Where Ladybugs Roar

Confessions and Passions of a Compulsive Writer

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Thursday! It can't be! It's too gruesome!

The above is a quote from Breakfast at Tiffany's for those uncultured swine who didn't recognize it. ; )

This post is mostly about my family... so feel free to skip it if you're here to read about writing.

Actually, normally I love Thursdays. I like the anticipation of the weekend. I like that's it's not quite Friday... but we've survived through Wednesday. Thursday is my favorite day... usually.

Today just bit for the most part.

It started off with B crying... as most days have started off the last few weeks. I might have to just give up and go to the doctor and have him run tests on her to see what is wrong. I remember thinking when I was a parent to toddlers and babies that it sucked when they couldn't tell you what is wrong with them. Well, with Special Needs kids, sometimes they never grow out of that phase. So, she sobbed for a half an hour straight and I put her on the bus crying. I felt like a winner of a parent, let me tell you. I'm sure our bus driver hates me lately.

Also this morning, I discovered that T's shoes were covered in mud from his excursion with a neighbor girl yesterday. Where they went... I don't know... and I'm not sure if I want to know. There was an inch of dried mud all around them. Also, he has a huge gash in the side of one of them. I said, "T, what is this? Your shoe is torn." "Yeah, I noticed that yesterday... and the day before... and the day before... and the day before." I just ordered replacement shoes for B online yesterday. JUST YESTERDAY. I swear to you... fate hates me.

So, after dropping them off at the bus, I rush home to call the school so an interventionist can meet B and help her cope. I'm hoping and praying they'll be able to get through to her and find out what is wrong. Of course, my phone was missing... because that's how my day was going... so I had to have the husband call it from France in order to find it. (Yes, he is still in the French Riviera... yes, I hate him right now... a little.) Finally, I get the phone and call the school. The psychologist is in a meeting, but "someone" will meet the bus. Okay. Fine. Good. Phew.

I sit down and start working on my revision of Secrets of Skin and Stone for an hour. (Yes! Productivity! Yay!)

That's when my giant Clifford-sized dog starts making whining noises. I look out at his food dispenser and it's empty... empty... like my soul. This is about five days sooner than normal and he is a giant dog and needs giant bags of food. So, I pacify him with some canned food and go to make the trek to the store.

On the way, I decided to stop by the school and check on B. It turned out that the front office staff had dealt with this morning's sobfest with B. Not trained professionals... by any means. Not at all.

Wendy: "Did she stop crying and was she okay?"

Front Office Staff Woman (FOSW) : "Well, she sat and she cried for a while and I told her that sometimes when we're sad and we don't know why, we just need to lock those thoughts up so we can stop crying and not think about them anymore and I asked her if she could do that and she nodded. I tried to find out why she was crying and she couldn't figure out why. So, by then, it was 8:30 and I said, 'Don't you think maybe you should just stop crying and go to class so you're not late?' and she just nodded and left."

Wendy blinks... and blinks again and thinks, lock up your thoughts? These people do know they're dealing with an Autistic child, right? Right?

Wendy: "So, she stopped crying?"

FOSW: "Well, she hasn't come back and her teacher hasn't sent me a note saying she is still crying."

Uhhh... huh... what does one say to all this?

Wendy: "Can I go check on her in her room?"

FOSW: "Absolutely."

So, I go check on B and her teacher sees me outside and sends B out to talk with me. B won't make eye contact at all but she does say that her stomach doesn't hurt and she is fine.

Fine, so I leave and go grocery shopping. Grocery shopping when you're hungry is stupid, but I did it anyway. I came back and whined on Twitter for a while and replied to an email while chatting with the husband who probably gets sick of reading my Twitter feed to find out information about his kids.

The kids just got home and B tells me that she is excited to wear PJs tomorrow to school (for their 'comfy-cozy' day) and there is a package outside. (This is about as much of a "How was your day?" answer as I ever get.)

Still, a package has arrived! Woo! I'm such a kid when it comes to receiving stuff in the mail. A package of shampoo that I just ordered yesterday and it qualified for lightning fast shipping... woo...

I opened the package.... and it smells too fragrant... because one bottle of shampoo had EXPLODED all over everything. Luckily, most everything was bagged, but now every part of me besides my hair smells like my shampoo.

Today blew.

I did receive an email which cheered me up... but I need to track down the school psychologist tomorrow and talk about how to handle B in the future. So, there is the chance that tomorrow might blow also. Also, I'm worried that giving B soy as a child during her GFCF days might speed up the whole "female" process. Soy is one of those fun pseudo-estrogens that has been known to do that. That MIGHT be why she is crying... and crying... and crying... and so on. She is only nine BUT... it's a possibility. I might have to have THE TALK... which will really seal the deal on today.

I mean, really, who wants to have the talk with an Autistic 9 year old girl who has been crying for days? If anyone raised their hand, I'm calling you a liar.

In fact, I should probably do that while T is out playing and ruining his shoes further. I just need to try and figure out how to say this so it doesn't make her think the whole thing is nasty carnage and blood will also ooze out her eyes. (The pretty joys of being female.)

Oy... some days... you wish you hadn't stopped sniffing glue.

I'm just saying....

Oh... hey... in the time it's taken me to ramble this out... they refunded me for my nasty exploding shampoo bottle and have sent a replacement. Right on, soap.com.

Now... the talk... but maybe after a snack. Or not at all. Or I should. Or not.

Le sigh.

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