On therapy days like this one, I eat breakfast and evaluate the kids based on how they interact with me and each other, how loud they are (today, VERY), how able to follow instructions (today, not very), and whether they’re overwhelmed. Then I come up with a base activity to help them focus and interact in speech therapy. Today, I emptied the shoe box from my orthopedic clunkers (fashionable footwear for the over-forties) and added polished wood slices, a big tub of gluten-free playdough, strips of yellow paper that match the clay, and three marbles.
Kids love marbles. I think it’s because they’re like angels when I see them, holding the glass spheres in their innocent hands, like the archangels in our icons looking over the world or Christ holding all that is as though it were a hazelnut (thank you, Julian of Norwich).
We polished those wood slices some other morning when they needed to use their little hands in order to speak. Somewhere in a box waiting to be sorted onto shelves waiting to be built, there is a pile of sweetly scented rags and a half-empty tin of lavender orange beeswax polish. If I were a Pinterest Maker rather than an author, I would probably print colorful labels for all of the activities we do. But we do so many. Every week, three or four crafts or projects to teach. I’m a production therapist/teacher for my kids, not a salesperson. Duct tape and a piece of scrap paper and simple, Sharpied words suffice for labels here.
This morning is also day two of some of the children’s fascination with gum. I bought them some natural gum at the health food store yesterday, and they love/hate it enough to holler in the manner of birds at sunrise when I came downstairs, “Mommy! We want some gum!”
I’m chewing some now, and it’s not bad. It gives me something to do as I scroll to order a few party supplies for my neice’s birthday this weekend. I pop a bubble when I find affordable giant PJ Masks balloons. Balloons are like magic to kids, like marbles.
I still have an hour until therapy starts. It will be for cleaning and trying to figure out where they/I put my hand towels. There’s always the last-minute check before someone comes over. Has anyone left britches on the bathroom floor? Is there toothpaste on the faucet handles?
Alas, someone spilled bubbles on his pants, and I am the keeper of the laundry. Must run. Tally ho!
Don’t forget! We’re only interacting on blogs for the next three days. Follow along by visiting the other authors in the #bloginstead challenge, {listed at this post}.