Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Things I've Learned Since Therapy Let Out

So, in a 180 degree turn from my last post, and in what is quickly becoming my typical manic-depressive style, this post will be significantly more light-hearted. YOU'RE WELCOME.

So, with that I give you Things I've Learned Since Therapy Let Out:

1) My husband is the king of awesome husbands. Really, in the land of Deadbeat Dads Are For Sissies, my husband reigns supreme and makes all of the other dads look like those clueless teenagers in high school who had those stupid eggs-as-parenting-lessons forced on them.
Every morning he gets up and wrestles the two tiny hooligans into eating, dressing in (mostly) appropriate clothing, and taking multiple potty breaks, all surreptitiously disguised as ACTUAL potty breaks, when they are really just elaborate stall tactics. He does all this while I am still groggy from not enough sleep (THANKS A LOT, STUDY HABITS) and guiltily sipping coffee while pretending not to hear Big C's 84th question of the morning.
In short, I got really lucky with that one, and I'm still kinda waiting for him to notice that he married a basket case. Although I'm sure that's not really a shock to him at this point.

2) Little C is apparently just masquerading as an autistic 3-year old, when in fact he is a ROCK STAR. Several staff members of the business in which his therapy center is housed have expressed dismay at his leaving, and more came to say goodbye on his last day. These are people who all apparently knew my kid, unbeknownst to me, and miss him. This while not ACTUALLY working with him.
Then, today, I picked him up from his second official all-pre-K-all-the-time day, and the staff members there were GUSHING over him.

Apparently he's a bit of a flirt, that kid.

Add to THIS the fact that no less than TWO other children were excitedly waving and calling goodbye to him BY NAME as we left, and it's official.

My 3-year old has better social skills than I do.

Not that it takes much, but still.

3) Non-therapy-schedule traffic in the morning sucks. I have spent the majority of my commute for the last two days gaping out of the window in HORROR at all of the extra cars on the road.


4) Conversely, non-therapy-day afternoon traffic is amazing, resulting in my arriving home a full 35 MINUTES EARLY every day and giving me more precious time to spend with the tiny hooligans.

5) I will spend those 35 minutes panicking over what to DO with them, because I'm not really the June Clever type. WHAT IS THIS FREE TIME, AND WHAT DO I DO WITH IT?

5) Despite the fact that I have spent the last year and a half lamenting over my awful commute, and how I just don't have TIME to cook when I get home so late every day, I will not, in fact, use my newfound free time to, um, actually feed anyone. Unless you call making peanut butter and banana sandwiches "feeding." In that case I'm golden.

(What? Peanut butter is good for growing boys. Plus, there's fruit. BONUS POINTS.)

6) 35 more minutes in the day for brotherly love=35 more minutes in the day for FIGHTING. As much as I adore the interaction, cut it out already, kids. There will be plenty of time for this later, when there are girls involved.

Or not. Strike that last part. Girls=Cooties.

The End.

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