goodfountain

I have heard/read/inferred a lot about kids on the Spectrum being Socially Awkward and/or having Delays in or Abnormal Social Interaction. I can’t say without some uncertainty whether Chee gets to check the box on Social Interaction. The pencil hovers over that box, checking and erasing, as she at once surprises and again confounds me each day.

I admit to feeling those parental pangs of worry in the pit of my stomach when I flash ahead to Chee’s elementary school years and wonder if she’s going to have any kind of Social Issues. Right now she’s still pretty young to predict whether this will be a struggle. Six months ago she played alongside her peers without much engagement. Then one day, a young friend was over and she summoned him to come play in her tent. With her. C’mon, Jake! Let’s go get in the tent! That simple sentence, uttered without thought by countless others, is forever etched in my memory.

Certainly Chee is socially delayed compared to the few peers with whom I have had the opportunity to see her socialize. Our parent-teacher conference next week will reveal more.

Memories of my own struggles with social awkwardness give me pause wonder if perhaps some of Chee’s abilities are inherited. I was an early reader, too. My aunt has a distinct memory of me reading aloud from the Bible when I was 3 years old. My mom remembers my sister playing school with me after her morning kindergarten and teaching me what she had learned. I have quizzed Mom on my early language skills. Did you notice anything different or unusual? She can recall nothing but reminds me that, back then, developmental milestones weren’t the topic of conversation among young mothers as it often is today.

Socially Awkward. I’m reminded of my own childhood, adolescence and even early twenties. Vivid memories of social situations in which my Mom would shoot daggers from her eyes as a warning that I was saying or, more likely, had just said something either inappropriate or rude. My earliest memory of that is when I was 7 years old. My aunt had just had a baby and my mom called her and put my sister and I on the phone to offer our congratulations.While I can’t recall the specifics of our conversation, I distinctly can recall my mother admonishing me that I was supposed to ask about the baby. Somehow I missed that.

That was not the only time Mom provided necessary coaching. My memory doesn’t bring up the specifics of many situations, just the feelings. Generally there was confusion (what? what did I say?), followed by embarrassment which flowed into remorse. I would feel terrible for my offense - be it hurting someone’s feelings or calling attention to some perceived flaw. I can hear Mom now. Think before you speak.

I am grateful to Mom for the mothering she provided at those times. I fear that without her coaching I may have gone on to have greater difficulties in the arena of friendship.

And difficulties I did have. Some. I had almost no friends in my high school. Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t blatantly disliked or shunned. It was a matter of connection. I didn’t (couldn’t?) connect with my peers. At all. I always managed to find a few kids with whom to suffer through lunch. The group changed every semester depending on my 5th period class. There weren’t any real friendships though. I was never invited to anyone’s house after school and I never invited anyone home with me. I wasn’t sad and lonely or wishing I had friends at school. I was merely invisible.

The tune was different at work. I started working as soon as I turned 16 and immediately had a group of friends. Friends that were older than me by about 5, 6, even 10 years. Because I had always been a good kid, Mom was pretty trusting of me. After work we’d go bowling or out for pizza. It felt natural and comfortable as friendships go. No dramas. Just real.

Church was an altogether different cuppa tea. What’s most interesting as I reflect back is how clueless I was. Things went right over my head. When a so-called friend told me that no one in Youth Group actually liked me, I was stunned. Clueless. Clueless was I again when I went to a church service on New Year’s Eve and a well-meaning (but herself clueless) woman told that the Youth were having a party at some kid’s house. She called that kid’s mother and asked if I could come over. Here’s what’s unbelievable. I went. To a party that I wasn’t invited to! Clueless, I tell ya. And socially awkward, wouldn’t you say, to be completely unaware as I was of the social ramifications of what was essentially crashing a party? Why wasn’t I hurt that I wasn’t invited? Why did I put myself into such an odd position? It was years later that I realized what actually happened. Years later before I was bothered by the turn of events.

Even today I am not sure the specifics of how I upset or offended my peers. I imagine, as I was older and more independent from Mom, that I was likely saying things construed as inappropriate or rude. Often I wasn’t filtering my words through the ears of the listener. My remarks, tone really, can easily be misinterpreted. Especially by someone of a more sensitive nature. Or insecure.

Moving into my twenties the dissolving friendships and lack of connections faded. College was a pretty wonderful experience for me socially. I had friends, lots of ‘em. I was well-known and well-liked on my small campus.

