IT'S ROSÉ WEATHER, MOTHERFUCKERS.
(Or, if you're my fruit-and-vegetable-texture-adverse child, it's purplish-brownish yogurt/spinach/frozen-berry-blend smoothie weather, which admittedly isn't as pretty, but he swears is delicious and solves quite a few nutritional/digestive concerns. Plus it puts the stupid-expensive blender Jason bought me last Mother's Day to good use.)
I always spend this time of year in half slack-jawed amazement at how happy and mentally healthy this sort of weather makes me, and half in scrunched-forehead confusion at the idea that there are places with this sort of weather ALL THE TIME, places were I could hypothetically live and feel like this year round, because? I don't know. I like to babble bullshit about "liking having different seasons" when honestly, at least two out of four of our seasons can probably go fuck themselves.
We met with the middle school's special education team yesterday to officially plan Noah's transition. It went well. I had to push to keep a few goals and accommodations in place because technically he's achieved said goals and doesn't currently use those accommodations, but given our history with rocky starts to new school years (and how hard the transition to a new school turned out to be last year), I really felt they should stay in place in case of a regression or other problem. I got the sense I was close to being overruled by most of the people in the room, but I dug my heels in and kept arguing (politely!) until I either changed people's minds or they just got sick of listening to me and wanted to move on to the next topic. But for the most part everything was really fine and the school offers really, really excellent programs and services for kids like Noah. He'll be taking advantage of just about all of them.
One of the weirder accommodations we added was to explicitly give Noah permission to carry a small backpack or tote bag in the school hallways (where they are technically prohibited outside arrival/dismissal), since he'll be responsible for carrying his own sensory aids (noise-cancelling headphones, wiggle seat cushion and hand fidgets) from classroom to classroom. His current homeroom teacher was like, "that shit gets heavy! he'll need a bag!" And then there was a long discussion as to what kind of bag and what exactly he's allowed to put in the bag and what can't go in the bag and now I need to inform my child of his documented god-given and federally-protected right to carry said bag in case he's challenged by a random teacher or school employee.
IEPs are weird. But not as weird as the dinnertime conversation last night, which mostly centered on Noah telling everyone what he's been learning in "Puberty" (health/sex-ed class). And what he's been learning from his friends about the subject, which. No. No. That's wrong. That's not true. Nope, wrong. Wait, what?? Okay, maybe stop talking to Timothy about this stuff, honey.
Overall, though, he thinks the whole puberty business sounds disgusting and he'd really rather skip it. Same, tbh.