February 7, 2011 by Marj Hatzell
You know, the past few weeks with Bugaboo have been nothing short of amazing. He’s TRYING to talk. It doesn’t come out, but he is making purposeful noises. He is making amazing eye contact. He is eating some food. HE’S SLEEPING (Shhhhh! I didn’t say that! NEVER MIND!). Heck, he pet the dog the other day! THE DOG! He hates dogs! Which is why I’m an awesome parent and dogsit so I can traumatize him further by shoving dogs down his throat 24/7/365.
Yup. Getting even closer to that award.
This weekend was good. I mean, he got into some stuff and did tons of stimming and OMG, I am telling you that if he doesn’t stop being lazy and stop the “pull down my pants and pee where I am” thing, I will scream. The carpet steamer broke (YES WAY! I know, right?) and I fully plan on writing a Eulogy for her (her name was Bessie. Yes, I name steamers and not cars. Steamers bring me so much pleasure in life). But that’s besides the point. He pees on the carpet. I have no steamer. I am doing it by hand at the moment.
Where was I? Weekend. Right.
So, it was good. Music therapy was ok, the time was moved and that means The Force is unbalanced and we have to cut off Luke Skywalker’s hand to encourage him to join the Dark Side so he ultimately overthrows the Emporer.
Right. Weekend. I get it.
So. Again. It was good. We did ok. I didn’t feel frazzled and burnt out and ready to cry by Sunday night per usual. It was decent. We did fine. The house wasn’t a total loss. We even cleaned up the basement (and tried to throw out this old horse riding toy, you know, the one on springs? It was cracked and broken and we tried to chuck it and when The Hubs carried it out to the curb, Bugaboo sobbed and we felt like the WORST PARENTS EVERRRRRR so we brought it back in and fixed it. With duct tape. Because we are so not white trash. Honest.).I mean, it was a nice, normal-feeling, relaxing weekend.
Which reminds me, Internets, every time I get all smug and snotty about how AWESOME things are and how NORMAL things are and HA! We’re bored! How about them apples (no pun intended. You’ll see why in a second)! Do me a favor, please? Tell me to STFU, like? And remind me that I jinx myself when I do that? Because Bugaboo ate his share of wicked, no good, naughty food this weekend. Some of it was food. Some of it was stuff he shouldn’t eat, like paper. But the food? We should think about locking the fridge more often. And installing another magnet lock on that last, unlocked cabinet, the one we thought wouldn’t be a problem, because he’d NEVER stim on packets of onion soup mix or taco seasoning, right? And! There’s no way he’d eat three pounds of apples! I mean, he’s past that phase, right? Except he did. Eat three pounds of apples. Which, if you’re keeping track, is about 5-6 decent sized apples. And they were eaten in, like, two hours? And today when I picked up around the house (my Monday morning ritual. Oh, who am I kidding? It’s an all-day, every day ritual) I found five apple cores. That I know of. And a huge box of raisins. That was half empty. Meaning Bugaboo ate 5 or 6 apples. And a half box of raisins.
And yet, somehow, I was SHOCKED to hear he had an awful, no-good, terrible day at school, complete with screaming, crying, sobbing, tantruming, biting (himself), and almost missing the bus and me having to drive up there because he wouldn’t calm down. And holding his stomach and acting like he was in pain. When it finally dawned on me why I got a call about his behavior today? And sat down, nearly in tears, frustrated because I was at a loss to explain why? I remembered the apples. And raisins. And gah-knows what else, because I don’t always find remnants of it until much later, since he’s now a master at cushion-stuffing and putting things behind furniture.
Yup. Totally winning that award this year. I’ve sealed the deal. It’s mine.