a fixed false belief that is resistant to reason or confrontation with actual fact

First things first, the winners of the book, "Positive Discipline" are commenters #9 and #70 on my post from last week. Here's hoping I counted correctly.

Liz and Sarah, please drop me a line at TheAmazingTrips@gmail.com and I'll get the books mailed to you, as soon as possible.

Now, here's how I see this "book club" going...

We read a chapter. I'll summarize the high points in a blog post, we "discuss" it. The first chapter is only 12 pages long, so if Liz and Sarah send me their contact information in the next day or two, I'll get the books shipped out within 48-hours and I suspect we'll be ready to start next weekend.

Does that sound like an acceptable plan?

Great! I love it when everyone agrees.

I'm really so excited to dive in to this book. Unlike two weeks ago when the weather was warmer and we could spend time outside, today it was freezing cold, I'm still sick and I had to fight the urge to wrap children in Christmas lights and stick them in the attic. I've got a lot of faith riding on what I'll glean from this book and fully expect that when I'm done reading and dissecting it, I'll be an improved person. Miraculously, Sundays at our home will be transformed in to peaceful occasions where we all stand around, holding hands and singing hymns.

In other news...

Henry turned 41 months old, yesterday.

Or rather, three years, five months.

His first day of preschool was this past Monday. According to his teacher, who just so happens to also be our next door neighbor, things went very well until the last 10 minutes of class. It was within the last 10 minutes that a little boy named (she spelled it for me) R-O-B-B-I-E got too close to Henry and tried to snatch something out of his hand and well, suffice it to say, Henry doesn't like R-O-B-B-I-E.

She shared with me that Robbie is also "nonverbal" and something else something else something else, I lost track of what she said from that point on.

Henry talks all the time. Or, at least he makes NOISE all the time.

NONVERBAL?

Wha...?

Fast forward to Friday afternoon when Charlie had to take Henry in for a physical at 2:45 PM. Now, I note the time because I consider it important since Henry is, just this week, phasing out of his afternoon nap. In my opinion, when children are cheerfully rolling down the hallway at 10 PM, it's a good indication that mid-day rest is no longer necessary.

So, my husband takes a nap-weaning Henry to the doctor's appointment, at a time which days before, he'd normally been half-way through a two-hour siesta. And, suffice it to say, the appointment didn't go so well. According to Charlie, Henry went BONKERS. He grunted and screamed and thrashed on the scale and tried to eat the paper that lined the exam room table.

He acted like a NONVERBAL crazed-child.

When my husband called me, on the way home, he was on the verge of tears. "Jen, are we in denial? I really think that there might be something wrong with Henry. They want to call in a pediatric psychiatrist and speech therapist and ... Jen ... they think there's a SIGNIFICANT problem with Henry. The doctor told me, point blank, normal three year old children DO NOT act like this. They think that he might be autistic or ... or ... who knows what. The County will be calling us for an in-home appointment."

I can't really remember the language skills of my other children at three years and five months. I can't really remember exactly how they behaved at that age. But I do remember that until they reached five years old, I worried endlessly about how "normally" they were developing.

Maybe I am in denial. Or, perhaps I just don't worry about these things anymore because our children seem perfectly normal to me and they all seem to be developing, just fine, at their own pace. So what if Henry runs around and roars like a dinosaur? He's a rambunctious little boy and he's got a vivid imagination. Is that a handicap?

Our pediatrician in California was very laid-back and never highlighted any concern for Henry. Perhaps I'm overly sensitive, but since we've moved to Virginia, I'm meeting a lot of people who are really pushing their young children to achieve. For instance, within the past couple of weeks, I've met two parents who claim their three-year-olds can read.

Our six-year-olds aren't even reading as well as these toddlers purportedly are.

Does this mean that I've failed our children?

Does this mean that the three-year-old will be doing calculus earlier, too? Will they graduate from college sooner and be that much closer to RULING THE WORLD? Wait a minute. Shouldn't a "normal" three year old run around roaring like a dinosaur?

Okay, so Henry doesn't like the dentist. Nor does he like to have his haircut by anyone other than Charlie or myself. He doesn't like anyone, except for us, coming near him.

When the pediatrician was conducting his physical on Friday, Charlie said that he kept screaming, "IT'S NOT YOURS! IT'S NOT YOURS!" and the doctor thought that was unusual.

"What's not yours, Henry? What are you trying to say?"

I'm surprised the doctor didn't pick up on that. Why, I think it's brilliant that my little three-year-old knows that his body is NOT yours and he doesn't want you to touch it.

Granted, Henry is coddled a lot more than his siblings ever were. He is the youngest and he is very much treated like the baby by me, his father and all his siblings. I think that like his older brother, who just recently tested higher than what is required to graduate from Kindergarten (!!!), he is incredibly bright. He will sit and turn pages of a book for an hour or more. He might not talk much, but he can sing the entire alphabet and has an obsession with his father's tools and anything that resembles a reptile.

(Or, a space ranger in a purple, white and green suit.)

He is also instantly calmed by the power of touch. He will sit and stare in to my eyes (eye contact, that's a good thing, right?!) with his hand on my "belly." (I've got a chub roll that he just loves to pinch.) What I want to remember most about this age is the way that he'll call out to me, "MOMMY! I WANNA TOUCH YO BELLY."

If I'm unavailable, he'll go after his father's ears.

Which always knocks him out.

My baby is fine.

Certainly, he's fine!

Einstein didn't talk until he was three.

Why, I'll bet I'm raising a genius.

I'm NOT delusional.

Where's my hymnal? I need to sing something.