Sunday, February 17, 2013

"And if you court this disaster I'll point you home."

(stream of consciousness)

We are three-fourths of the way through our long weekend, and while the first two days were fun, relaxing, and dreamy, today was just...long. It wasn't at all bad, but it just dragged. 10am felt like the middle of the afternoon. We had plans for the evening to celebrate our niece Riley's 9th birthday, but it took so long to get there!

The celebration was an easy gathering of cousins, aunts and uncles, and grandparents. Pete even stopped by before he had to leave for work to wish his best girl a happy birthday. Riley is a special, beautiful girl, there's just something about her that steals your heart- not unlike the rest of my nieces and nephews, but there's a mix of vulnerability and strength in Riley that just kills you. She mama-hens PJ with such tenderness and he loves his "Wylie" in return. Another year of Riley is something worth celebrating. In fact, if it weren't for Riley, I wouldn't have PJ. True story.

I have a huge packet to fill out for the only agency that our insurance approves to provide ABA for PJ. I want to hate them just out of principal because I don't have any choice in the matter. I also don't trust anyone who our insurance company suggests at this point, either, because it's becoming increasingly clear that either our insurance company is woefully lacking in knowledge and proper coverage for the treatment of Autism, or we just have the worst fucking luck in the world when it comes to things like this. Either way, I keep warily eyeing this nearly fifty-page stack of nonsense (for something I'm not even entirely sure we can afford) and wanting to just will it all away.

Ah, but that's just it. To try and wish it all away would mean to wish PJ away. His new thing is being as silly as possible to get his Daddy to say "You're goofy!". Yesterday, PJ ran into his room, stripped naked, and came running back into the living room, bouncing in front of his Daddy saying "You're! Goofy!", which, translated into PJ-speak, means "Daddy!!! I took off my clothes on purpose! Please tell me how hilarious
I am!" And he is. He is so bright and funny and commanding and easy to fall in love with. And I think about all of that and I can suddenly, cheerfully, fill out a thousand sheets of paper. Weird.
The past week was a bit of a fail. Didn't get to the gym enough, didn't clean enough, didn't do enough of any number of things. But, I did manage to do a few things to, and the best we can do is chalk up the little victories and move on.

2 comments:

Meggan said...

I laugh at PJ being a streaker. I have a hard time keeping clothes on my little kids! I am able to laugh at it when my son is running around saying "naked boy! naked boy"! Weirdos:)

I'm sorry about your insurance. We don't have any special circumstances and they still bend us over. All the time. With no lube. Too graphic huh? lol...sorry:)

Jenny Saul-Avila said...

I am simply impressed at his ability to completely undress himself - and suddenly very glad that my child does not possess this skill. :)