park.  Whew!  And another new experience under his belt.

He's Back!

Boy is that ever true when it comes to Brady P. and me.

As I drove away from that little boy last week, I felt such a relief.  Like I could finally take some time for myself.  That brought on the feeling of guilt, of course, because I'm his mama!  But I'm his mama all the time unless he's safely with his grandparents or one of the two wonderful sitters I currently have in town.

(In case you are not aware, Aaron and I are getting divorced, and he works in Arkansas for the winter.  Kind of a big thing, so I wanted my "single mom" comments to make sense.)

While driving away that day, I thought about all the duties and projects I lined up for myself back home.  And I was grateful that I had one week to do it all without my little pant leg tugger asking for attention.

Then I had another guilty thought.  "I wonder how many days -- or weeks -- it will take before I truly miss Braeden enough to want him to come back and take most of my time.  I thought it might even take months as I remembered some of the frustrating times when I felt ready to give him away.

That is really hard to admit.  But it is real.  Being a single mom of a three-year-old with an extra chromosome is very trying.  I bet that co-parenting a "normal" three-year-old is even frustrating at times.  And my sweet boyfriend will always remind me of that.

"Talk to other moms, Amanda," he will say as he holds my hand while I cry.  "I'm sure you're not the only mom to feel this way."  He assures me that I need a break once in a while, and I don't have to feel guilty.  His caring and understanding is truly a gift to Braeden and me.

So do you want to know how long it took for me to really miss my little boy?

After three days, I started looking more longingly at Braeden's pictures.  "Too soon," I thought.  "I can't really miss him yet.  I have too much left to do."

After five days I spent the evening watching videos of him before I fell asleep... with a tear in my eye.  

At seven days my heart was a puddle.  I just wanted him home.  I didn't care if I was only able to do any non-mom things during naps and while he played by himself.

I was truly ready to be a mom again.

And during his first day back, I was so grateful to have him with me.  I felt great joy being a mom.  Not just that I am a mom, but that I really enjoy it.  It feels so purposeful to raise my little superhero like nobody else is able to do.

Because right now, that's what I am here to do.  And I must always remember that.

Freedom on Ice

Braeden is visiting his Grammies and Grampies... so I forgot what day it was!

As the 24/7 caregiver of a miniature superhero, a break really means a lot.  It means having time to tie up loose ends in other parts of my life.  It means digging into projects that cannot be tackled during his nap time.  It means taking my own nap when I feel gravity taking over.  It means sleeping through the night.  

And today, it meant strapping on my snowshoes, sliding my ice picks through my jacket sleeves, and trekking across the frozen harbor to Porter's Island -- a place I haven't been since Brady P. was in my belly, and place I've been longing to visit for those three years.

Since I just got back in to town, I asked a couple locals how the ice was because I am not ready to die yet.  "It's been locked in for a while now." Marty confirmed.  "I was out with Fern a couple days ago," Staci assured.

Sweet.  That was just what I wanted to hear.

The sun was blasting over Brockway Mountain, the skies were blue and the wind was whipping from the west.  I battened my hatches, slid down the Harbor Haus landing and pointed every fiber of my being to the west end of Porter's -- where the ice volcanoes sat dormant.

Here is a panoramic view looking back toward the harbor.

The south side pan

It always looks different when you put 180 degrees worth of scenery into a 2-D picture, but that's East Bluff on the left, Brockway below the sunshine and Hunter's Point on the right.

This picture doesn't even show the ice covering the branches of the trees on Brockway Mountain.  That was gorgeous.

When I rounded the corner through the gap, I saw it.  I saw the ice volcano I've been eyeing up for weeks.  I'm astonished that it was still there.

The top of the 20 foot ice volcano

Then I slid down and walked around to see this part of it shining like a wind-struck mammoth jewel!

The glistening foothill

There's part of my shadow at the bottom for perspective, but it was a pretty grand sight.  All of it was.

I was so grateful to be out on the ice.  In the sun.  Following my curiosity.  Staying above the water.  And prancing around like a little kid.

That is freedom for a mama.

So I thanked the lake and blew her a kiss.  Then I giddily trekked back to the shore, eager to tell you about my adventure.  Just like the good ol' days...

