Shrug-a-what
"How was school today, Hannah?"
Earlier this week, Janette had just picked me up from work for lunch. She, Hannah, Hannah's nurse and I were headed home. Hannah's face was glued to to the passenger window. A soon-to-be-developed open field was rushing past.
"How was school today, Hannah? What'd you do?"
She turned to me, briefly acknowledged me with a left shoulder shrug, and returned to the panorama outside.
I chuckled.
"Well, today, Hannah..." Hannah's nurse chimed in. She started to walk me through Today's Activities At School. I gently stopped her.
"I appreciate that. I am curious about what Hannah did in class, but I want to give her a chance to answer first."
"Oh, okay."
I wasn't particularly looking to stomp on any toes, but we all have a problem of answering for Hannah (and sometimes, for Gabriel). If I expect Hannah to engage socially, answer questions and such, I need to ask her the questions. And give her more time to process and reply.
"Hannah? Hannah?"
The field outside was merging into our latest strip mall. Hannah turned slowly away and faced me. "What?" she asked clearly.
"Did you have music today?"
She signed, "Yes."
"Did you play with your friends today?"
Hannah kicked her feet, glared at me for a second, and returned to the much more interesting view outside.
"Okay," I smiled. I threw up my hands and admitted defeat. She had shrugged, answered with a slightly testy "What," replied to my questions with the briefest, least informative answer possible. Yep, all systems go: she was communicating just fine for a nearly-four-year-old.
-- Dad
