Mean Math …

July 2, 2014Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Quotes, Reflections, Speech Language Pathology, Things Kids Say, Trauma and Development Tags: Hate, Math, NaamaYehuda, Peace, Tantrums, Things Kids Say, Tolerance, wisdom Leave a comment

“If I have four and you give me more than I have more.”

This axiomatic truth came from the mouth of a bright preschooler. His speech is difficult to understand, but his ideas are crystal.

He asked me, the other day, about math. More like, told me. Checked to see I understand …

Math, but also some other things.

“If I get angry and then my mommy gets angry than we have a lot more angry.”

Yes. That’s true.

“I don’t like it when we have more angry.”

I totally understood that, and told him that I didn’t like ‘having more angry’ either.

“It is lots more better when we have giggles. I love giggles.”

So do I.

He was quiet a moment, then asked me about the news he’d heard. Children often pick up more than you give them credit for, and understand more than you would like to think they have internalized.

“A lot of people are angry and crying on TV,” he said. He was referring to the news of three teens who were kidnapped and murdered by Hamas terrorists in Israel. The teenagers’ bodies were found that day, and his parents were aghast and upset with the realities in the Palestinian territories, terror, hate, and rage. They discussed the news among themselves, along with their reactions and thoughts. He saw and heard reactions of others, perceived the agony of desperate angst, the fumes of hate. I’ve seen it, too. It is difficult, difficult stuff.

“Yes,” I responded. “They are.”

“Are more people going to be mean?” he worried. “I don’t like it when more people want to be mean.”

Oh, how I agree, dear boy, neither do I.

He wasn’t quite done. How could he be? These are big issues, even for grownups, let alone little ones. He pressed on: “If more people are going to be mean then it is going to be even more mean and more mean.”

“I understand.”

I think I sighed. He looked at me a bit quizzically, adorable in his earnestness. I smiled at him and asked, “do you have suggestions about what people can do?”

“I don’t know,” he said after a thought. “Maybe a ‘safe tantrum’?” (in his house, this is the term used for when someone–usually him…–gets very angry. They can’t hurt themselves o others but they can punch a boxing bag and shout a little and jump and jump …).

I nodded. Safe tantrums would be a good, in fact a very good alternative.

“But,” he interjected, “even if they still feel mean I think maybe they need to learn to use their words.”

From the mouth of babes, Little Teacher. Simplified reality yet no less wise. In all war, terror, conflict, violence–may all find room for less hatred, more reason, some space, more safety, less meanness … more peace … in their hearts.

“It’s not a gift, it’s a mirror!”

June 20, 2014Na'ama Yehuda Video Anecdotes of Life, Funnies, Speech Language Pathology, Things Kids Say Tags: Child Development, children, Funny, intonation, language development, Language skills, surprises, Things Kids Say Leave a comment

Sharing this You Tube video for cuteness sake … and for the amazing little people kids are, and their language abilities, intonation, explanation, and social skills, even at that age.

She has it all figured out (though I do wonder if that mirror really did change hands come Mother’s Day …).

As for the title of the video–I disagree. I think you CAN very much trust a two-year-old! You can trust them to tell it like it is! Enjoy!

Name Protection, Preschool Style

June 17, 2014June 17, 2014Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Funnies, Reflections, Speech Language Pathology, Things Kids Say Tags: Identity Theft, Information Protection, Misunderstandings, NaamaYehuda, preschool, Signatures, speech therapy, Things Kids Say, Writing Leave a comment

“My mommy said not to write my name.”

“She did?”

I am easy pickings for leg pulling and the kids know it, but somehow this little tyke looks dead serious. None of the tell-tell signs of lip corners dying to lift in merriment. None of the twinkly eyes that let me know I have been had. Again.

I’ve been through all manner of stories that led to hilarity-about-my-gullibility: Believing that a child had gone to the circus instead of school, or that their grandma allowed ice-cream for dinner, that they went to the zoo on a rainy day and everyone got wet (in actuality, this one was wishful thinking, as the trip got cancelled…), or that their dad said they would get another iPad all their own (scratch that, this one ended up being true … the earlier version having lost its sheen, in the eyes of the child or father, I’m not sure …).

This no-writing-name business; however, that was new. No hidden grins, either.

“Your mommy said not to write your name?” Maybe I misheard. Happens.

