I feel as if I have lost my footing.
I am not exactly happy, not terribly sad, just tired.
Like I have been running a race and believe that I am nearing the finish line, when instead I am tripped up by the first in another long series of hurdles that stretch off into the distance.
I feel like I have my priorities all wrong, but without some dramatic action I am not sure how to make them right again.
Michael and I mistakenly assumed that once we could get David talking, everything else would be a piece of cake.
Well, we were wrong.
Just when I feel like we have something mastered, it seems as if we don't. Just when I stop worrying about things like the first day of summer school, recalling all of the other "first days," smugly thinking we've got this, David pulls me back into reality by doing something cute like throwing up on his shoes.
Once for each of the grievous sins of the day.
The bus arrived 45 minutes late and was not a wheelchair bus--no hydraulic lift.
Unaware of the lunch routine, the summer school teacher, upon seeing David without a cold lunch--usually a nutritous pairing of goldfish crackers and a yogurt stick--put him in the hot lunch line instead of prompting him to go back to he room and get his lunch bag.
And finally, the field trip shirts that were distributed are black and not David's beloved red. He refused even to shove it into his backpack.
Instead, he punctuated the day by throwing up.
Didn't we have to fight this same field trip shirt battle last year?
Did I really think that the disgusting combination of a little too much chardonnay, paired with nacho cheese doritos and a mini oreo cookie kicker would make me feel any better? Because I nearly ended up urping on my own shoes.
I am trying to take a page from David's playbook. David, who smiles most of the time and flashes his big blue eyes at everyone he meets. David, who on the second day of summer school, pointed out the puke on his shoes, but refused to let me change them--or clean them--or hear any talk of replacing the shoes that he has worn the whole year and have seen better days.
Instead, he marched bravely out to the bus, head held high, wearing his splattered shoes like a badge of honor.
And so, we move forward. Still trying to appreciate the little milestones even if they seem like they should be routine by now.
Still trying to snap a picture of David, who went to the zoo today wearing his new black t-shirt.
Even without a red shirt over it.