I have often said that I feel like I came into my own in my twenties. Although I was no longer invisible to my peers, I still had the occasional difficulty arise. A co-worker who erroneously believed I was out for her job and set out to whittle down my reputation. Another co-worker who resented me for my youth (sorry, can’t help how old I am).

I believe the social awkwardness and unawareness (obliviousness) served to develop a kind of confidence in me. From an astute Mom I learned the important lesson of think before you speak.

That’s not to say the skill is mastered, but I like to believe I’m getting there. Even now, however, I don’t claim to be entirely skilled socially. I don’t have all the cues down. Body language can fly right over my head. I sometimes have to work at listening. Friends I have, yes, but it’s a small group. And scattered. I don’t have a large social circle.

My thoughts return to Chee and what her future may hold. Will the Social Interaction box eventually be checked? Will she develop appropriate peer relationships? Perhaps. Perhaps not right away. I’m not inside her unique mind. I can’t really know what it’s like to be Chee. However, struggles with my own social experiences give me hope, if indeed she is like her Mama. Even just a little bit.

There is a relief, too, that, should she struggle along the way, I can help her. This is a road I have traveled. A road that leads to rewarding and deep relationships, even if they’re a bit harder to come by, somewhat unconventional, and often unexpected.

Our home therapy gym is coming along. This past weekend we added a ball pit (clever recycling of a Pack ‘n’ Play) making our setup nearly complete. I’d like to add a rope ladder. My husband is brainstorming that one.

I try to feed Chee her Sensory Diet on about the same schedule as her Food Diet - breakfast, lunch and dinner. Before bedtime we try to encourage swinging only. The calming effect of swinging seems to carry her a little more sedately upstairs and into dreamland.

The recent additions of the trapeze and ball pit seem to have yielded some positive fruits. Sunday she navigated a trip to the Children’s Museum with only the most minor of dances with dysregulation brought on by unexpected, loud clapping and cheering. Celebrations such as that typically send her right into meltdown. After freezing in place when she heard the loud laughter, clapping and shouts of “Good job!!” she quickly collected herself while mumbling, “Hi everyone…” and moved on to discover something new. And I quit holding my breath.

Monday her teacher reported to me that she “didn’t blink an eye” during a birthday celebration in her class. Another first for her. The singing of happy birthday has typically led to a crying, inconsolable meltdown.

We’ve seen smoother transitions. More conversations. Longer conversations. Less frustration with Ess grabbing her toys. She deserves serious props for that. Ess can be pretty obnoxious.

While it’s not possible to say for sure what led to our awesome weekend and rockin’ first couple of days of school this week, I can say the timing matches up pretty well with the set up the trapeze and the ball pit.

The ball pit is something. I admit I like to climb in myself. There is a peaceful, just rightness to swimming in 300 lightweight plastic balls. Chee’s Sensory Diet is proving to be good not just for her, but for all of us.

Recently, I was reminded of Hyperlexia. Reminded, I say, because I read about this disorder condition gift syndrome about 9 months ago, a few months after Chee began speech therapy. At the time, although she did have the fascination with letters and numbers and was beginning to spell words, she wasn’t reading. So, technically speaking, she didn’t have a precocious reading ability.

Things have changed. I wrote recently about some of her newest reading skills. She definitely can read. So I Googled up Hyperlexia and read a couple of articles. Yep, that’s her. No doubt about it. I can check the box on nearly every single characteristic of Hyperlexia. Not all to the same degree, but there’s a touch of each, some moreso than others. I’m not sure about the Social Interaction piece. I haven’t observed anything terribly unusual there. But then, I’m not 100% sure what to look for. The Language Development is what is most striking. This perfectly describes Chee’s early language development. Perfectly. This is from the website Hyperlexia.org.

1. Early speech and language attempts were echolalic (both immediate and delayed)
2. Good auditory memory for rotely learned songs, the alphabet and numbers, as well as good visual memory
3. Comprehension of single words (mainly nouns) is better than comprehension of sentences
4. Learning of language in chunks and transferring whole phrases into appropriate places (Gestalt processing)
5. Marked abnormalities in form or content of speech including stereotyped and repetitive speech pronominal reversals: idiosyncratic use of words or phrases.
6. Marked impairment in the ability to initiate or sustain a conversation, despite adequate speech.

