HOLY CRAP IT'S FRIDAY.
What a week. I've barely updated at all (except for here and here and here and here), even though I wanted to, planned to, was filled to the brim with good intentions. But there were never enough minutes in the the day or coffee in the pot or tissues in the box, as both kids had colds and the school district's spec-ed preschool program took (ANOTHER) full week off for home visits and assessments, neither of which we actually personally received.
But whatever. Lame! Excuses are lame! Just sit down and type for awhile and hit publish when you're done. It's really not that hard.
Let's check in with our principal characters:
1) Me. I did not fall down this week or otherwise injure myself. I drank the last of the coffee that we bought in Jamaica, was sad about that. Made another futile effort to finish editing and uploading the remainder of our vacation photos, failed. Did a load of laundry, ate some tapas, plotted. Not necessarily in that order.
2) Ceiba. Is happy the snow is finally melting in the backyard, but is not quite ready to give up her habit of pooping in the baby's room instead. Don't rush her, man.
3) Max. Is on my feet. Is about to get pissed when I get up for more coffee.
4) Noah. Had the best week EVER at school -- at the other one, the private, pay-out-your-ass one -- and I am (for the first time ever!) at a complete loss to adequately explain it. Every day, the reports were good. Better than they've ever been. Full of shit like "language explosion." I watched him make predictions and figure things out instead of freaking. I watched him get his feelings hurt by a classmate's (neuro-typical) sister after class -- a little girl he loves to play with but who chose to reject him this day -- and watched him WORK IT OUT, WITH WORDS, WITH HER. He told me and his teacher how he felt (sad) and why (because A isn't my friend anymore) and then he sat down (in a chair!) and stuck with the problem until they had a solution and...I don't even know. He played WITH her. He talked TO her. We have a motherfucking PLAYDATE.
Everyone wants to figure out what's behind it, but of course you can never really narrow it down to one thing. Watching The Wizard of Oz seems to really inspire his pretend play and desire to construct more mature play scenarios with other people? He didn't have the morning program (hmmm)? The part-time babysitter is an angel sent from heaven and told me about how she's been reading up on SPD and would it be okay if she tried a few things she came across? We banished artificial colors from our goddamn hand soap? He's just another month older? The past six months of therapy are finally paying off?
All I know is, I am SO PROUD of that kid, I cannot even tell you.
5) Ezra. Likewise. THIS ONE. He's 16 months old now, did you know that? I didn't. I've been saying he's 15 months for...waaaay over a month now, obviously. Duh. He has undergone his own explosion: a personality explosion. He is a...mmmph. How can I say this nicely? And with the affection that I swear is really behind it? He is a...spitfire. He is...opinionated. In his mind, he is already two years old. Or maybe 15. His temper is EPIC, and it is HYSTERICAL, watching him hurl his body to the ground in front of a closed baby gate while he sobs and beats his fists and kicks the floor and covers his face with his hands and then sticks out his bottom lip and storms off and I'm like: Dude. I know we're in for it when you're older but right now I am laughing because YOU ARE SUCH A CLICHE.
He says hi, bye-bye, yummy, doggy, kitty, mommy and daddy (not mama or dada, WTF), uppy, want dat, hot, ididit, ohwow, vrooom, beep beep, all done. And of course, NO. Yesterday he pointed at the butterflies on his wall and said BEE, today he called them BUTT. He'll mimic any sign you teach him, any activity he sees. He eats with a fork and a spoon and will shriek HIIIIIIIIII at anyone he sees until they pay attention to him. He dances to Lady GaGa and his singing alphabet magnets with similar flair. He has no fear of anything...except people getting hurt on the TV, even if it's a cartoon character falling off a bike. He bursts into tears and runs to me for a protective cuddle...right before he gets distracted by the back of the couch and hey do you think I could climb over the top of that hey let's see!
Like his big brother, though, Star Trek prompts a slightly different reaction.
And I'm done! Not really, but I think I'd like to take a shower today. You know. For kicks.