So, Ted came home from respite yesterday, with his chatbox.
“McDonalds. McDonalds. McDonalds,” he pressed, over and over.
“Didn’t you already go to McDonalds?” I asked, spying his cup.
“McDonalds. McDonalds. McDonalds,” was all I got in reply.
I took it away from him, and he fussed. I switched a card to one with activities he liked, and are at home. At first he was mad and scowled at the cards. But then he recognized a picture.
“Trampoline,” he pushed.
“Yes, yes, let’s go upstairs and jump on the trampoline!”
Before he could think twice, I took him by the hand, grabbed the chatbox, and we went up to the playroom. He jumped right on the trampoline, and I pushed the button. “Trampoline,” I heard in my digitized voice.
He laughed, and laughed, and only stopped to push/say, “Trampoline,” and jump again.
He then got off the trampoline and looked out the window, to the dusky outside, and pressed, “Swing.”
“You want to swing? Let’s go downstairs, get dressed, and go outside to swing!”
Instead, he pressed “trampoline” and started jumping again. FIne with me. Still the swing was calling. He got off, pressed “swing” again, and this time ran downstairs with me to get dressed and go into the yard.
And he swang and swung and swinged, stopping only to press “Swing” now and then. I told him we had to go in, and we did. It was dinner time. I put his chatbox aside, and we started to eat. He finished first.
He got his chatbox again. “Swing.”
“I’m eating”
“Swing.”
“Later!”
“Swing!”
“I promise, let me finish eating.”
And then “Swing” followed by a small voice. “Peas.” He would press “Swing” and say “peas”. Over and over. How could I resist? So we went back outside to swing some more. When we were done, I went to my room to read, and he went about his business.
Again, he came in with his chatbox, and pressed “Swing”. But he didn’t hit it just right. So he said “Wing”.
We went outside again, so he could wing.
And then he walked in the melting snow, made a last run down the sled on the little bit that was left, and looked to the sky. I filled in the silence with chatter, as I’ve done for so long for him. “Oh, look at the sky! Look at it! See the stars? See the moon? Aren’t they pretty?” For six years it’s been nearly a monologue.
Not anymore.
“Up. Up. High, high!” he said, stepping with his feet as if he could climb in the skies and touch them himself.
And after last night, I’ve no doubt he can, one day.
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