Right now the kids are spitting (of the phhhhbbbbtttttt variety) into the sunlight that's streaming into the playroom through the window. Why, you may wonder, are they doing this? In the words of T, "Look! Snow! It's spit snow! We're spitting SNOW!" Frankly, I think it's all a clever ploy to try to be able to spit without getting into trouble, and it's SO not working. I'm such a party pooper.
Saturday started off poorly and went downhill from there. Sunday was so much better. Actually, once T got some sleep, he was like a new person. So on Sunday, we headed to the pool as soon as it opened with no further issues. That afternoon while S took a nap, R stayed home with her and T and I did some errands. I love my one on one time with T - there's a totally different dynamic to it than when my attention is split (usually ineffectively) between him and S. That's also true of my one on one time with S. If I could just learn to let that be my happy place as they try to kill each other over who's looking at whose train, train track, favorite book, stuffed animal, piece of string, or carpet fiber I'd be in good shape. I'm, um, still working on that.
On Monday, our landlady came down to make sure we were all okay after the spectacular meltdown she saw on Saturday. I think she also wanted to make sure the house was still standing and that neither T nor R or I had bruises or signs of abuse. Good times!
I know that by now I should expect bad days like this from time to time, but my heart just hurts that as a mother, my child is suffering somehow (referring to not being able to calm himself down, not the injustice of being denied something he wants) and I'm powerless to really be able to help him at all. I have such high hopes that once we get back to the States, there will be more resources available and we can find someone to figure out what's going on and then help us. I'm pretty positive it's a Sensory Processing Disorder, but it would be nice to know for sure.
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