Walking back from The Gap

(The biggest volcano is not visible in this picture)

"The Talk"

Hey!  I got to give my talk about Down syndrome at the Copper Harbor school this week.  It felt great!

I held the students' interest for the most part.  And the teachers learned some new things too!

But the most surprising part to me was this: After I asked all the students what they were born with that makes them different from most people, I asked if they knew what makes Braeden different.

None of them knew.

None of them knew!

Either they were being shy, their parents never told them, they forgot or they just really didn't notice.  For some reason, I thought that at least one of the students already knew.  But they didn't notice my little boy was different than them.

Then we got a little sciency and talked about chromosomes.  We got a little serious as I talked about his heart surgery.  We got a little giggly when I told them that sometimes his body feels like a wet noodle.

I think a few things clicked for them.  Like when I told him why he still drools and why he doesn't talk yet.  And how they already know he is a cool kid and loves to have friends like they do.

The students have always been nice to him, but I think that now they have a little more understanding about some of the differences they subconsciously noticed.

Like I said before, I am not just trying to promote acceptance for my son.  I want to promote it for every decent human being on this planet.  Because we are here for a reason, and the more we are understood, accepted and loved, the more we can thrive in that direction.

I look forward to doing these talks more and more.  I'll be looking for venues in the future.  If you have an idea for me, please let me know!

And in the meantime, spread a little love today. XOXO

Here is a smile from Mr. Inspirational himself.

"Smile!"

A Chance to Teach

The teacher at the Copper Harbor school just asked me to do a talk about Down syndrome to the class.

Heck yeah!

I am fired up about it.  Thoughts, facts and things I've learned first hand are flooding my brain.  I just wrote a brief outline about the points I want to cover, so I don't forget them all.  I'm glad to get the opportunity to take some time to really think about what I want to say.

Because it is really important.

It is about my son.

But on another level, it is about everyone.  We are all different, and that is how I plan to start my talk.

Details aside, let me also say this:

It is starting.

My chance to advocate for Braeden and everyone on the planet is starting.  It starts small like this, but it is starting.  This is my path now, and I need avenues in order to get the word out.

I am excited to share my knowledge with the kids.  I hope they enjoy learning about it.  I hope they are surprised by what is possible.

And then I look forward to telling you how it went!  Stay tuned!

Do you?

Just another note about this picture.  We all came into this world with our own specific gifts, tools, characteristics and handicaps.  What we do with them, and how we view ourselves on this planet are truly what define us -- more than what we think we "gain" while we are here.

Think about that for a minute.  See you next week!

"Dis" and "Dat" Ability

Today we are going to have a lesson.  Let me start with this:

What are you really good at?  Seriously, take a moment and think about it. Maybe you already know because you live out your gift passionately.  Maybe you are currently trying to figure it out.  Maybe you think you are hopeless, and you aren't good at anything.

But you are.  Keep looking.  Keep feeling.  Keep living.

What are you really good at?  What is your gift?  When did you figure this out?  Do you notice how good you feel when you get a chance to do it?  Do you notice how stifled and useless you feel when you don't get to do it?

I notice that with myself, and I notice it with Braeden.

We all can't do it all.  That's why we are all so different!  If we all did it all, we would all be really stressed out because that's a lot of pressure.  Instead, if we are able to harness the power of our talents and gifts, and use them daily, we are then able to thrive.  Not just live from day to day, but feel powerful and purposeful because we are doing what we love and do well.

Here is a little video to help illustrate this.

See?  We can't do it all, but we can do something.  Once we find out what our something is, we NEED to do it.  From our very core.  It is how we help others on this planet.  It makes us feel alive and worthy.

When I watch Braeden at school, it is apparent that he can't do all the things the other kids are doing.  He doesn't talk.  He can't eat his meatloaf with a fork all by himself.  He doesn't tell me when he needs to poop (or even admit that he just did it in his pants!).

However, I believe that he will be able to do all of these things some day.  These are merely milestones in a child's life.

There are other things that he can do that don't have to do with his age.  If he sees someone crying, he will either cry too, or give them a hug.  If you ask him to help you with something he is capable of, he will usually help happily.  When he smiles, your heart melts.  He is always very proud of himself for accomplishing something new or old.

Besides, he is a genius.

If you've been keeping up with this blog, you have read about many of the the things he can do.  Like, blow-your-mind kind of stuff for a three-year-old in general.