Little-Tyke nods serenely.

“How come?”

“Because.”

Fair enough. We grownups should get a taste of our own medicine at times. Not that I do a lot of the “because” why-chain-question-closer, but I probably have said it once in a while when it became too clear that questions served to avoid work, and not for real curiosity or learning.

“Hmm. I’m curious, though …”

Little-Tyke gazes at me.

“Is it you who should not write your name, or is everyone not allowed?”

Frown. Tiny creases appear in the five-year-old’s forehead. Cute as a button, this one. Even perplexed. Maybe especially when perplexed.

“I think only me. Me not write it. You can because it is your job already.”

“Ah, okay. That’s good to know.”

Sage nod.

“Why do you think you can’t write your name?” I really want to know. This rings of misunderstanding of adult-talk.

Throughout this all the nanny, her head buried in her cell phone, ear-buds plugged in, sits motionless by the far table she often chooses to wait by, rather than on the couch near us, where most caregivers sit. I have come to believe that the sessions are a time of rest for her, a calm refuge from having to constantly watch an active munchkin, and I know she has very long days.

“Because you’re not suppose to,” the kid brings me back to the topic. “You not suppose to write your name.”

Now I’m not supposed to, either? Is this a repeat of something he heard said, a glimpse into the bigger context of this misunderstanding?

“Why, though.”

“The bad people will steal it.” The boy’s expression is certainty reincarnate.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, if you write your name then the bad people take it and steal it and take all your numbers and even all your money and then you don’t have a name anymore.”

Identity theft. Preschool style.

A few moments of discussion of private information and how one can still have a name even if they write it … and Little-Tyke is reassured that he ‘probably’ could add his name on the drawing he had made to take home. I leave it as an open option. No pressure … For extra measure of reassurance–and because I don’t want to put him in a bind of doing something I say is okay but that be believes his mom said was not–I send a text to his mom in his presence and following his approval of the query wording: “can LT write his name on the work he does here?”

The mom’s response is “??? of course he can! Is everything okay?”

“All fine.” I respond. “I’ll explain on phone. TTYL,”

The little boy’s eyes have been glued to the phone’s little screen. He sits up suddenly, part-admonishing, part-suspicious, part-gratified. “Aha! You see? You didn’t write your name, either!”

A Father’s Day Quest

June 15, 2014Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Reflections, Things Kids Say, Trauma and Development Tags: children, Father's Day, Fathering, Loss, love, NaamaYehuda, parenting, Things Kids Say, Trauma and Development 2 Comments

“Everyone has a father, right?”

The question came from a little boy. Age 7. A usually cheerful child. Subdued this time.

“What do you think?” (my standard response to children’s queries, figuring they have a working hypothesis already)

“I guess. Sort of. But not exactly.”

“Hmm … want to say more about it?”

Fidget, spin a top, twirl it, drop it, lean precariously out of the chair to get it, spin again. “I think you need one. To get born.”

“Yes, that’s generally true.” I pause. I sense there’s more.

“But I think you also need one to grow up better. Kind of. I’m not sure. Only if you have a good dad, though.”

“That makes sense.”

He looks up at me, tolerant of my very vague responses. I am certainly capable of being more verbose, and he knows it. However, my sense is that he is seeking an audience to bounce ideas off of, more than he wants my actual input. At least now.

He plays with the top another minute. Tries spinning it on the handle, upside down. It falls. He frowns. “I don’t like Father’s Day.”

“I hear you. I understand. It is a great day for many but it can also be a tough day for some. Can be confusing, too.”

He nods. “Yeah …”

Fidget, spin the top, drop it, pick it up. “My mom says that my dad is the kind of person people warn their kids about.”

I know … My heart breaks for him. It should not be reality for anyone.

“I’m so so sorry.”

Words don’t quite suffice, and yet I hope he feels it comes from true compassion, that he hears I get it (even if he doesn’t need to know how well I understand).

The father lost custody because of “serious issues” that led to the mother’s sole custody for “the child’s safety.” The boy’s dad spent time–or still may be–in jail. Something to do with child pornography. The mother got custody when the boy was still an infant and he doesn’t remember his dad. The mother reassures me that the boy had been “protected all along.” A warm and caring mother, she works hard to not vilify the boy’s father even as she tries to ensure he understands enough about why he does not see his dad and most of all that it does not have to do with him not being worthy of a father’s love.