I’m happy to say that she has come along way. Although she still has some of each of those characteristics, she’s making tremendous progress.

When I first read about Hyperlexia, I mentioned it to her then-SLP who said she has never seen it diagnosed outside of Autism, as though that settled the matter. Not yet willing to entertain the idea of Autism or ASD for my daughter, I didn’t push the subject.

I have changed. I am not so fearful anymore of labels. ASD. PDD-NOS. Communication Disorder. Hyperlexia. Whatever. She is who she is. Giving it a name doesn’t change anything.

What I am excited about though is the defining of it. The understanding. I admit to feeling relieved to find a place where she fits. I have spent a lot of time looking for answers. Maybe THIS is the answer. An answer that begs more questions.

What comes next? As a start, I ordered this book. I also plan to send a pretty thorough email to her teacher at school. Then what? Do I need to see a neurologist or developmental pediatrician to “make it official”? Does her therapy need to change? Should this affect her IEP?

I’m not trying to be obsessive and go overboard, but I would like to have a plan. Plans are good. My reading indicates that Hyperlexic children can struggle with comprehension. It seems intuitive to me that the earlier she gets intervention with that, the better. So, a plan.

Blog readers, if you have any perspective or advice to offer, I would be grateful.

It’s interesting what sends me straight to end of my proverbial rope of patience. Generally I consider myself to be long on patience, especially with my kids. I’m not a screamer by nature. I have a high tolerance for incessant redirection and doling out timeouts for infractions, depending on which kid.

Ever so often, though, something comes over me and I spiral straight to the end of that normally sufficiently long rope. What is that something?

open
zuuuuupppp

close
zuuuuupppp

Yes, it’s the zuuuppping open and close of our DVD player. Brought on by none other than Chee herself. When you press the open/close button, the DVD reads “open” or “close” - which Chee screams out with a joy you might expect upon discovering a forgotten gift card for a mani/pedi in a pile of miscellaneous papers.

That zuuupping, that screaming, the ensuing hysterical laughter - I can’t stand it. The more I tell her to stop, the more she does it and the harder she laughs. I scream, “Noooooo!!! Do. Not. Touch. The. DVD. Player!! It’s not a tooooyyyy!!”

Mommy, (giggle giggle) I want to touch the (giggle giggle) Deeee Veeee Deeee player. (giggle giggle) I want the toy.

It’s such a random thing to send my patience out the door. No one’s getting hurt. Nothing’s getting broken. Why does it enrage me so?

Two Level I Timeouts (2 minutes in the blue chair in the living room) followed by a Level II Timeout (3 minutes in her bedroom with the door closed) and she is leaving it alone. For now. I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before Ess discovers the zuuuupppping and open/close.

Perhaps by then I will have discovered the root of my madness and can muster up a more rational reaction to such a minor infraction.

Or maybe I’ll throw the damn DVD player out the window. Who needs it anyway?

I used to be a writer. A professor once told me there are people who can write and there are writers. He put me in the latter category. I loved writing and kind of thought of it as my thing.

And then life happened in ways I didn’t expect. I almost literally fell into a career in marketing. And we know nothing can suck the creativity out of one’s soul more than working for a corporate behemoth. On the side I tried my hand at some political writing (so so not for me). I dabbled in some motivational type writing (fabulous am I at quirky titles), but never found a topic I could stick with for more than a chapter or two.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I told myself that my time would come. A passion would stir up inside and I would find my voice. Meanwhile, my skills rusted. I lost confidence. Fifteen years have passed since I graduated college. Since the last time I was fully immersed in the art of writing.

When I first heard about blogging, I thought it was more like an online journal. I couldn’t imagine making my journal public. It’s truly not for public consumption. Not because it’s so personal and deep but because it’s so lame. Oh my. It’s lame. I’ve haven’t journaled in quite a long time, but I often use it to vent about people in my life. No one needs to watch me sort through my angst and anger. It’s not pretty. Therapeutic, but not pretty.

I have one friend whose blog I have read for going on two years now maybe (gosh, has it been that long?). While I love reading it, I didn’t see myself writing something along those lines. She’s a gifted writer who can find the funny and brilliant in even the most mundane thing (go see for yourself!!).

Some other friends have blogs focusing on personal finance, a subject near and dear to me. I manage all of our household finances and I am always trying to do a better job. Spend less and save more. I found though that while it it enjoyable to read about money and frugality, it’s not something I have a lot to say about. I just do it I guess.

