I stood in front of the refrigerator pulling out items. Asking “this?”
“No!!!” He replied as tears streamed down his cheeks. His eyelashes wet, eyes wide and brow creased.
Then he asked again, it sounded like Regular but anything I grabbed from the refrigerator wasn’t right. Reuben and I kept throwing out words and suggestions but we couldn’t guess it. Usually one of us can.
“Can you show me?” I ask. Trying my best to be supportive, trying to solve this puzzle.
He said the word again. Now in a sob.
Maya, my seven year old asks him. “Are you mad?”
Mateo answers “No” tears still streaming down his face. She asks, “Are you frustrated?”
Mateo answers, “Yes.”
My heart melts. My son is so smart, he knows the emotion he is feeling is frustration. And not frustration with us because we can’t understand what he’s saying but frustration because the words don’t come out correctly. Frustration that he can’t communicate what he wants. I see them there sitting in his head, behind his big brown eyes, the words they hide in the crevices of his mind.
I want to make things easy for him, I want so badly to help him. But I can’t figure it out. So I throw out his favorite thing in the world. “How about some Hot Cocoa with whipped cream?”
“OK!” he replies.