But genius and worldly knowledge aside, he is much more than that.  He brings a softness to this world.  He emanates a love that penetrates the darkest of hearts.  He shines a light so bright that it transformed my misguided thoughts instantly.

Brady P. dropping snow bombs on the porch

Just look at the light in those eyes.  He is pumped.  He drops that ice chunk over and over because I say "Katunk!" and he laughs.

Okay, so one more thing to tie this all together.

You have thought about what makes you awesome and special on this planet.  I have told you what makes Braeden awesome and special.

Now I want you to think about someone you know who you may have previously deemed "disabled."  Or less than a person.  Or perhaps not even worthy of life.  I bet you can think of someone.  Even saints have probably felt this way about someone.

Next think about why you thought that way about that person.   Is there something you don't understand about them?  How did they get in their current position?  What if you were in their shoes?

Okay, there's a little glimpse into finding compassion.

Now for the big question.  What do you think their gift could be?  Have you seen it yourself?  What potential do they have? Can you help bring it out in them?  Can somebody else?

AND...

Can you focus on that?  You can notice where they are now, yes, but know that they are here for something greater.

Just like Braeden.

Just like me.

Just like everybody.

Just like you.

Independence

My little boy is becoming independent.

As a mother in general, this is exciting.  Some mothers find it bittersweet as their "baby" needs them less and less.  I am not your typical mom-type, so I just feel more liberated with each step he takes toward his independence.

As a mother whose child has a "disability," this is even more rewarding.

I remember the moment the doctor came in to tell me the news that the little boy in my arms had Down syndrome.  I was informed with a tone that inferred dejection.  I was told with words that instructed me to lower my expectations for the tiny human being that just exited my own being.  The doctor's eyes seemed to express that it was understandable if I didn't love him.

But that was never the case.

Neither were all the other things I heard at that moment.  Sure I wondered about the possibilities of my little Braeden doing this or doing that very well, but I never, EVER lowered my expectations for him.  I never EVER thought it was okay not to love him with every cell in my body and from every beat of my heart.

I stopped trusting that doctor a few hours before Braeden was born, for other reasons, but that brief, yet potent conversation also removed any respect for that doctor as a decent human being.  

That is not the way to talk to a new mother about her child.  Nor is it, in any acceptable manner, a mindset to carry around in daily life.

However, I am realizing now as I type, that the doctor unconsciously challenged me with those words.  I knew instantly that the misguided energy behind them would not be a part of our life.  No way.  No how.

In fact, I have made it my duty to make sure that Brady P. is able to fulfill his potential on this planet.  He is nothing short of a superhero to me.  Nothing short of that.  I know he came here to help save the world.

And he will.

He is an independent, loving, charming, strong, curious, intelligent, motivated individual.

Okay, well, I didn't plan on telling you all that just now. It just escaped through my fingertips, so it must have its own purpose.  

My original plan was to tell you the last thing Braeden did to make me realize how independent he is becoming.  It was a first for us, and I owe it to Grammy and Grampy Wais.

They were here last weekend for a visit.  Nana and Grampy, as we call them, had him throwing snowballs and making snowmen on the front porch.  He loved it!

Throughout their visit here, I noticed him picking up more and more snow.  While he was afraid to touch it earlier in the winter, the fear recently shifted to curiosity, and now he is taking a liking to it.  He's getting all up in that snow with his little mittened hands.

So on our way home from school on Monday, we got to the top of porch.  "Okay, let's go in!" I told him.

He shook his head and grunted "no," while scraping some snow off the pile on the bench.  Usually he can't wait to get in from the cold.  Not Monday.

He insisted on staying out and playing in the snow.  He was exerting his preference and independence.

"Okay," I said.  "You can stay out and play, but I am going inside."

He didn't even hear me.  He was so absorbed in the snow pile.  I smiled and shook my head.  That little man.  Doing his thing.  "Let me know when you want to come in!"

So I went in, set my computer on the table facing the window, and watched him with one eye while I got something done for myself.  

It was liberating.

For us both.

We were each doing what we wanted to do.  He was outside, I was inside.  He was having a blast, I was being productive.  It made the single mom life seem less daunting, and prompted me to figure out how to fence in the yard, so he can do that in the summer time too.  He certainly loves to be outside.

