Slowly, slowly, we are moving out of crisis mode and into something different: not stasis, exactly, but something more like accommodation. Isaac goes to school willingly, insisting every morning that it won't be loud. We talk about what might happen, and I can feel him shrink from the possibility of unexpected noise, rejecting even the possibility that school might be too much input for him today.
And he processes the possibilities of the day in his own recursive way, like a tide coming in bit by bit, withdrawing and then inching a little further into the shoreline.
There still isn't enough support, but they're trying. It's a slow dance, tidal also in its own way.
We sat in bed tonight as Isaac read his first real book independently. He's read the words of Hop on Pop, but now he's reading Mo Willems' My Friend is Sad and we can see him enjoying not only the accomplishment of reading, but also the meaning in the book. It's funny: there was a school fundraiser, and each child was encouraged to choose three books from a catalog: Isaac's choices: a Spongebob book, something else and this.
It's perfecty calibrated to his reading and comprehension level now: not too many words on the page, doable without being too easy, with a little humor and nuance to keep him engaged in the challenge of making meaning from it. He's not all the way there: I can see him shoot by the pictures to find the next word, but he gets some of it: that the elephant is sad, that his friend is trying to make him happy. It's a great start, and we're happy that he can decode what's on the page, but far more excited that there's clearly comprehension there, and pride.
And J's joy in seeing his son warm to reading is beautiful to behold.
Isaac's picking up a lot of language at school these days: some random, and some quite comically appropriate. "Mommy, stop arguing," he told me this morning as I fought him to get his shoes and socks on. And, the other day, as I tried to--as the DIR people say--"playfully obstruct" him out of a mood, "Oh, just stop."
And guess what? I have a shiner.
Yep, a real, old-fashioned shiner. I expect it'll be quite spectacular in the morning. Got home tonight, boot somehow slid on kitchen floor and I went face-first (cheekbone first, actually) into the door frame. No amount of makeup is going to cover it. I can already imagine the looks I'm going to get for the next several days.
We scrapped Halloween plans (Isaac's not that into it anyway), and hunkered down tonight. I napped while the boys ran out for dal and tandoori.
Tomorrow, open studios, a trip to the bookstore and date night. I wonder if I can keep my sunglasses on in the restaurant?