Hot Cocoa

Boy Star is enjoying kindergarten. I adore his teacher. The best kindergarten teacher ever. Young and soft spoken and energetic, and really great at keeping us informed on how he's doing.

And Baby Star, well I may have created a monster there. In that first week when he was missing his brother, I took him to Starbucks for hot cocoa. So now, as soon as we get the big one on the bus, he turns to me and says, "Mumma, go, Bucks, hot cocoa!" And heaven forbid we aren't actually going somewhere.

So they're both thriving.

Except.

Boy Star was referred to the Speech Pathologist. And I'm not deaf. I know he had speech issues. But God, the terms these people use. Developmental delays. Pathologists. An entire alphabet of Acronym-named assessments. IEP. The huge packet of info the school sent home with the form we had to signs permitting his evaluation. It is hard not to be overwhelmed.

I spent four years in college studying words. Language. They ways people communicate. And I can't help but feel I have failed my child. And am failing the second in the exact same ways.