the aching beauty of normal

It might seem like Toby gets more than his fair share of time here on the ol' blog. I worry about that sometimes. The thing is, he's the first kid we've had that's done the normal things on the normal schedule. So that makes us those annoying parents that are unable to talk about anything but our amazing wonderful kid.

It's a deep thing in me. I love learning, and I love teaching. All of my life I have devoured information, and I reveled in being smart, from a smart family. And then I had R2, and he was beautiful and weak and strong and broken. I died a little bit when I realized he would never (without a miracle) learn to read.

So, Toby. Toby is really, really smart. Toby is teaching himself to read. He's 3, and he will be reading by the end of the year. It just... it hits me in the heart, something I so desperately wanted and didn't even realize. He pulls information out of me all day long, and not just random talking. He actually wants to understand, and then retains what I tell him.

Today, he drew his first real picture. He sat down at the table and decided to draw Daniel. He kept yelling to Daniel in the living room, "Hey Daniel! Do you have snaps on your shirt?" and such. "Hey Daniel! Do you have arms?" A few minutes later he came in with this drawing. I don't know if it's advanced, or delayed, or normal. It's just, to me, amazing. I've been near tears about it all afternoon and I don't even really know why. Just richness.