I never thought I’d be so happy to report that my son will just NOT stop babbling. Although his vocabulary has yet to cross the ten-word mark, he has begun to mimic sounds and start conversations with people other than me- the most amusing of which is generally Iman. Khalid will grin excitedly at her, and say ‘Okay?’ and Iman will beam and reply ‘Hat!’ Of course, it’s much more than just ‘hat,’ to Iman, it’s a prolonged, ecstatic exclamation of haaaaAAAAAAt! in a high-pitched squeak bordering on baby giddiness.

Yes, Iman says hat, and she says it loud, and she says it clear, and it is as meaningful to her as ‘Okay’ is to Khalid. They had a three-way conversation yesterday with the Imam of the masjid during Isha prayer. It went like this.

Imam: (over loud speaker) Allahu Akbar

Khalid: Okay?

Iman: Haaaaaaaat!

Imam: Sami’Allahu liman Hamida

Khalid: Okay!

Iman: haaaaAAAAAAAAAAT!

Imam: Allu Akbar

Iman: HAAAAAAT! HAAAAAAAAAAAAT!

Khalid: Okay!

Iman: haaaaaAAAAAAAAT!

Of course, right after the jamaat finished, someone came over and banged angrily onto the divider between the men’s and women’s sections, and frankly speaking, I was seriously offended. Yeah, my kids were making noise, but children make noise in the masjid all the time. I was still praying though, and so my rugrats continued to fill the large, echoing dome of the masjid with hats and okays until the Imam came and knocked on the door (gently) of the women’s section and asked Ruth (who opened the door) to please bring the children outside.

When I finished praying I walked out and outside the women’s side entrance, saw HF talking to two men, presumably the Imam and one other local. Khalid, upon seeing HF, ran and flung himself into his arms and unleashed a series of happy Okays! According to HF, as soon as Khalid did this, both the men changed their stances from stern to understanding. It’s easier to be mad about someone’s bratty kids when 1. you can’t see them and 2. they’re not autistic.

Ruth and the kids & I waited in the car while HF talked with the Imam & Co for about ten minutes. Alhamdulillah, this is one wonderful thing about HF, if a situation gets tense, he doesn’t get mad, he gets charming. I told this to Ruth, and she laughed. “You’ll see,” I said, “By the time he finishes talking to them he’ll have made some new friends.”

And of course, he had. After an explanation of autism and Khalid’s understanding (or the lack thereof) the Imam invited him over for tea repeatedly and was disappointed when HF politely deferred. The second man then plied HF for his life story and then asked him to come over and fix his computer. Numbers were exchanged. We went back home.  

Khalid’s favorite word in the entire world:

OKAY!

This is how it’s used. Locate a random item. Find your mother. Hand it to her. Grin expectantly. Mom sez Thank You! and Khalid sez OKAY! and wanders off to find another item.

(Last week I ended up with a pile of shoes in my arms, six or seven pairs deep, each one of which was delivered to me, individually, with an expectant smile and Khalid’s squeaky little Okay!)

Khalid has started to copy words pretty consistently in therapy- like Up, and On, and Cup, but the only word he’s using of his own volition (and within his own personal context) is Okay!

Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah.

Also, there’s another use for the word ‘Okay!’ Khalid and I, during our hour-long drive to therapy in the morning, have conversations that go like this:

Khalid (watching me expectantly from his car seat): Ah, ah, Okay!

Me: Okay!

(Khalid beams and wait a few seconds while basking in the glow of successful conversation. Then he looks to me again and says…)

Khalid: Ah, ah- Okay?

Me: Okay!

And we continue like this, through Abu Dhabi territory, past Jebel Ali, cruising into Dubai, zipping through our morning commute and sharing deep and meaningful and beautiful words like Okay.

Best. Word. In. The. World.

Okay!

Iman is taking a tour of the living room right now. By herself. Her commando-crawl skills have really picked up in the last few days, and despite being sick and having an ear infection, she still enjoys a good reconnaissance mission over to the corner of the sofa or the edge of the carpet so she can stare intently at its patterns. At the moment, she’s crinkling a grocery list that she discovered under the coffee table.

It’s been a pediatric quarantine-athon here at home, Khalid had a week of high fever followed by a cough, and as soon as he go better, Iman started down the same viral road. She’s just getting over her week of high fever, and is on antibiotics for an ear infection as well. Me, I woke up two days ago sounding like a chain-smoking truck driver, which is typical for me when I get a cold. Now it’s my turn to be sick, and in addition to sounding like a truck driver, I also feel like I’ve been beaten by a truck driver.

It’s 1:30 am right now, and Iman wakes up when she can’t breathe properly (which has been every night for the last week) out of her nose. She’s running out of steam now, and I hope we can be in bed within another twenty minutes InshaAllah. Oh, good news! I almost forgot to blog this! *smacks forehead with keyboard* Four days ago, Khalid made the sign for hat! He patted his head, put the hat on it, and then made the sign again! That’s the first sign or form of communication he’s ever made with us, apart from saying ‘socks’ once, and I was nearly doing cartwheels! I am so excited, and so looking forward to being able to communicate with him! Please make dua that this progress continues. There have been so many changes in his behavior since we started therapy, and it’s only been three weeks! InshaAllah, InshaAllah, InshaAllah! Alhamdulillah!

