Or bad things will happen. Very. Bad. Things.
Okay, not that bad; but it still isn’t worth it.
Round about the time we closed on our new house and started making weekend trips up here (all two of them, I think) to get the house dusted and vacuumed and ready to be moved into, Quinn decided it was about time he started singing.
I’ve tried to get him to sing with me in the past. Specifically, I’ve tried to get him to sing the ABC song because I know he knows all his letters, and he knows them in alphabetical order. Every now and then he might sing a letter or two along with me, but mostly? He just wanted me to sing.
So you could color me all shades of surprised when, on the first weekend trip up here, he started singing along with the Taylor Swift cd, Fearless. Now don’t get me wrong, he didn’t burst out into each, or any, song word for word; but he did start singing some of the words here and there. It was both a shock and a pleasant surprise to hear my child with a speech delay who hardly puts two words together belt out the word, “breathe” with the same inflection and dynamics as Miss Swift. Though, for the sake of full disclosure, he may be leaving out most, if not all, of the consonants.
Anyway, it was all very amusing and encouraging to hear him sing along with Breathe and Fifteen and Love Story for the three-hour trip up. On the three-hour trip back, however, I was ready for a little break from TS, despite my infatuation with her squeaky cleanness. Quinn was not amused. At. All. In fact? He was the opposite of amused. I suffered through one cd of children’s music (as requested by Tank Boy) (and when I say I suffered through it, I am not saying the music itself was source of my pain; rather I am saying Quinn’s Extreme Displeasure and the resultant Caterwauling was driving me nuts) before giving up and popping Fearless back into the cd player.
And all was right with the world, and my child who barely puts two words together sang all the words he could and mumbled through the rest in his attempt to sing all the words he couldn’t.
We have been listening to Taylor Swift in the Suburban non-stop for the past month now, and Quinn’s ability to sing along is improving with each excursion. He knows more words, he still mumbles through words he wants to sing but can’t, and he still throws unholy fits if you turn it off. On the way home from church today I turned the music down because Tank Boy was trying to talk to me, and you would have thought I’d just run Super Why or Dora through with a bayonet. (And really, who would not love to run Dora through with a bayonet?)
So, really, a big Thank You to Taylor Swift for writing all those songs and doing more for my son’s speech development than that speech therapist ever did. If she ever comes to town I’ll have to take him to the concert.
And, though it may not be directly to her credit, his speech has taken another leap forward since he has been singing her songs. When the other kids want to go play in the sprinkler, he runs to me saying, “Suit, too! Suit, too! Ou-dide! Wet!” Today when I had him take his underwear off so I could put his suit on him (yes, all you other Mormons, I let my kids run through the hose on the Sabbath) he ran out of the room and came back naked. As I was helping him put his bathing suit on I asked him (without any expectation of an actual answer), “Where did you put your underwear?”
“Tash,” he quietly replied.
“Seriously? Did you really put your underwear in the trash?” I asked.
McH, being just as shocked as I that Quinn actually answered the initial question and said a word he’d never said before, bounded over to the trash can where, yes indeed, he had thrown his underwear.
There was great rejoicing in the land (along with a friendly explanation that underwear goes in the laundry room, not the trash).
Honestly I am surprised that he is making progress now, right when life is all chaotic and changing. The first few days we were in this house he stopped talking and started playing deaf like he did for months and months after coming home from Vietnam, but since those first few days he seems to be fine with everything (except being left in the church nursery – he isn’t okay with that yet, and who can blame him? He still plays deaf and totally mute there, unless we try to leave him, in which case he cries big, sad, pouty, screamy tears; so we don’t leave him).
So A~ is happy that we moved, L~ seems to feel the same, Midge and Tank Boy could more or less care less either way (though there have been a few extra tears just from the stress of all the newness), and Quinn is talking more.
I guess now I can Breathe.