I know that there are like five million things I need to write about here, but can I just be crass for a minute? Okay, good. Thanks. You’re a sweetheart. Ahem.
I am continuing to have the best birthday ever. Yes, the actual day was almost a week ago. Yes, I have so far received a present or two every single day since The Day. Yes, I have had people I love tell me how much they love me. Yes, I am kind of amazed. I feel like I need to acknowledge this publically, because man — the last time I had a birthday this good I was in California, and Rory, Adri, and Kip busted their asses to make it happen. This year? I don’t know what the big deal is, but it’s been awesome.
If you don’t hear from me for five or six years, I’m just writing my thank-you novels.
In news that isn’t all about me, Connor had his full developmental evaluation yesterday. When I say “full,” I mean that an evaluation that was scheduled to take just under an hour took three and a half hours because the kid just… kept… going. He tore through the two-year-old portions, raced through the three-year-old exercises, breezed through the four- and five-year old exams, coasted through the six- seven-year old review, and then we stopped because he was bored and cranky.
Are you there, God? It’s me, Sara. What the hell do I do with this awesome kid you gave me?
There were a few things he couldn’t do, obviously. He couldn’t draw some of the shapes on the four-year-old exam; he drew the lines right but couldn’t seem to connect them up into a cohesive shape. When he was shown a bunch of individual letters, then a group of extremely similar letters (like… b, followed by b, d, and a p), he was unable to “match” them about half of the time. Invariably he would pick the original letter’s opposite (picking a d after being shown a b, for example), which freaked me out with thoughts of dyslexia, but the examiner said that kind of confusion is really common among pre-schoolers. He was great at parroting back simple to moderately complex sentences, but he kind of lost it with the really long ones — at one point the examiner asked him to say, “In the winter, the dog barks when I sled down the hill on the snow,” and he responded by saying, “Um, the bog darks — wait — in the winter I go sliding — and it snows?”
There were also some incredibly stupid questions, like the one — intended for three-year-olds — that asked, “What are tents made out of?” The correct answer was “vinyl,” but the examiner just rolled her eyes and skipped the question. When I asked Connor what tents were made of, he said, “Popo,” so there’s that. I think I’d be a little alarmed if my toddler knew about vinyl, but maybe that’s my Generation Y paranoia setting in.
I think our finest moment, though, was when Connor was fidgeting on the couch during a series of very boring questions about opposites: He shoved his hands down between the cushions, gave me a very charming smile, and pulled out a shiny purple lighter. “Look, Mommy!” I don’t think we have anything to worry about.