When I decided to start my own blog, I determined I would avoid talking about Chee. For reasons I am no longer certain of, I didn’t want her to be the focus. Yet she is so much the focus of my mental energy, it’s hard to avoid. Her frequent echolalia prompted me to Google the term and I stumbled across this most excellent post about a boy called Bud. I was overcome with emotion about how much Mom-NOS’s description of her son’s language development paralleled my own daughter’s language development. Partly the emotion was relief at feeling connected with another mother. Partly terror at the recognition that indeed my daughter is pushing us into the Special Needs world. No matter whether she’s on the Spectrum or not, she’s not developing like any other kids I know. That has been a bit of a lonely place for me from time to time.

That sequence of events, along with clicking through Mom-NOS’s blogroll (and all of their blogrolls), led me to begin to write about Chee. In turn I can see what Chee’s gift to me is. Yes, she brings me joy on a daily basis. True I cannot imagine loving anything or anyone as much as I love either of my daughters. My girls make me who I am. I exist for them.

But Chee has given me something else. She has helped me find my voice. She stirred up the passion inside me that lay dormant for a decade and a half. Because of her I call myself a writer again.

I’m surprised with how overcome with emotion I am writing this. For no longer am I simply a Mom raising a Girl, but I have a Girl who is inspiring a Mom.

When we decided to go for #2, we didn’t know that Chee had developmental delays. Sure, there were some nagging concerns like her late walking and just-in-the-knick-of-time-to-not-technically-be-delayed pointing. And then her head-banging too. I don’t know what is the kind of head banging we’re supposed to be concerned about, but a conversation with my pediatrician told me this was of the not-to-worry variety. That she would out grow it. And she did. By the time she was 3 she no longer dropped down to the floor for a quick ‘bang-bang’ to announce her unhappy feelings.

I sometimes wonder had I waited longer to conceive would I have maybe changed my mind. Would I have determined instead to focus all my energy on helping Chee get caught up in her language? I’d like to think no. I can’t imagine not having Ess. She completes our family like no one else could.

Being a Mom of two kids isn’t exactly how I pictured it. When I imagined helping my kids learn to get along … refereeing sibling rivalries … I had a much different picture in my mind.

My vision saw my cherubic 13 month old wanting to play with her big sister but being pushed aside to a whiny-scream of, “Noooo. That’s miiiiiiine.” She’d wander away dejected. Rejected. I imagined me, Mommy, stepping in, espousing platitudes on the importance of sharing and taking turns.

And then I met Ess. Rejected and dejected do not describe her. There is no tentatively approaching Chee to share in her playtime. She’s all guts and gusto, diving head-first into Chee’s lap grabbing on to a princess or a book or a [insert whatever is in Chee's hand at the moment]. Oh, the tug-of-war that ensues. Be still my heart.

Initially I always made Chee share. If she had six Princesses she had to give Ess one. And Chee happily obliged. Sure, she shoved her more than once (and I could wrote a novella about the long dark days of Chee’s hitting which are thankfully behind us), but generally she was compliant (there’s that word). Everyone was happy.

And now Ess is a little bigger and not quite so easily placated. She’s not happy with the Princess Chee hands over. She wants the Princess that Chee is at that moment engaged in sending on dramatic adventures around the playroom. She will dive in over and over, screaming, “Pri!! Pri!! Pri!!” Chee will stand her ground, I give her credit there, but usually someone will end up in a heap crying (don’t worry, I usually can pull myself together).

I’ve spent countless minutes in those situations role modeling effective language for Chee. “No, Ess, that’s my princess!” “I’m playing with that now!” “It’s my turn!” It’s paying off handsomely. And not just in the playroom, but throughout the house. Chee talks, she really talks, to her sister.

Having a sister gives Chee a built-in peer. Where she was not reciprocating in conversation with many of her peers before (playgroup friends we see occasionally), she is engaging them now. Where I tend to be very sensitive to Chee’s mood and will ease up on the teachable moments, Ess is persistent. She doesn’t know to give Chee her space. Her relentless pursuit of whatever her sister has is forcing Chee to respond. Both verbally and relationally.

This week Ess grabbed a tube of my makeup off the counter and ran off with it. Chee takes off after her yelling, “Noo, that’s Mommy’s, you can’t have that!” And she triumphantly takes it from her sister and returns it to me. When Ess dropped to her knees in a full-blown 13-month-old temper tantrum, Chee returns to her, puts her arms around her and says, “There, there, it’s okay. I give you a hug.”

