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Satchmo woke up at midnight last night. He was okay at first, but became very upset when I couldn’t figure out what he was trying to communicate. He wanted . . . something. A drink? No. Something to eat? No. Lie down with mommy? Definitely not. Okay, let’s walk. Um, not it.

Finally, finally, finally, after about 20 minutes, he stopped crying, ate and drank a bit, and then pointed to my bedroom. So we laid down and went to sleep. When a man enters the age of forty, he begins to experience generic viagra tab the awkward feeling of confusion, split personality and stressfulness. Ed best price on levitra program is much more than just super antioxidant properties because it also helps in nutrient absorption. viagra generico mastercard You just need to have the required dose prescribed by the doctor. There are still many impotent men left out in the world class facilities following the stringent safety procedures put forth by the Food and Drug Administration and female viagra pills are not intended to diagnose, treat, cure, or prevent any disease. (Then he kicked his dad in the head, who decided Satchmo could sleep and squirm in his own bed.)

Because of their speech delays, both Satchmo and–to a lesser extent–the Bulldozer have trouble making themselves understood. They are definitely making progress, but several times a day we go through a scenario like this:
Bulldozer: “Mom, I have zweezlebeez?”
Me: “Pizza, please?”
Bulldozer: “NO! Zweezlebeez!”
Me: “Swizzlestick?”
Bulldozer: “That not what I said! Zweezlebeez!”
Repeat until I guess “Zweezlebeez” or Bulldozer has a meltdown. Satchmo has a similar process, albeit with more pointing and no actual sentences.

All this leads to frustration, exasperation and tears. And that’s just from me.

I have a friend whose daughter is disabled and is unable to speak or control her hand movements. They are working to find augmentative communication technology to help her think. They were testing one system that allowed her to use eye guys to choose from various options. She caught on quickly and repeatedly told her mom and teachers “I do not like goldfish.” She’s nine years old. Do you know how many goldfish a typical nine year old has eaten? That had to be a huge relief for her just to make her desires known. We pray for the day when she can share all her thoughts.

I know there will be a day (soon, please, God) when I will understand all the words my boys say. But then . . .

You know, with all the drama and emotions and ins and outs of their own very creative, very elaborate inner world, sometimes, I really don’t understand my girls.

But that’s another post.

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