Staying in the Game

The girls and I sat around the table last week discussing Easter as we ate our macaroni and cheese.

"We need to choose your Easter dresses soon. I don't want to wait until the last minute," I warned. A friend had given us five or six Easter-worthy dresses, among other clothes, that looked like they had never been worn. Tommy Hilfiger. Gap. Score! I hate to shop, so those dresses were three-pointers (trying to stay in the March Madness basketball frame of mind, even though basketball runs a close second to shopping.)

"What about shoes, mom?" Hailey asked.

Shoot. Shoes. "I guess we'll have to make a mad dash to Joplin and match the shoes to the dress you pick." I turned t0 Hannah. "What are you going to wear?" The friend's clothes did not include size 3T.

"I sit on E-puhn ap," Hannah replied. What???

"You sat on Ethan's lap?" I guessed. She's been talking about Aunt Ashley and her family, including cousin Ethan, daily though I don't know why. Leave it to Hannah to completely change the subject.

"No," Hannah responded. "I sit on E-puhn ap." Emphasis on the E, as if that helped. Great. I braced myself for the meltdown that follows her frustration with being misunderstood.

"Nooo." Bracing. Bracing. Eyes cringing.

Silent pause.

"Mmmm. Faking. (Hmmm. I'm thinking)," Hannah said with her index finger to her lips.

What's going on here?

Suddenly Hannah raised her elbows to her head with her hands flopping around and said, "It has beeg ewhs. White. (It has big ears. White.)"

Momentarily stunned, I finally got it. She was describing E-puhn: The Easter Bunny. "You sat on the Easter Bunny's lap!"

"Yeah! I sit on E-puhn ap!"

"Hannah, you are so smart! Good description!" I praised as I kissed her whole face. This was HUGE! It marked the first time Hannah has realized that she can explain what she is trying to say rather than uselessly repeating the same thing over and over, ultimately melting down.

Events like this cause me to look back and appreciate the progress. At the beginning of the school year Hannah spoke in one- to three-word sentences. Her speech therapist taught her to say, "Daddy. Is. At. Work." while holding up a finger for each word. Effort. Now she jabbers so much I find myself wishing she would be quiet for a moment. Though still difficult to understand, her speech has improved in both understandability and amount.

We finished our macaroni and cheese and continued the normal routine of the day. But that moment remained pivotal. It's as if each meltdown has been a foul. Let's just say Hannah fouled out weekly. Sometimes daily. With this new weapon, now maybe she can stay in the game.