Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Where Poetry and Tae-Kwan-Do Collide

Aidan gets a lot of air time on the old blog....maybe because he's the smallest, and I spend the most time with him (the big boys are at school). Perhaps it's because he has Down syndrome and it seems right to write/advocate/share/chronicle, etc., about Down syndrome on the blogosphere.  I don't think the big billy goats mind that they aren't written about as much.

But, every so often an anecdote comes to mind about the other boys, and I want to put it down so I remember. 

This is a story about the middle-est billy goat,
Age 9. 
And poetry. 
Oh, and a little tae-kwan-do too.

Liam is a fidgety boy.  He bounces, spins, fidgets, plays drums on his knees, does strange things with his cheeks, and we love him whole heartedly.

We put him in tae-kwan-do to try to learn some self-discipline and self-control.  Also for some physical activitiy which he was craving.

He's doing great.

At school, he is fidgety, and not getting down to work.  I went in to talk to his teacher.  She explained that they were writing two word poems.
She said that he right away wanted to do his poem on tae-kwan-do.
No surprise there.
His poem was as expected, about a dojang, white dobak, high kicks....
and the last line of his poem was difficult to read,
but it looked like: "bar fights."

Bar fights?

Hmmmn.  His teacher looked at me.
I looked at her.
We chuckled and shrugged.
I was thinking did he get that from Bugs Bunny?

Later, in the car (on the way to tae-kwan-do), I remembered his poem, and told him I thought it was terrific...but that I couldn't quite read the last line.  How did it go, again?

Bare foot.

Oh, right. :o)

Monday, January 10, 2011

Little Operation

Today we took Aidan to the hospital for minor surgery.  He got tubes put in his ears.  The hope is that he will hear better and be able to reproduce speech sounds more accurately. 

If this doesn't help, then we're pretty sure there's another issue.  Perhaps apraxia?  Time will tell.

He wasn't very impressed with not eating or drinking this morning.  He made his way to the Cheerio cupboard 8 times, only to be turned away empty handed.  Poor pumpkin. 

He was polite with the nurses, up until a point. The point being when they held onto his arm or foot firmly to put numbing cream on the back of his hand and a monitor on his big toe.  He yelled out, "ooooo," and "owie."  It would have broken my heart if it wasn't so darn cute.

I was impressed that they let me take him right into the operating room, and wait with him until the anaesthetic knocked him out.  I held him and sang "The Owl and the Pussycat" for old-times sake.  Just like  I did 4 years ago when he went under for heart surgery.  Ah, good times.