He is a happy child overall, but not without a loss. Father’s Day can be tough.

He twirls the ornate wooden top between his fingers. “Sometimes I wish I had a better dad.” His voice is matter of fact.

“I know. I wish you did, too.”

“My mom says there are many kinds of father people. That they don’t even have to be your real dad to be a little like a dad.”

I love that mom! “She’s very right. I agree with that.”

His nod is reassured. He brightens some.

“My uncle is a little bit like my dad.” His mother’s younger brother. I’ve heard the boy wax poetic about this uncle before: He idolizes the man. His eyes light up.

“He’s already in my family, right? So maybe this makes him even more like he could be sort of my dad. I mean, not really really, but in my heart …”

You betcha’, little man.

Your heart is an excellent place to collect fathering. You deserve a dad as fully as anyone!

On this Father’s day:

To you who are plentifully fathered–may it be a Father’s Day to celebrate the gift of love. The miracle of true parenthood.

And to you who seek a father. Who lost theirs. Whose fathers lost their way or lost their lives or lost their soul–may you know a sense of fathering regardless. May you recognize its quality and accept its salve into your lives. Be someone’s prince or princess. May you find the fatherhood that grows within you: the knowledge of strength, the acknowledgement of protection, of strong arms, stronger heart.

Mamma’s mistake

June 11, 2014Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Good stuff!, Quotes, Reflections, Speech Language Pathology, Things Kids Say, Trauma and Development Tags: adoption, compassion, forgiveness, kindness, love, mistakes, NaamaYehuda, parenting, speech therapy, Things Kids Say Leave a comment

A six-year-old adopted child:

“My first Mamma said I was a mistake, but you see, she made a mistake. I’m not a mistake. Her mistake was that she didn’t know how to love me. I feel sad that she wasn’t very good with love.”

I am humbled.

A Zoo in the middle of NYC

June 2, 2014June 2, 2014Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Funnies, Good stuff!, Things Kids Say Tags: 1968, Elephant, Funny, grandparents, History, NaamaYehuda, New York City, Things Kids Say, Zebra, zoo 2 Comments

“My grandpa is very old,” the boy told me in a hushed tone.

“He is?” I smiled.

“Yeah, he even lived when it was no iPhone and no TV!” he announced. “That’s even very old.”

“I guess so,” I noted, keeping to myself the fact that I, too, lived well before there were iPhones (and when there were only black-and-white TVs).

“I think maybe they had a little iPhone, though,” the boy reconsidered, disbelieving a possible reality without the device. “Because they taked pictures … like with iPhone camera. My grandpa showed me a picture from when they had a zoo in the middle of New York.”

“The Central Park Zoo?” I offer.

“No!” the admonishing tone lets me know I am completely off track. “We still have that zoo. Its not from old times. It is there now even. I mean a zoo in the middle middle middle of New York. In the middle of the street Empire building. With wild animals and elephants.”

“Maybe you are thinking of the Museum of Natural History?” I tried.

“You not listening,” he shook his head at me, exasperated at my inability to follow such a simple narrative. “I telling you and you’re not listening. They had a zoo in the middle of the middle of the street. Zebras and things. Walking around. Maybe it was when the dinosaurs still lived …” he mused.

I looked helplessly at the mother, who was doing all she could to keep a straight face. This little guy did like tall tales, and I was wondering if this story was a combination of dream, stories, and wishful thinking. His mother’s levity confused me further.

“I’m sorry,” she giggled. “He did the same to me … You see, what happened was that my dad showed him some photos of old New York in a book and they came across this photo of … well … here, you’ll see …” She pulled out her phone (yes, an iPhone) and flipped through some apps before turning the screen so I could see.

“Told ya!” the boy trumpeted. “When it was a long time ago and my grandpa was still a little old they had a zoo in the middle of the middle of the street Empire Building! See?!”

NYC 1968 Circus arriving in town, 33rd Street

Hiding logic

May 27, 2014Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Funnies, Things Kids Say Tags: big-sister, Funny, Hide-and-go-seek, Hiding, Logic, NaamaYehuda, Playing in the park, Things Kids Say Leave a comment

A captured moment in the park:

Little boy, standing behind a knee-high bush in a hide-and-go-seek game: “I’m hiding. You can’t find me!”

