Words

I have, on several different occasions, mentioned George's "regular" preschool that he attends in the afternoons with "typical" kids. The teachers there are fabulous and the director bends over backward to make that school a successful learning (and social) environment for Geoge. We don't see her everyday; but when we do pass in the hallway, she always stops what she's doing, crouches down to George's level, initiates eye contact, and says "hello". Most times, with prompting, George will mumble-echo a "hello" back as he pushes on toward his classroom. When he's on his way somewhere and/or within a routine, it's VERY difficult to pull his attention elsewhere. Head down, feet on auto-pilot, he barrels on toward his goal.


Yesterday, as we entered the building, the director exited the lunchroom at the end of the hall, beyond his classroom. A hallway packed with parents waiting to pick up kids from the morning class or drop off George's classmates. Before I had even seen her, George spotted Lee (the director) and, at the top of his lungs, yelled, "HI LEE!!" The crowd of parents giggled and "awww'ed", Lee dashed over to George and knelt down to give him a hug, and I died.

The changes, they are coming.

As for my girl? She's entering a very mysterious phase.

Today, I had a short discussion with her teacher, making sure that she and her boyfriend weren't causing any distractions in class with their "relationship".

And then I died.