With the exception of an incident over the weekend, Christian has been fairly well collected. No major meltdowns, no deadset refusals to take meds, no tantrums. He’s been alert, paying attention, cooperative, and even pleasant. I remember all of those personality traits from years before, but it’s been so long since I’ve seen this side of him that I almost don’t recognize him.
Over the weekend–as usual–he spent his time with T. The two actually went on a date to the movies. While they were together, they went to the park and Christian apparently failed to navigate his way through an iron gate, which closed on him. Now he has a huge lump on his chest where he got caught. He’ll live, even though he refuses to take ibuprofen for the pain and swelling.
Dakota, on the other hand, has been a bit of a handful lately. Very moody and temperamental. He played grubmaster for his scout troop over the weekend, successfully feed 30+ people three meals, which he prepared entirely on his own. As he was cutting the last of the tri-tip roast, he sliced off the tip of his finger. Off as in gone. No more fingertip. Nothing left for doctors to suture. Luckily it was the index finger on his left hand, but that also means that he will have a very difficult time playing cello or participating in his sign language class or even playing softball in PE.
And Jordan is on the verge of a meltdown if she doesn’t get a new cell phone soon. I understand the need, and we have to be able to keep in constant contact with her for her safety and for out self-assurance, but the hysterics are becoming a bit much. Unfortunately, AT&T’s website is being snarky and simply doesn’t want to cooperate. Really, I want to upgrade a phone. Why do you keep giving me an error and sending me back to the Manage My Account page?
Why is it that Christian, my problem child, is doing well and the other two are falling apart? Should I be prepared for something brewing just under the surface? I know I shouldn’t think that way, but this has been such a cyclical event that I’ve come to expect the unexpected. Or at the very least, anticipate it.