My Little Enigma

At school Hannah received occupational therapy, physical therapy, speech therapy. Watching her this summer, I'm confused when I try to determine her needs. The occupational therapist worked with Hannah's small motor skills, but at home I watch Hannah play the piano using all five fingers of both hands, playing melodies she has heard and including harmony in some instances.

At school she received speech therapy twice weekly with a speech therapist whom I appreciated and liked. I can tell by the way she consciously forms her mouth into an O or specifically places her tongue at the top of her mouth for an L that Hannah's speech therapist worked successfully with her. Yet now that she's out of school she has begun speaking in sentences, her mouth almost keeping up with her mind.

Carl has given Hannah a fishing pole with a big bright bobber on the end. She calls it a pishing pole and says she catches crout instead of trout. We don't correct her because it makes us smile. She sits outside on my lawn chaise lounge chair at least twice every day, usually wearing very little, and casts her pishing pole into the crepe myrtle bush across the driveway, then successfully reels it in and starts over again.

Piano playing and casting a fishing pole are two things that a typical five-year-old cannot do. Her memory is excellent. When I'm looking for something, she often finds it for me because she remembers where she saw it. She's remarkable in so many ways.

Yet, she cannot regularly follow two-step directions. In fact, I have to be diligent if I want her to complete a one-step direction unless she's personally interested in completing it. She still bites herself, still has unexpected meltdowns (like the one in church last Sunday--ooh, I have another blog entry now), still cannot even begin to read. She's not even 100% potty trained.

She's my little enigma, pulling me down this life path that I never planned, but which I find marvelous in it's mysteriousness.