Husband and I went to see Richard Thompson again this weekend. Once again, he was amazing, although unfortunately we missed half of his patter because he is such a fast talker. It was like trying to parse a foreign language; I found myself repeating the sounds in my head to see if they matched up with any known words, but by the time I figured out, “Oh, he’s talking about KNITTING,” he would be on to something else. (Why is he talking about knitting?)

After the concert, Husband bought some CDs, and Thompson came out to sign autographs, so we stood in line to meet him. Now, Husband is something of a low talker himself, so the conversation went something like this:

Husband: Mumblemumblemumble Ian Anderson mumumumumble?

Richard Thompson: Pardon?

Husband: Mumblemumblemumble Ian Anderson mumumumumble?

Richard Thompson: LalalalalalalalJethroTulllalalalalalalala.

Husband: I’m sorry?

Richard Thompson: LalalalalalalalJethroTulllalalalalalalala.

Husband: Uh, thanks.

At least each of them knew what he himself was saying. I didn’t get any of it.

Minor is continuing to have his own problems with articulation. Unlike the two gentlemen in the previous vignette, he really tries hard to be understood, but he’s still unintelligible to us about 30% of the time. The last time I posted about this, we had just started speech therapy for him, but after six months services were terminated because he didn’t technically qualify any more. I asked the therapist if we should get him private speech therapy; she arranged to have a speech pathologist evaluate him, and the pathologist said he was within normal limits and we should wait until he turns three and have him evaluated again. But other adults can barely understand him, and even we have quite a bit of trouble.

Minor cannot say blended consonants, like “sm” or “sk,” which is pretty common for two- to three-year-olds. He also can’t say initial /k/ or /g/. Everything else is kind of run together and poorly articulated. This wasn’t as much of a problem when he was saying two-word sentences, but his utterances are becoming more novel and thus harder to guess from context. Earlier this week, I was trying to figure out, “Dis hingin ah ma tum! Ak bu fee-er!” (”This is hanging from my thumb, like a bird feeder!”)

When we can’t understand him, we ask him to repeat himself. He’ll oblige two or three times, then he gives this sad little laugh and goes quiet. The laugh is the only sign he gives that he is frustrated.

Husband went to pick him up at preschool the other day and found that the teachers had asked the kids what they were going to be for Hallowe’en and then put all the responses up on a poster. Next to Minor’s name was the word “Chalk?”

He wants to be a shark.

Poor guy.