Monday, September 14, 2009

When Dyspraxia Speaks

Jake and I are standing in line at the post office. It's a big line; much bigger than normal. So we wait.

And wait.

Jake begins looking at the various things nearby, picking through brochures, pass port applications, cards, and collector coins. The adults behind him are watching him with amusement. At least I think it's amusement, they are too polite to portray anything else.

"Hey, I need some of these things," he holds up a pack of specialty mailing envelopes.

"No." I don't even look up. People often comment on how easily I say no. What they don't realize is that Jake suggests or asks for things constantly, and my knee-jerk reaction is to just say no. Can you imagine if I didn't? We'd not only be broke, but our house would be full of useless stuff that we don't need! I always say no, but Jake still has to try to reel me in. It's a game, of sorts.

"But," he holds them up, smiling hopefully.

"NO. Put it back." This time, I look up right into his eyes. He grins at me, and then suddenly, the hand that is holding the envelopes twitches violently.

The package of envelopes have come to life as Jake valiantly tries to corral them, fumbling in his hands, but they fall and skitter across the floor.

"What the hell was THAT?" Jake and I are both laughing as the people behind us giggle. Jake bends to scoop up the envelopes and stuffs them back on the rack where they belong, then looks at me and grins.

"THAT was my DCD talking to me. I guess I don't need the envelopes after all."

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