Monday, May 25, 2015

A day in the life

I tend not to use the blog as a daily journal or chronicle of our life.  I do put random snippets up on the facebook page, but nothing like a lot of bloggers.

I think it's partly laziness, partly lack of time.  Also, I tend to disbelieve that anyone could be interested in the mundane details of what happens to me over the course of a day. 

Maybe that's not true, so here goes.  I woke up, as I do every morning, with one of the kids.  Don't like an alarm clock?  Get a baby.  It's been going on 5 years, now since I've needed one.  Anyway, this time it was the baby, and it was 6:30, so not great, but not too bad.  Flynn woke up on the stroke of 7:00, and watched a bit of TV, while I tried to get the baby to eat, a futile exercise that we both end up resenting.  Giving up, I tried a bottle, which he devoured like the ravenous beast he is.

After I turned the TV off, we tried a little sandbox play, during which their apparent harmony lulled me into a false sense of security.  I wandered in to check the time and quickly sprinted back out when the sandbox turned into a war zone.  The instigator was not readily apparent, so all parties were warned and I stayed nearby to supervise from then on out.

My parents came to get the baby at 8:30, as the wife intended to work and was sick, to boot.  I played with Flynn for a while, fed him, and then put the TV on around 9:30 so I could stumble upstairs for a short nap.

The wife got up to do her work and deal with him and then sent him to wake me at 11:00 or so, hoping to actually get some work done, I assume.  Flynn crawled into bed with me, as is his wont, and we cuddled for a few minutes before I got up and got ready to go.

I then took Flynn to the playground, Dunkin Donuts (so healthy) and a second playground, near our old house.  We played soccer on the kid-sized field there and I tried to explain some rudimentary tactics, which went a bit over his head.  Then we ran back to the house to meet his ABA therapist.

We had a grad student (Masters of Education, and a current special ed teacher in a self-contained classroom in an affluent suburb nearby) coming to interview us about having a recently diagnosed child with autism for a paper.  It was interesting - she gave me a bit of the teacher's perspective, and I was impressed with how progressive her teaching philosophy was.  She had eliminated a lot of the stim-reduction techniques that had been used in the past in the classroom and was strongly in favor of letting kids use whatever coping methods worked for them.

It was good to see a strong advocate for the kids in that position, which is not always the case, of course.  She asked about my experiences as a dad, which I have explored in depth here and will not rehash.  At times I felt like I should just send her a link and say, "read this."

Anyway, afterwards, ABA was done so we had our daily fight with Flynn over how much dinner he needed to eat.  After dinner we went to a nearby playground and played an elaborate game he made up on the spot with a little girl around his age.  She was awesome and I even got both of them to compromise slightly when their preferred rule-variations conflicted.  He wanted water on the way back and I had none, for which sin I was told I was a "bad daddy."  The boy was exhausted and out of spoons - that was the third park of the day

Bedtime came shortly, with the requisite requests that I "sleep with him until the morning."  Not sure what age those requests stop - I'm hoping before he graduates high school.  He was all sweetness and light, as usual once he's in bed.  Lots of hugs and kisses and requests for more time with me before sleep.  I'm a sucker and usually give in. Obviously.

Perhaps a non-standard Memorial Day, but we have no regrets around here.  Maybe some day we'll be a backyard barbeque kind of family, but we're happy with the alternative we have.

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