Knock, Knock! Who's There?

Well, it finally happened. LR's two weeks' shy of turning four and he's discovered Knock, Knock jokes. We had a Knock, Knock scare about six or eight months ago, but it never really went anywhere. At the time, he didn't really understand what he was doing and all we got was the punchline: "Knock, Knock!" "Who's There?" "Orange you glad I didn't say banana?" He would then giggle a lot and walk away. Okay, we could live with that; at least he wasn't making us go through that particularly endless joke. (For anyone not familiar with this joke, just consider yourself lucky and move on with your life).

Now, he still doesn't entirely understand what he's doing, but he knows that it's supposed to follow a specific formula and that it's supposed to be funny. The problem, of course, is that he still has a four-year-old's sense of what is, and is not, funny. Now, I absolutely appreciate the fact that he's actually making these jokes (and I use the term loosely) up on his own and I applaud his creativity. I do. But I also have to sit through them. So far, they are all variations on a single theme and he's repeating them endlessly with all the tirelessness that you'd expect from any preschooler who's discovered a new interest.

"Knock, Knock!" "Who's there?" "Daddy." "Daddy who?" "Daddy YOU!" [followed by hysterical giggling].
"Knock, Knock!" "Who's there?" "Mommy." "[Sigh]Mommy who?" "Mommy YOU!" [more hysterical giggling].
[Repeat the above ad nauseum.]

It's going to be a very long year.

A Changing Perspective

Last Friday, I wrote a piece about my son's seemingly endless imaginary friends. Afterward, I realized that I hadn't included the story about his first imaginary friend. Yes, the piece is already fairly long as is, but still. This used to be one of my favorite stories about him. That's when it hit me. I really don't tell this story anymore.

LR discovered imaginative play later than his friends. Despite an extremely active curiosity about absolutely everything, his interest never ventured into the realm of "What if?" We were therefore both very happy when, one morning seemingly out of nowhere, he told us that he had a friend named Goldy. Knowing full well that he knew no one with that name, we quickly asked about her. He explained that she was a goldfish and that she was invisible. We said "Cool! Where is she?" and he gave us a look that I hadn't expected (hoped?) to see until his teens. Any parent would recognize it instantly. It's the one where he doesn't say a word but is thinking so loudly that he can be heard down the block. "Could these people really be this stupid?" This was immediately followed by a verbal response in such an incredibly condescending tone that, once again, I would have sworn that he was fifteen. "I don't know where she is. I can't see her. She's invisible."

Frankly, that makes pretty good sense and we quickly forgave him for the attitude. At the time, this was pretty much the cutest thing we had ever heard. We knew that he had an excellent vocabulary, but we were particularly impressed by his understanding of the precise meaning of the word "invisible." After all, if something's truly invisible then he wouldn't be able to see it.

Once I began reading more about Asperger's, however, my perception changed. Rather than indicating a superb command of the language, this little exchange began to seem more like a symptom. As the National Institute of health explains: "[C]hildren with Asperger syndrome tend to have good vocabularies and grammar skills. But they usually have other language problems, such as being very literal..." That pretty much sums up the whole thing, doesn't it? It certainly appears to provide the best explanation for his "superb understanding of vocabulary."

Somehow, this story just doesn't seem so funny anymore.

Analyzing Myself to Death

I took a quick look at my last post and realized something. We always considered LR's hair-splitting legal arguments as very amusing and indicative of nothing more than a bit of a stubborn streak combined with one heck of a good vocabulary. (I may be wrong about the vocabulary, but the other three-year-olds I know don't have the word loveseat in their vocabulary and they certainly can't distinguish it from a sofa; half of my adult friends can't do that last part!)

But now I'm constantly over-analyzing every single thing my son says or does to see if he really does (or doesn't) meet some of the diagnostic criteria for anything on the Autism Spectrum of Disorders. So now, instead of simply enjoying his retorts I spend my nights worrying about whether or not the examples I gave are actually a "symptom." Many tests for ASD include questions asking whether your child is "overly literal." So which is it? Can anyone possibly know for sure? At the end of the day, does it really matter??

I'm trying to convince myself that it absolutely does not matter in the slightest. I'll keep trying that for the next few days and let you know how it turns out. Although I think we all the answer already.

As an aside, when your little one comes back with a great line (intended or otherwise), it does get more than a little difficult to reprimand them while you're trying to keep yourself from giggling. C'mon, don't try and give me that little superior look disparaging my parenting skills; you've all been there and you know it.

My Son the Lawyer

LR has a strong history of trying to get out of trouble by splitting hairs. After he repeatedly splashed his Daddy and his Nana while using a wading pool last summer, I asked him "What happens when you splash Mommy or Daddy on purpose when your in the bath tub?" I asked this question fully secure in the knowledge that he knew the answer was "I have to get out" because we went through this exchange at least twice a week. He looked up and replied, fairly indignantly, "Not in a bathtub. In a pool!"

Another easy example is the following exchange. LR knows very well that jumping on the sofa or his bed is very strictly Not Allowed. When I saw him doing just that on one of the sofas I asked him "Are you allowed to jump up and down on the sofa?" He quickly came back with "Not a sofa. It's a loveseat!"

And he's not simply preparing himself for law school with comebacks that rival every prosecutor I've ever met, he polishing up his bargaining skills as well.

My wife was at LR's school the other day. He was washing his hands at the sink and just as he finished his teacher asked him "How many paper towels do we use?" (Left to his own devices, LR will happily use at least 5 paper towels at a time and his teacher is well aware of this). LR shot her a grin and hopefully said "Three?" "Nice try. How many ?" He came back with an even more hopeful "Two?" "No. How many?" He looked down at the sink and, in a slow, drawn out tone of voice filled with such dejection and regret that it's typically reserved for a baseball player whose team has just lost 13 to 0, said "One."

As I sit here writing these stories I'm beginning to see a bit of a theme. Each of these exchanges occurred after one of us asked him a question. I suppose if we're going to keep on giving him openings like these we deserve whatever answer we get.

The Ups and Downs

Our son, LR, has always had incredible verbal skills. When you combine a "good ear" (for music, sounds, anything), with an ability to mimic sounds well enough to easily end up in the principal's office for doing teacher impressions, and attach them to an amazing memory you end up with a child who knows one heck of a lot of words. He had even begun learning how to read when he was about 3 1/4 with a natural ease that was just wonderful to watch. Words became just one more toy on his shelves that he wanted to take down and play with.

For some reason, about 5 or 6 months ago, he just stopped. Completely "cold turkey." He would sometimes still want his letter and word oriented videos, he would still, sometimes, be willing to tell me what sounds individual letters, but overall he was clearly just not interested. The number of books he wanted me to read to him also declined.

Then, the other night, my wife started to read a bedtime story to him and he took the and simply began reading it. Well. Very well. He certainly stumbled over the big words (like "especially;" heck, I know adults who would stumble over that one), but he just asked for help whenever he needed it and then went on. He ended up reading her the whole book!

While he definitely needs some help in some areas, it's nights like that that help me get through some of the other days. Thankfully, nights like that are definitely in the majority.