Big sister: “That’s not hiding. It’s too short, you silly. You have to find something that covers all of you.”

Little boy: “Yeah, but then I won’t be able to see …”

Fair Share …

May 26, 2014Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Funnies, Speech Language Pathology, Things Kids Say Tags: Articulation, Final-consonant deletion, Flower girl, Funny, NaamaYehuda, Sharing, speech therapy, Taking turns, Things Kids Say, Wedding Leave a comment

A little girl of preschool age sits with her mom in session. She substitutes some sounds and tends to delete the ends of words, saying things like: “pe” instead of ‘pen’, “la” instead of ‘laugh’, “ha” instead of ‘hat’, “may” instead of “make”, “wabee” instead of ‘rabbit.’ Her speech can be difficult to understand, which is why she sees me for speech therapy.

Articulation aside, this girl’s language and expressive skills are up to par, and her infectiously delicious personality keeps us in stitches half the time.

We’re practicing saying word-endings by “discovering” (uncovering) and naming picture cards: “pig”, “hug”, “map”, “cat”, “man” … She pauses on the picture of the man. He is dressed in a suit and tie.

She’s been to a wedding recently as a flower girl to the bride–her mom’s cousin–and has been fascinated with weddings since. White dresses, tutus, flowing gowns, flowers, princess-wear… It enchants her to no end and she ‘plays bride’ with her dolls, marches with imaginary flowers down makeshift aisles.

“Mommy,” she pipes, pointing at the picture of the suit-clad man. “Is he getting married?” (“ee he geti mawee?”… it helps to know what she is referring to, if one is to understand …).

“Maybe,” The mother smiles.

“I want to get married, too,” the child demands.

“When you grow up you can. Who will you marry?” Mom can’t resist.

“Daddy.”

“Oh, but I already married Daddy, Sweetie. You’ll have to marry someone else.”

Storm clouds gather on the little girl’s face. “That’s not fair!” She states, hands on hips for emphasis. “You already had your turn. You have to share! It’s my turn to marry Daddy now!”

Spilling the Beans …

May 20, 2014May 20, 2014Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Funnies, Speech Language Pathology, Things Kids Say Tags: children, Communication failure, expressions, Funny, idioms, Literal thinking, Misunderstanding, Secrets, speech therapy, Symbolic language, Things Kids Say Leave a comment

I heard them arguing all the way up the stairs. The mom sounded consoling but confused. The little boy sounded angry, hurt.

“Why you lie?” he demanded.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she countered, frustrated.

“You not suppose to lie!”

“I didn’t … oh, just drop it, will you?”

“Drop what?”

“Nothing, okay. Just climb up, we’re late already …”

Two frowning faces, one a smaller version of the other showed up at my door. The little guy took one look at his mother, letting her know that he was not done with this discussion, and announced to me: “My mommy lied!”

She shook her head, sighed.

“Let’s go in and sit down and you’ll tell me about it,” I suggested.

The story unfolded: there was a party planned. A surprise birthday party for the dad, and both the boy and his older sister were in on the plans. All very exciting.

“Actually, initially I didn’t want David to know,” the mother interjected, “I worried that he would not be able to keep it secret … but he found out, and of course he went right ahead and told my husband …”

Little David gave her a withering look. “I didn’t mean to, it slip out,” he noted, vindicated by fate. He then turned to me, righteously riled, “and anyway, my mommy lied!”

“What did I lie about? What did I say?” the mother was clearly tired of this back and forth. She looked at me, “he’s been at it since we left the house. I didn’t lie to him about anything. It’s been really ridiculous.”

“You say I spilling things and I didn’t! I was careful!”

“What did your mom say you spilled, David?” I asked, slightly amused by the exchange and the boy’s insistence, and by a suspicion that was already forming in my mind …

“Beads. She say I spill the beads. I didn’t!”

“The BEANS,” the mother corrected.

“I don’t even LIKE beans,” he snapped and rolled his eyes, and I struggled to keep a straight face.

“It’s an expression, David. To spill the beans, means to tell a secret … maybe your mom was saying that about you telling your dad about the birthday party?”

The little boy glared at me suspiciously–one never knows when adults gang up to take another adult’s side–then looked back and forth from his mom’s vigorous nodding to me. I smiled.