So when he was all done about fifteen minutes later, he simply turned around, walked toward the door and knocked.  I chuckled at his perpetual cuteness and grace.

"Come on in!" I shouted, opening the door.  He stepped up the entrance, and I kissed his rosy cheeks.  "You played outside by yourself!" I told him.  "Thanks, Braeden."

I don't know exactly what he was thinking by then, but I sure hope it was something like, "I can't wait to do that again!" because I am excited for it too.

Learning to Draw

I was talking to a mom friend the other day.  That's often good camaraderie in itself, so I was grateful.  But our conversation brought up a point that most parents might struggle with at times without even realizing.

"I would love for my girls to learn to ice skate, but I'm not comfortable enough on skates to teach them," she admitted.

That was totally understandable.  Kids (or people in general) learn best from someone who is passionate and skilled in the subject at hand.

I am pretty comfortable teaching Braeden most things that he has wanted to learn so far, but there is one toy that makes me seize up whenever he brings it over to me.

The Magna Doodle.

The toy itself is innocent enough.  I mean, kids can draw on a clean surface with a magnet pen that remains fixed to the board.  No finding crayons.  No cleaning up marker from faces.  No pages and pages of scribbled artwork to feel guilty about throwing away.  Just swipe the lever at the bottom, and the picture is gone forever.

There is just one problem I have with this Magna Doodle.

It requires drawing.

When Braeden comes to me with the Magna Doodle and hands me the pen, I know that I am going to have to draw something.  Sometimes he points to what he wants me to draw, and sometimes I have to figure out what to draw that will appease him.

If you haven't noticed, I am a writer.  Drawing scares me.  I am not confident.  Nothing I draw looks right.  Especially animals, which he loves.

I have taken a liking to drawing shapes.  Especially hearts and stars.  Cubes and triangles.  Circles and squares.  And those are good for him to learn anyway.  But he gets bored with them pretty quick.

Amanda's artwork

Before I know it, I have to draw a horse.  Or a self-portrait.  Or a dump truck.  Do any of those things look right?  No.  But Braeden is usually happy with it, so I guess that's all that really matters.

He is teaching me how to go out of my comfort zone with a pen.  How to use my imagination on a blank screen for more than just words.  How to be okay with the fact that my lion looks like a daffodil with legs.

And I am teaching him how to make circles.  And lines.  I suppose we should start letters soon, too.  I am good at those!  And if it doesn't look quite right, we can just swipe the slate clean, and try it again.

Rock Sliders

Since I switched from writing A Little Slice of da Harbor to writing this blog, I shifted the focus away from adventure, seasonal attributes, events, and other aspects of life in da Harbor.  But one aspect -- perhaps THE MOST IMPORTANT aspect -- of da Harbor has gotten a little too lost.

Especially this time of year, she seems a little lost to me.  I can't always hear her.  I can't always watch her undulations.  I can't always lose myself in her tumbling waves.

She has been frozen.

Quite literally.

Brady P. has been thoroughly confused as to why he can't throw rocks into Her Majesty Lake Superior.  He looks at me in charming disbelief as we sit on our usual shores and he can't even see her.  She is gone.

"Where is Lake Superior?" I ask him?

He swings his arm from side to side to motion to what he remembers as Lake Superior, but he doesn't seem convinced.

"We can't see the water right now."  I try to rationalize.  "It is under all the ice and snow!"  We dig into the snow as I describe it as white, soft and poofy.  Then we touch the ice as I describe it as smooth, hard and shiny.  

Yup.  The lake was under there for a couple weeks, if my memory serves me right.  Since the temps were in the single digits, and the lake was frozen over, we did not venture down to our shore spots.  No way.  As much as Braeden hated that bitter cold, the shore was not the place to be.

Besides, Her Majesty was hidden.

But guess what.  She came back!

A couple nights ago the pack ice blew out of the Harbor.  When I came home on Monday and saw her glimmering waves, I was elated.  It's as if her life was renewed within me.  It's as energizing as seeing the sun for the first time in days... or weeks.  If you know this feeling, you are a fortunate soul.  Appreciate that about yourself.

Since the temps promised to rise into the 20's, I vowed to take Brady P. down to the shore on Tuesday.  

