Does Cold Weather Affect Ethernet Cord

B. and his mother.

It
fatigue everyone. He moves, he talks, he laughs and he cries more than any other. Some teachers endure it, throw it much. One or two, like the nurse, like a sigh, because it is a lively little boy and tender, sometimes rushing to the hospital, shocked to the nth observation. Whoever takes patience to mop, nose and untangling the hiccups in the object of his concern is rewarded by a true, a radiant smile pixie.
B. Ritalin is for three years and the medical school of the little boy who has attended seven schools before college is empty. I do not know who prescribed or on what basis.
It is time to ask to meet his relative. In this case because the father lives elsewhere, this will be her mother.
When I arrive the following week, she is already there, talking with the nurse that I appreciate so much. The air absorbed, voluntarily smooth it with the listener does not think the air is already no less full of instruction.
The mother speaks. Everything. Unbridled, uninhibited, with humor and empathy, but she talks like a tidal wave rises uncontrollably. It overflows, it carries whole blocks of history, it fills in the cracks, it permeates every corner, it is very informative and drunk.
What strikes me most is not so much to catch in less than a quarter of an hour, the reasons for removal in September, the business man who exhausts, the rigidity of the violent father who melts the kids and the absence of neuropsychological development prior to Ritalin.
No, what strikes me is the attitude of B, perfectly placed in the stream of words from his mother as a kitten under the blows of language. His hands do not move, it does not fiddle with the objects in my office, do not squirming in his chair, playfully lifts a finger to slip a remark. His mobile face reflects every word of this mother that so obviously loves. He gets excited she can not even reveal to me, while pretending he ears, that this pregnancy has been there not to be desired. Her eyes shining in the corner, as if to say: 'I've caught well, eh! " She smiled.

Yes, this interview is high in all kinds of emotions, but there is no shadow of a manifestation of hyperactivity in B in the presence of his mother. I whipped in mind the image of these preposterous premature born in noise and shrillness, which are the sounds of lullabies pump machines with alarms for choruses and silent padded and protective back home screaming.
These, to the astonishment of everyone, go back to sleep to the sound of vacuuming.
Despite everything that can hurt me or confuse me in the torrent of words from his mother, the unexpected silence of B. whispers that it was his bath and feeder paradoxical protection.