Where Is My Library Book?

Micah's speech teacher is awesome with a capital A. She's working on talking, using his Voice, and sign language with him because she doesn't want to limit his options. And she sends homework for us to go over with Micah, too. I love this, because not only do I know what he's working on and learning, but we can learn along with him so that we can communicate. You know, that's the key to all this anyway is communication.

So I was going through Micah's speech homework folder and saw he had something new that I had to sign off on. He's progressed to sentences now, using the words he's learned previously. This week's sentence was, "Where is my library book?"

Let it be noted that Micah loves showing off his sign language skills. He will start with the homework he's been sent for the week and then go through his entire folder, proudly showing the family what he knows. And by "family" I mean "everyone but me." The boy's mom-factor is so off the charts it's ridiculous. If I ask him to do something, he ranges from grumbling about it to melting into a puddle of loud noncompliance on the floor. And if anyone else walks into the room, says "what's wrong with him?" and then asks him to do the exact thing that sent him into a tailspin because I asked him to do something, he'll instantly comply with a joyful spirit. The boy can push my buttons, let me tell you. And obviously I push his as well. (Insert eye roll here.)

So I started going over the sentence with Micah. "Where is my library book?" I said. But because I had the nerve to look inside his folder, he took personal offense to it and refused to participate in this exercise of signage.

"Where. Is. My. Library. Book?" I asked again. "He's not listening," said Sam. "I know, but I'm doing the signs myself so that I know what they are." And then because I learned them as I did them, I turned to Micah and asked again, "Where is my library book?"

That boy looked me right in the eye, raised his irritated little eyebrows at me, widened his eyes, shrugged his shoulders, and turned his palms up. His visuals clearly said, "I have no idea where your library book is, woman. You're on your own with this one."

He never did sign the sentence. Mostly because there is no way I could enforce homework when I'm too busy laughing.