To throw rocks!

We haven't done that properly for a couple months, but he still asks me nearly every day to throw rocks.

Fortunately, our sweet friend Bryce planned ahead and scooped up a bagful of rocks for a day just like Tuesday.  So I put some rocks in a bucket and pulled Braeden in the sled down to the Harbor Haus shore.

However, when we got there, I saw that my eyes deceived me from three blocks away.  Sure, the pack ice blew out, and I could see the water, but it was covered by 1/2" to 1" of ice.  We wouldn't have splooshes, but we would have a whole new experience.

I chucked the first rock firmly, hoping to chip through the ice.  No dice.  Instead, that rock smacked hard, bounced and sliiiiiiiiiiiiiid over the glossy surface.  It made a really cool sound.

Lucky for you, I took a video this time.

Sliding the rocks!

Brady P. was just as happy to chuck those rocks sailing across the ice.  It actually lengthened the lifespan of each toss because we got to watch it slide so far.  

The sound was so unique.  It was unlike anything I have heard before, and it wasn't my first time sliding rocks on Lake Superior!

Well, I'm glad you got to be a part of that with us.  Here's hoping that magical aspect of Copper Harbor can stay a bigger part of our daily lives besides sending us all those snowflakes!

Getting Schooled

Just yesterday Braeden resumed preschool after an overly-extended holiday vacation.

He attends preschool at the Copper Harbor one room schoolhouse twice a week for two hours a day.  I don't yet have the luxury of dropping him off, leaving and going about my day, but that time is coming.  Instead, I stay with him.

Most days I leave the room while he learns with the other kids and teacher, but yesterday I accompanied him.

I'm glad I did.

The things I saw him accomplish as an individual and saw him teach the other kids filled my heart with pride, hope and love.

The first thing that made me beam was during story time.  The teacher read Yertle the Turtle by Dr. Suess.  Even if you don't know the story of Yertle (which I highly recommend), you probably know the rhythmic cadence and flow of Dr. Suess' words.  

Once Braeden heard the teacher start to read, he got out of his chair and looked closely at the picture, obstructing the view from the other kids.

"Braeden, come sit in your chair," I told him.

"He's fine," the teacher assured.

Then he turned around, faced the students, and, while she swayed Dr. Suess' words, he began to orate with his arms.  If you haven't seen him do this, I highly recommend it.  You can click HERE to watch him in action.  

So there I sat, watching my three year old son with "special needs" standing in front of the students and gesturing with his arms along to the teacher's words as if he was acting out the story.

I should have taken a video.

I know.  I say that a lot.  But sometimes enjoying the moment is more important than trying to capture it for the rest of the world.  

The second thing to nearly make me pee my pants (not supposed to do that in school) was when we were sitting together on the rainbow mat looking at letter flashcards.  He loves those things.  Each letter has a picture of an animal or object that starts with that letter right behind it.

Since we have been working on saying the sounds of letters, I had him make the sounds of the letters on the cards.  But instead of asking, "Can you say 'g'?" or "Can you say 'b'?" I asked him, "Can you tell me this sound?"

And do you know what he did?

He read the letter and told me the sound.  Do you realize what that means???  That means that he can look at a letter, understand which letter it is, and verbalize the sound it makes.  That is how reading starts.  My little boy is starting to read out loud, and he doesn't even talk yet.

Now, he doesn't do all the sounds.  He can read B, H, G, P, M and A correctly.  At least he did that day at school!  Oh, man.  I was and still am so proud of him.  He's making strides, that little boy!

And the third thing to make my heart smile was when the teacher asked him to show the kids how to sign "thank you."  The sign for thank you looks similar to blowing a kiss, with your finger tips touching your chin and arching downward.

He showed the students, and I confirmed it with a little more precision.  Then it hit me.  My son is helping to teach them another language.

There was little Brady P., the youngest kid in the school, and he was teaching the students his first language.  They know "more," "yes," "thank you," "please," "eat," and probably a couple other so far.  The first few of many, I hope.

The second language being informally taught at the Copper Harbor schoolhouse has stemmed from my son's extra chromosome and my desire to help him communicate.  Kind of a little thing, but kind of a big thing too.

See?  We are already promoting acceptance and expanding learning.  Yes.  This is just the beginning.