Oh, Iman’s starting to cry and pull her ears, so it’s time for me rescue her and take her to bed. Gtg!

As seen in the Le Gallerie de’home, Blue Square (left) and Scribble Star (right)

Both pieces are said to represent the artist’s passion for geometry.

• One suddenly awake, insanely cheerful baby
• Two small onions, finely chopped
• 4 cloves garlic, crushed or minced
• One baby-bouncer
• One rubber Spatula
• 1/3 cup butter
• 3-4 cups chicken stock (or water & 2 chicken cubes)
• Frozen mixed veggies
• 2 cups finely chopped chicken breast
• 4 cups milk

Combine baby and baby-bouncer, set aside. In a medium soup pot, saute onion and garlic until onions are golden brown.

Entertain baby with rubber spatula and periodic tickling. Add chicken breast to sauteed onions and cook over medium heat with:

• 1tsp sage
• 1tsp dried dill
• 1/2 tsp black pepper
• 1 tsp salt

When the chicken is cooked, add chicken stock and frozen mixed veggies. Allow to boil for 15-20 min because frozen mixed veggies can be tough little suckers. Sing to baby, ward off drowsiness, mix 1/2 cup flour in 1 cup cold water. Dissolve flour well (else, suffer from lumpy soup) and add to pot. When the flour thickens, take the baby out of the bouncer (because she’s getting kind of cranky now) and add 3 cups milk to the mixture. Bring to boil and allow soup to thicken. (5 min, max).

Dance around kitchen with baby in arms, add salt to taste.

If I’m not responding to my comments it’s because I feel… embarrassed.

I am not brave, I am not strong, I am not amazing.

I alternate between insane optimism and resigned dread.

I am not the Super-Mom of a Special-Needs Child, I am the “So, how do we cope today?” type.

I am pushing forward because the only way out is through.

Still. It’s warm and fuzzy to feel believed in though.

Khalid has been diagnosed with autism. I can’t even begin to explain how this feels. We’re still in planning/coping/assessing mode. I just quit my job. Regularly, I cry myself to sleep. I can’t write about this right now. I’m too busy trying to figure it out.

Yesterday Iman discovered her right foot.

Today she discovered she could chew it.

Ah, they grow up so fast…

Khalid, who is laying under my desk and pulling on my toes as I type this, is overdue for his nap. He would have been asleep already, had it not been for his iron determination to be awake. Half an hour ago we did the whole nap thing- we had lunch and then went to the bedroom, where I told him to lay down and he started rolling around in bed and protesting.

Normally he protests for about ten minutes before he winds down and falls asleep, but today things went a little differently.

3:00- I lay Khalid down in the bed and then take position in the rocking chair. As per tradition, I pick up a book and start reading.

Khalid whines a bit and rolls around.

3:15- Khalid goes quiet. I assume he’s asleep and continue reading. It’s Going Solo, by Roald Dahl, and as I get to the part where Dahl describes the incidence of the cook’s wife being carried away by a lion, I look up and realize that I can’t see Khalid. I can, however, see a pile of pillows in Khalid’s bed. Khalid doesn’t have pillows in his bed. In order for him to be hiding under a pile of them, he must first have crawled out of his bed into mine, grabbed all three of them, and then carried them back, all without me noticing.

Also, pillows don’t normally have feet.

I lift one of the pillows and see Khalid, grinning excitedly at me. I try not to laugh (which is one of the harder parts of parenting that those books never tell you about) and I take the pillows and put them back on my bed. Khalid protests and starts whining again.

I sit down on the bed, which is closer than the rocking chair, to prevent further such secretive escapes. I resume reading. The cook’s wife is put down by the lion unharmed. She is wearing a red dress with white dots on it, and now she must wash it because there is lion saliva on it. Roald Dahl watches as the cook and his wife do a joyful dance on the immense brown plain and suddenly Khalid has gone quiet again. I look up from my book and see the top of Khalid’s head and his wide, unsleepy eyes watching me from just over the top of the bed. Then he ducks down and they disappear.

A few seconds pass. Roald Dahl marvels at the strangeness of the situation- an old lion came out of the jungle, picked the cook’s wife up in its mouth and was carrying her back, gently and unharmed, to the jungle. Dahl is paid five pounds to write his account for the newspaper. Other hunters write to the paper and offer theories on the strange incidence. Khalid’s head comes up slowly again. I attempt to look stern.

I cave and burst out laughing. Khalid realizes that he’s off the hook, and he jumps into my bed and we have a good laugh a roll-around.

So that was the end of round one. Round two will begin as son as soon as I finish typing this blog. It’s 4:10 now, and Khalid is starting to rub his eyes and pull at his ears. I’m going to pick him up and put him in bed again. I wonder what happens to Roald Dahl next.