Funk Day

I've had a blah day. Been in a funk pretty much since dawn, and it's not the funky kind of funk, either. I should put on some Parliament and turn the funk upside down. But that would ruin this perfect "depression lite" I've got going.

I know my hormones and lady bidness have something to do with it, but it's also cold, and snowy. The snow looks very nice, and cheered me up briefly when I crunched through it to get the mail, but when I got back inside to crazy boys 1 and 2, that went away. Plus, Hubby called at 4:30, and said he'd be staying late at work because the snow had fouled up the roads. Great. Another day AND night of solo parenting.

I kept Hutton home from school today, because he was throwing a hissy fit, rubbing his eyes and whining after ABA therapy this morning. I stopped the hissy fit by adjusting his eyelid for him -- all the rubbing had flipped a quarter of his eyelid inside out and he was screaming until I convinced him to let me look at it. Fun. Since we're doing the AIT this week, I've been driving Hutton to and from school, but today was not going well, already, and the AIT therapist didn't want to have to come back at 3 and risk getting stuck on the snowy roads, so I said I'd just keep Hutton home and he could come back earlier. Great. Crisis averted. A mellow day at home. Perfect.

Except when I emailed Hutton's teacher to tell her he was being very whiny and probably wasn't feeling well and wouldn't be at school, she emailed me back to say that he was whiny all the time at school and she didn't think his feeling bad really affected that. Then she went on to reiterate that Hutton doesn't need to be in her class, she'd had his previous preschool teachers out to observe and they were all "disappointed" in his behavior, she was going to have the director of special education out to observe him, and did I have any thoughts on this?

Great. So, after I burst into tears reading the email, I thought for a moment and emailed her back telling her I was fine with any placement for Hutton as long as it's not the contained class at our neighborhood school, because that class is all non-verbal kids and will not be good for Hutton at all. We'll see. With any luck, the special education director will find a better placement for Hutton, but since the transition class he's currently in was "the best place" for him before, and there's not another transition class, I'm not that positive. I just know I'm not going to lie down and take whatever crappy situation they throw at me because his teacher suggests it. Nope, his teacher is not on my "favorite person" list, probably because she's written off Hutton from day one as being too immature for her class. Hey, lady, it's KINDERGARTEN. You want maturity from a class of kindergarten kids? Well, I'm sure without Hutton it will be like an intro psych class. All the kids will explore their feelings and grow as spiritual beings once that immature brat is gone! She always tries to make me feel better about Hutton by pointing out that he's only five. Yeah, I know. Five is the age the school district assigns to KINDERGARTEN. Just because all of the other parents held their kids back, doesn't make my child too immature for kindergarten. They kick you out of the special ed preschool after two years. That's why we moved on to kindergarten. Oh well.

Back to my funk. I've been eating like a pig all day. I really need those doggy diet pills now.

And speaking of dogs, Sally is still not moving well. The vet called today and said she's a slow healer, and since so much muscle tissue was affected by the surgery, it was taking longer than they'd thought it would for her to be able to get around on her own. So Sally is still at the hospital, which is charging us daily about the price of a night at a nice hotel to feed our dog and take her out in the special doggy wheelchair cart. I can't really visit her either, because the area she's in is crowded with recovering pets and medical equipment. Imagine bringing in your two-year-old. Or better yet, your two-year-old AND your five-year-old. Yeah, they're very patient and never want to touch the expensive equipment. Since the hospital is 25 minutes away, it's not an easy little trip to do when Hubby comes home either. Sally, I love you, but the last thing I want to do after putting the boys to bed is get in the car and drive nearly half an hour.

Sigh. Time to get the boys in bed and start drinking heavily. Just kidding. Sort of.