I have written many times about my son, Weston and his penchant for movement.
He is like a hemi-powered race engine stuck in overdrive barreling down the freeway at 100 mph. It is difficult for him to put on his brakes. Things like school, mealtimes or long leisurely drives are difficult for Weston since his movement is inhibited.
An assigned book report from the school is like a death sentence to my hyperactive child. Simultaneously sitting, thinking and comprehending over extended periods of time is like a lifetime of hard labor.
But there is one place in our house where the pain of reading is magically diminished.
Where this same Word Worried Wiggler is suddenly transformed into a Word Wrangling Wonderboy.
No, it is not his bed room, the family room or even my office.
What is it about the mystical powers of the bathroom and boys?
Like his brother, Nicholas also enjoys leisurely lavatory lounges. (Click here if you would like to read Nick's toilet room post)
I must admit, even I have sought the refuge of the only "locked and quiet room" in our house.
But for my wiggly son, Weston, the bathroom setting holds the illusive key to his perfect learning environment.
He starts by gathering a collection of books, mostly nonfiction encyclopedia-type books jammed with hard facts about things like tornadoes, thunderstorms, Titanic or military and sports vehicles.
He heads into the bathroom and locks the door signaling that his study session has begun.
He tips over my laundry basket creating a flat surface, perfect for reading and memorizing photographs.
He sits on his study seat for what seems like hours as he leisurely flips through the glossy pages of text, memorizing critical data that is pertinent to the life of a 13-year-old boy.
As he exits his magical place of learning, he'll say things like,
"Hey Mom, did you know that the Titanic was 882 feet long?"
"No, Weston, I didn't" I respond thankful just to see my son in the very unusual position of holding a book to his nose.
I do not know what it is about the quiet confines of our powder room that enables my son to relax and learn?
Is it the small comfortable space?
My fluffy blue hand towels?
As a Clueless Mother I am once again at a loss to understand my quirky son.
I am hesitant to ask Weston about his Remedial Reading Respite least he become self conscious about the only place in the world he feels comfortable learning.
Do you think the teachers at Weston's school would think I am insane if I suggest we add to his IEP that he perform all of his studies, tests and reading assignments in this environment?