With one hand, Logan took my hand and pressed it close to his cheek. He snuggled into his pillow and rested his other hand on his dad’s shoulder. The three of us lay in Logan’s little bed, quiet.
“Mom, is it share day at daycare tomorrow?” Logan whispered.
“Yup.” I saw his eyes are droopy, and I used my free hand to stroke his blond hair, temples and forehead. “You can close your eyes, sweetie.”
Logan thought for a half second, then obediently followed the directions. Not even a minute later, he was sleeping. He’d had a good day. He earned a “rock star” badge from his teacher in the morning, and kept it all day by remembering to listen, follow the directions and play nicely with his friends. “He even joined in a soccer game with the other boys,” the teacher told me when I picked him up that evening.
God, why can’t it be like this all the time? I wondered.
The day before had been the exact opposite. He’d hit a friend at school and threw his fork at lunchtime. He refused to follow any directions.
Granted, he’s still getting used to his new preschool room at daycare and his new preschool room that he’s bused to in the afternoon. He has two new teams of teachers, two new rooms, and a completely different schedule. He was also stuck with a needle at the doctor’s office Wednesday morning, to draw blood for some tests. It’s somewhat understandable he had a hard day.
Not that understanding makes it any easier. I try to detect patterns or progress by looking over notes from the past year, and somehow nothing solid seems to emerge. His communication book begins:
“11/4: A little aggressive at daycare. Would not lay down at nap time, upset about a blanket, woke up other children.”
“11/6: Very defiant morning at home. Daycare—knocking over chairs, screaming, hit another child.”
“11/7: VERY defiant morning at home. Restless during nap, unable to sleep. Frequent loud outbursts—he tried settling down at the beginning of nap time, but had more difficulty as naptime continued.”
“11/8: Hit a friend on the head with a block, then screaming outbursts.”
And it continues. It does move more toward silliness and wiggles rather than aggression, but incidents of hitting and pushing still pop up every now and then. Emotional meltdowns about the wrong toothbrush, not getting to use the first stall in the bathroom, and other seemingly pointless issues continue, too. December had five recorded meltdowns. January had two. February had six. March had six. April had eleven. May had two. June had one.
Then there’s data from Fraser, the day treatment program Logan attended over the summer. It makes even less sense. First week reports include “Great job listening!” and “Very observant and would initiate conversations with his friends.” Last week reports are the opposite: “Some trouble listening today. Had to be continually separated from his friend.”
Perhaps if I were more of a statistician I could discern something other than complete chaos. I have no idea why some days are nightmares, and some nights are like fantastic daydreams, like this one where Logan, Jason and I cuddled in warm, fall jammies and whispered about karate class and share day.
Fall Pumpkin Muffins
Last week came Grandparents’ Day, and to celebrate, Logan’s daycare served soft pretzels and cheese to the kids and visiting grandparents. I groaned, knowing I’d have to make an acceptable substitute so Logan wouldn’t feel left out at special snack time.
I’m never in a good mood to cook, and I’m definitely not in a good mood to cook that late at night. I’d had to work late, and I didn’t get home until 10 p.m. Luckily, as always, Jason came to my rescue by creating a pumpkin muffin recipe and helping me make it. They were delicious.
- 6 eggs, seperated
- 1 cup canned pumpkin
- 1 tsp vanilla
- 1/2 cup almond flour
- 1/2 cup quinoa flour
- 1/3 cup sorghum flour
- 3/4 c Luv sweetener
- 1/2 tsp baking soda
- Pinch of salt
- 3 tbs coconut oil
- 1/2 cup chocolate chips