The Cosmic Roller Coaster

So... T.K.'s show-and-tell triumph was followed by the worst weekend we've ever had. Three complete and utter meltdowns, over stuff he normally handles quite well (okay, well, pretty well at least). The largest and best freakouts and showdowns and lockups were reserved for his Community Helper homework assignment.

See, T.K. hates writing. HATES it. And watching him laboriously scrawl wobbly preschooler letters onto paper, I can see why. It must be like writing with your left hand ALL THE TIME. I've got him signed up for the Handwriting Without Tears Printing Camp in the fall, which did wonders for his sister's equally drunken script, but until then... we make do with Handwriting With Tears.

I scribe for him. I write out his words and let him copy them down. I let him use the computer occasionally. I take him for walks and movement breaks. I let him chew gum. I help him do finger warmups. I don't insist that he write a LOT, but he has to do some, or he'll never get the hang. Some days it works. Some days, it.... doesn't, and the whole experience is not unlike giving your cat a bath. Both parties emerge from the experience dishevelled, breathless, roughed up and resentful.

But... eventually, the stars aligned, and he was able to buckle in and git 'er done, and was quite proud of himself when he finished.

So it goes, so much of the time when you have an atypically-developing kid. For every triumph a disaster, for every disaster, a triumph... it does sorta balance out, but it's certainly not a ride for the faint of heart. You need a catch-phrase, a "some days you eat the bear, some days the bear eats you" kinda mantra to get you through the disaster days. I used to work as a forest fire lookout, and I remember the day when a waterbomber team spent a long and laborious (and killingly hot) day laying a fire retardant line around an out-of-control fire. They almost had that sucker penned in, when the wind changed and the thing ran out the back of their almost-completed circle, and they were back to square one. One of the pilots (in weary violation of federal regs about swearing on the air) sighed, "Ah, fuck, it's only trees."

So -- accept the disaster days, indulge in a little balm for the soul, shrug off the humiliation of... oh, insert the Unspeakable Incident of your choice here... and move on, confident that there is a triumph of some sort coming down the pike to keep you going. It may not be tomorrow, and you may have to keep a sharp eye, because it may be small and easy to miss in the daily chaos, but it's there. And it'll keep you going, if you let it.