Wherein we throw ourselves on the mercy of the State...

Hey kids,

Here's a trio of pics to counteract all the ones I post of Somber Wavy.

We had a lovely day today: an hour-long visit to Micky D's for pancakes and Playland, a trip to the park to feed the ducks and watch the sweaty men in shorts and tanks play flag football, then to the coffee shop for hot cocoa.

A crazy couple approached us while we lounged on the patio at the coffee shop (I refuse to call this "coffee shop" by its proper name...). They had a couple of dogs, one which probably outweighed the two of you put together. The lady immediately walked up to you, Jakob, with the big dog, and allowed it to paw you over and bark at you. You scrambled out of your chair and regarded the dog and her owner with thinly veiled contempt. The woman laughed and said, "Oh sorry! Kids just love our dogs. We thought your kids would want to say hi." They moved on and sat at a table nearby. A few minutes later, they both came back with the smaller dog.

"Do you mind if we ask a big favor? We rescued this dog from a home where she was tortured by small children, and we're trying to rehabilitate her by getting her used to small children again. Do you mind if we let her play a bit with your kids?"

WTF? I'm way too nice. I didn't feel like telling them to fuck the HELL off, so I gritted my teeth, set Wavy firmly behind me and out of the way, wrapped myself around Jake so that he had no appendages or a nose or anything within the dog's striking range, and let the dog sniff for a couple seconds in your general direction before I said, "Hey yeah! Good doggy! That's enough!" The couple thanked me profusely, said that I had beautiful children, (at least they're not TOTALLY insane) and went back to their table.

People are certifiable. I mean, really.

I took Wavy to the Early Intervention office last Monday for an evaluation to see if you are eligible for services. I didn't know what to expect. I know you're behind in your speech development, but you're nowhere near as bad off as Jakob was at your age. Plus, state budget cuts have all but decimated Nevada's E.I. program, and there were rumors of a 500-kid waiting list for services.

Pam, Jakob's former SLP and just a lovely, lovely lady that we all adore, headed up the evaluation team and they put you through your paces for a couple hours, all the while drilling me with questions like what kind of street drugs I took while I was pregnant with you, what kinds of pretend-games you like to play, are you showing any interest in the potty, how well do you play with others.

They showed you pictures and puzzles and had you stack things and sort things and follow directions and multi-step commands. There was dancing and singing and questions, questions and more questions for both of us. Halfway through I started getting nervous, because you were doing so well, and I saw the promise of weekly SLP visits and free Montessori growing farther and farther away.

But at the end, when all the numbers were toted up, you fell short. Or rather, your numbers landed you on the side of super-fun Early Intervention parties and ice cream socials and loads of Christmas presents from the Ladies Auxiliary.

I think Pam may have fudged the exact numbers again, like she kind of did for Jake to get him in the program. Your gross and fine motor skills, cognition, social skills, receptive communication and self-help skills were all at or above your age level, but you definitely had a 50% delay in expressive communication, scoring at about a 13-15 month age level, which makes you eligible for services.

The final verdict is... ta-dahhh... Expressive Language Disorder.

Your first home visit is this coming Friday, where we will develop and outline your goals and come up with an attack plan.

I make light of the process, but am quite relieved that you are going to get the help that you need from people that I know and trust and who have done a great job with your brother. Of course we would've made other plans and sought other means to get you help, but this is so much easier, not to mention cheaper. Whew...

'Night, all. Love you both.