Hug therapy from your sister. There is nothing sweeter.

It was an intense afternoon. Lots of Sensory Seeking behaviors from Chee. More frustration from her parents. She desperately wanted to go outside. It was something like 12 degrees with a wind chill below Zero. She was craving the cold.

So out she went.

I wonder what the feel of the icy wind does for her? What about the cold helps her make sense of things?

She came inside after about 15 minutes (Ess and I lasted less than 10, but Chee’s Daddy hung with her till the end). I fixed dinner, we did some joint compressions, and the rest of the evening went smooth. I don’t know, but I like the magic of that Arctic Blast.

This past week had it all. The good times, the bad times, and the, “Wow you just amaze me!” times.

First, the Good. Something in my reading of The Out of Sync Child triggered the idea that television may be overstimulating Chee (I know, I know, duh). So we stopped letting her watch her “after-bath”‘ show and something remarkable happened. She’s been going to bed about an hour earlier every night. This is fabulous news to my husband who puts her to bed every night. I would, but I hear, “Good niiiiiight, Mommy, I want Daaaadddyyyy.” Okay, kid, love you anyway.

More on the Good front is her developing communication skills. The conversations are coming every day, longer and longer. Her spontaneous communication is picking up, her delayed echolalia is ratcheting down, her repetition is easing up.

Let’s deal with the Bad. Her Intensity level was high. And I mean high. It feels like a steady stream of the giggle-screech and rampant shoving, banging and crashing. And willfulness. Getting her to listen to me, to get focused to get her shoes on or jacket on, or to dry up the water she dumped all over the floor spilled - all met with giggle-screeching resistance. Mega resistance. I wanted to run away. Far and fast. She has been (still is!) out of whack, and I’m not sure what she needs to get back in whack. I’m hoping it’s what the OT believes, that she’s cycling through various needs for Sensory Input.

And now for the “Wow, Chee, you really amaze me.” I don’t remember if I’ve mentioned her reading skills. She’s a good little reader for a 3 year old. She loves it. She reads everything she can. She’s gone from just sight reading to now sounding things out. She will put together a string of random letters and try to sound them out, and then laugh at how funny she sounds.

This week she has started taking her bathtub letters and spelling out a word, and then changing out a letter to make a new word. Something like this.

B-O-O-K. Add S. “Books!!” Take out the K and add T. “Boots!!” Take off the S. “Boot!!” Take out the B and add F. “Foot!!” With the creation of each new word she shouts it out. “Book! I spelled book!!” “Books! Now it’s books!!” And so on.

I’m not a teacher, and Chee’s my first kid, so I’m not really sure when she’s supposed to be doing that. But, Wow! I am pretty proud of her. The girl’s got some skillz.

There’s my long week in review. Can I confess I’m hoping she turns the Intensity down a few notches? Maybe we could sit the roller coaster ride out this week. Maybe.

I am about six months late in reading the Out of Sync Child. It was about that long ago that I was told Chee had some Quirks and was High Spirited. The OT that evaluated her suggested I read Raising Your Spirited Child. Which I did. And truth be told, I didn’t see a whole lot of Chee in there. I certainly wasn’t one of the head-nodding parents crying with relief at finding out an explanation for why my child was different.

Let me back up a minute. Chee started Speech Therapy with Miss Sandra about a year ago. This was after the identification of a Social-Pragmatic Language Delay. A few months into the therapy, Miss Sandra felt that Chee was not progressing as fast as she could be and recommended an Occupational Therapy evaluation for Sensory Processing Disorder.

What?!! I saw ZERO signs of this. That really wasn’t saying much as I had absolutely no clue what the signs were. I knew something about clothing bothering kids with Sensory problems (not Chee) and Miss Sandra said that frequent, intense temper tantrums were the tell-tale sign (again, not Chee). I made her explain what she saw in Chee that prompted her to suggest an evaluation. She said that it’s because Chee was uncomfortable when she (Miss Sandra) took her hands. My reaction to that was, “Whatever. She holds my hand with no problem.”

However, I knew, in the way that Mothers know, that something was off with Chee. Despite the anxiety that waiting for evaluations causes me, I set it up. I had promised myself that I would do whatever it takes to help Chee get where she needs to be (a mindset I’ve since cast aside for a new one - help Chee be the best she can be).