“But why she lie?” his voice was hesitant now. He knew that there was something he had missed.

“She didn’t lie. She used an expression. Remember when we were talking about it ‘raining cats and dogs’ when it actually meant that it was raining really hard? How it was a silly way to say that it was raining hard but it did not mean that dogs and cats were REALLY raining on us? How ‘raining cats and dogs’ is an expression for strong rain?”

A nod.

“Or when we talked about ‘giving a hand’ meaning helping someone, and how a ‘couch potato’ is someone who sits around too much watching TV and doesn’t go outside and play and move around?”

Another nod then an eyebrow started going up. A dawning. “Like ‘heart of gold’ thing being nice?”

“Exactly!”

“Oh,” he pondered. Then his lip curled up in distaste. “But why spill beans? Can’t I spill something else? I HATE beans!”

A Leap of Faith

May 19, 2014May 19, 2014Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Quotes, Reflections, Speech Language Pathology, Things Kids Say Tags: Billy Elliot, children, Leap of Faith, Music, NaamaYehuda, Nerds, speech therapy, Sports, Summer camp, Things Kids Say 2 Comments

“I want my parents to see Billy Elliot.” The boy and I were discussing Marco Polo and history of Europe in the 1200s, looking at sources from his textbook and encyclopedias. The remark seemed out of context, but whatever the connection or association, I was curious to know more. The boy’s eyes rested on me. Serious. This was no fly-by thought.

“Oh?” I commented, “I heard good things about it. What about it do you want them to see?”

He paused. Fiddled with his pen, checked the time. “I’m not sure,” he mumbled, fiddled more. “Actually …” he looked up, “I want to play the cello.”

The boy has been taking guitar lessons this past year. An athletic guy, his parents thought he was better suited for sports, which he is indeed very good at and loves doing. They were not against the guitar lessons, though they admitted hoping that those were only a passing internet music-video inspired fad.

I just listened. There was more there. I was sure.

“I like playing guitar, but I really love cello. Only thing is .., it’s for like, classic music …” his eyes met mine and then he looked away, stared at his lap. “For orchestra and stuff, you know … nerd stuff.”

“Hmm,” I mused. “People use cellos in other kinds of music, but I get what you’re saying, even though I never thought of cello players as nerds.”

He blushed. “I don’t think they are. I think its beautiful music …” his blush deepened. “I don’t want my dad to think I’m a nerd or like … soft.”

My impression of the father was of a caring, all American, be-my-boy’s-best-buddy kind of dad. They often went to sports events together, traveled to see their favorite teams, bonded over tailgate parties. The boy loved it. And had other interests now, too …

“So … Billy Elliot …” I noted gently.

“Yeah … so they understand I want this, even if it’s kind of different. Is it kind of different?” he looked up, hopeful for denial.

“Personally, I don’t think so. I think music is a lot like a sport–you have to practice, you have to keep at it, you have to love it to do it, and it can also be very satisfying. It is even often kind of a team sport, with players needing to coordinate and work together …”

He gave me the almost-teenage lopsided grin that tells adults that they were doing an okay job in cheering up but their game was up and the comparison was barely passing. “Try telling that to my dad …” he chuckled, not quite mirthfully. He sighed. “My guitar teacher said I have good finger skills,” his voice was hesitant but a warble of pride was evident. “He let me try a cello that he plays sometimes. It felt so right …”

His whole face lit up when he said that.

“So … I want my parents to see Billy Elliot. I told my grandmother. She said she’d get them tickets … for next week.” He pushed on then, his speech suddenly urgent, rapid, “you see, there’s this summer camp, and it is for music … and I can do cello there. Not all summer, just three weeks … I can still go to the other camp, because that one’s only through July … and the music camp is in August … so I could still do both …”

I smiled.

“… they still have openings–my grandma checked–but we have to register, like, now … so … I want them to see Billy Elliot.” He chuckled, a bit tensely, “I’m thinking, it is a lot less nerdy than dancing … so maybe my dad will be, like, relieved that it’s ‘only’ the cello … My grandma said she’ll back me up …”

“I will, too,” I grinned. “Take the leap. Go for it. Try it out. If this is what you really love, then it is wonderful to find it. And if not, then you will still have tried something new that felt worth exploring.”

“Exploring … right,” he grinned. “Back to Marco Polo, huh?”