It is like clockwork, every other Sunday, about 25 a year, my wife and I regulate that day to my daughter, Ellen. Now, if you know Ellen, she is a creature of habit, defined by only what she likes. Her life is centered around the agency that lovingly cares for her and gives her a life. Being how she cannot speak, she must communicate with a frustration I cannot imagine. She will physically tell us what she wants and you better understand her directions.
When one of us arrives to pick her up, she can spot us from a deep concentration, then along a deep corridor her excitement level rises, as she charges down the hallway with short stiff leg movements until she reaches you, where she will attempt to turn you around and push you back out, wanting to go.
She knows her place in the car, back seat on her right and will not attempt to get into the car from the other side.
Once she knows we are in the neighborhood, a smile crosses her lips and a giggle will come squeaking from her mouth and she cries out: MUMMA! Everyone is Mumma, if she likes you.
But Ellen is my polpetta which, in Italian is meatball, my little meatball. Why do I call her that you wonder because she is home, not happy to see me or her mom, but to eat meatballs? Sitting in her seat at the table, we can fill her dish with pasta, but she wants the meatballs, and keep them coming. Put some cheese on those suckers and feed me meatballs. When the last meatball is gone, then it is: Just take me home.
OK, Ellen, but you will always be my little polpetta.
She knows her place in the car, back seat on her right and will not attempt to get into the car from the other side.
Once she knows we are in the neighborhood, a smile crosses her lips and a giggle will come squeaking from her mouth and she cries out: MUMMA! Everyone is Mumma, if she likes you.
But Ellen is my polpetta which, in Italian is meatball, my little meatball. Why do I call her that you wonder because she is home, not happy to see me or her mom, but to eat meatballs? Sitting in her seat at the table, we can fill her dish with pasta, but she wants the meatballs, and keep them coming. Put some cheese on those suckers and feed me meatballs. When the last meatball is gone, then it is: Just take me home.
OK, Ellen, but you will always be my little polpetta.
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