Fast forward a few months. The evaluating OT tells me that Chee doesn’t have any significant Sensory issues, that she’s kind of Quirky but, “we can help her with that so that she doesn’t have problems in school.” It’s kind of foggy to me, but we agreed to start weekly therapy. At this point, no one has suggested the Kranowitz book. I’m reading the High Spirited book and not having any A-Ha moments.

At our first therapy session, the OT asks me to set the goals of where I want Chee to be in a few months. I am confused. Um, she’s Quirky, so, um, get rid of her Quirks? Hmm, that doesn’t sound right. Um, what is it that makes her Quirky again? OT draws me a nifty grid with boxes and wavy lines and words like Over Responsive Shutdown and Sensory Seeking. She puts red dots where Chee fits.

Still confused.

We end the session agreeing to work on Chee not liking to get her nails trimmed or her bangs cut, and her inability to participate in group activities (like Storytime). These are Quirks?

A couple of months later our name came up on the wait list at a smaller Occupational Therapy facility that specializes in Sensory Processing. The place has a fabulous reputation, and as I was disappointed with how things were going with our current OT and seriously considering just quitting, we jumped ship over to the new place.

Things were better right from the start. There was a more formal standardized evaluation which identified some significant fine motor delays. The OT set the goals and direction of therapy (with my agreement of course). This makes more sense to me. While I’m the expert on Chee, I’m certainly no expert on SPD. And she recommended I read the aforementioned book.

Finally, I am. Twice this week I have gone to the gym, deposited Chee and Ess in the child care, and sat in the cafe reading the book, taking notes as I go. I’m writing down what I see that applies to Chee.

What I have determined so far is that Chee has Sensory Modulation Disorder and Sensory-Based Motor Disorder. I’ve only made it through two senses (it’s slow going when you’re taking notes). But the big A-Ha is that she is a Sensory Seeker. Honestly, I didn’t see it until reading the book . I know she likes to touch me a lot and that she likes to fall down. But seeing a long list in black & white print … and seeing check check check next to so many boxes (nearly every single one on the Tactile - Sensory Seeking checklist) … wow, that really brought it home.

Congratulations, Mom, you have a Sensory Seeker!

This doesn’t phase me. The 4-5 months we have been with this therapist have yielded some major changes for Chee. She has substantially more confidence in her Self. No longer afraid to try new things (like enclosed slides). There’s more body awareness. Her general awareness level has skyrocketed. Improved language. Better impulse control.

Through reading this book, I’m identifying what atypical sensory responses she is demonstrating. My hope is to use the information along with her therapist to create an improved Sensory Diet at home. I’ve already made a few changes and seen some results.

It feels like it’s been a bit of a rough road to get to this point. I know there are others who have had it even worse, and we still have a ways to go. No doubt.

We seem to have found our equilibrium perhaps. The right therapist, an enlightened Mom, and one amazing little girl. There’s no stopping us now.

Ess has not been given her due lately. I’m guilty of letting my worries about Chee preoccupy my mind, and thus my writing. Not today though. Today Ess gets some glory.

What can I say? So far, she is typical in every sense of the word. A small part of me leans toward describing her personality in contrast to Chee’s, but I am going to resist the urge. Ess’ personality stands all on its own. She shouldn’t be contrasted to her sister to be understood and appreciated.

Determined is a word that describes her well. She is determined not to miss out on a single thing. No door shall be left unopened, no chair left unclimbed, no cabinet left unexplored. And she has a thing for shoes. A serious thing. It will be interesting to see if that loves carries on as she grows.

She doesn’t take any crap either. I captured on video a little power struggle between her and Chee. Ess was holding a dog puppet which Chee wanted. Every time Chee made a grab for it, Ess hung on tighter. This went on for five minutes. The girl would not let go. (Her equally determined sister would not give up either. Truly comical to watch from the outside.)

Ess laughs loud and frequently. She finds so much amusement in her sister. Chee can do no wrong (except push her over). She is a mama’s girl through and through (I somewhat sheepishly admit I love that). But when her Daddy walks in the door after her work, she runs from wherever she’s at, screaming, “Hi Da!! Hi Da!!” Melts his heart.

As affectionate as she is determined. As silly as she is curious. She is a perfect younger sister and delightful daughter.

I am a blessed Mom.