my lucky day

Well the good news is, my knee feels better & the kitchen is almost flour-free.

My good luck began two Fridays ago... the last day of H's Spring Recess (must be some sort of trend-- remember the 2013 Spring Recess finale?) 

I came home from work less than 30 minutes before the time I would have to relieve the sitter. I also brought home a fresh pizza pie-- one of Hayden's favorite foods.

I was in a happy mood because things have been going well with the new sitter, & I was looking forward to regular schedule resuming that Monday. But unfortunately the scene I walked into was nothing near happy. 

As I walked towards the back of the house to put the pizza on the table, there seemed to be a weird, cloudy, quiet aura. Within seconds I noticed that my beige kitchen floor looked white, the burners on the stove were mighty pale, & the sitter's ensemble matched too.

She immediately began apologizing & said that he got hold of the flour while she was cutting up his chicken, & he kept saying he wanted to bake something.

My eyes continued around the room to take in the full extent of his wrath. The drying rack was on the wrong side of the sink, & all of its previously clean contents were now back in the sink. The mat that goes underneath it was saturated & so were the dish towels & two of the three oven mitts. The countertops felt like sticky dough. The cabinet where I keep the baking tins was slightly ajar, as was the cabinet that the pots & pans are in.

We are a good week & a half removed from the incident, & I am still finding traces of that flour mess... under the heating vent, on the cooking utensils, & in the drawer below the oven. I have since spoken with the sitter-- as I was mainly confused over the time frame of how he could make that colossal of a mess while she was cutting up his food-- & I learned that she was not sure how to stop him. Or if she could grab it from him, or try to restrain him to get the flour away, & so forth. So, we had a discussion to offer techniques, help her recognize antecedents, & give some insight into his tendencies. (Oddly, grabbing flour out of the refrigerator not being one of them!)

The next day I was going to help Hayden who was in the bathroom. But unbeknownst to me he apparently just doused the floor in disinfectant spray. Before I knew what happened I was sliding into a split of sorts, with one leg stuck under me & the other one a little too far ahead. Somehow I missed smashing my skull into the side of the pedestal sink-- which maybe I can attribute to being short. I am not sure. All I know is the next day my body reminded me that even though I might be just flexible enough to not break my leg in an attempted split (thank you fragile x gene hypotonia), I really should avoid doing them. 

So, like I said, the good news is my knee feels better & the kitchen is almost flour-free.

The bad news is, my short stature & thick-ass head of hair were very helpful traits this afternoon.

Hayden was outside playing in his sacred shed & apparently had a toileting accident-- the kind that looks as though his stomach was out of whack.

Our main rule with toileting accidents-- because out-of-whack stomach aside, they're going to happen with most people with fx-- is that he at least tell us. He understands what is expected of him & he does know how to communicate this. Whether or not he chooses to, is a different story. But honestly for the most part he is consistent about at least telling us (& luckily the need for this is fewer & fewer).

This afternoon I am not sure why he didn't tell me. But I need to be consistent as well, & he needs to be reminded that this is important.

So after I cleaned him up, I explained that we would be putting everything away outside & closing up the shed for the day. I did not raise my voice. I said we would go inside when we were done & then I'd give him some dinner, & he could even watch "Gas Monkeys" (Gas Monkey Garage, on Fast n' Loud).

I prompted him to help out as I started putting things back. I kept cleaning up but remained quiet. He was standing nearby doing something with his handtruck but essentially it was only task avoidance.

I finally put my foot down because we were nearing the end of the cleanup, & I explained that he needed to put the last few things back in his shed or I would take away his iPad.

He angrily shoved the cart & the wagon into the shed, bumping them into his little table... then he threw his utility bucket in, knocking over a small chair in the process... & as he picked up his backpack (a.k.a. leafblower) to toss that in too-- I got the padlock ready & started to slide one of the doors closed. This infuriated him because it was a definite signal to the end of his activity.

As I turned around to lean over & snap the padlock in place, I felt something brush my head. Then there was a thud. I looked down & apparently he had thrown about a two-foot long 2x4 piece of wood right at me. If I had been his balder, slightly taller father... things could have ended much differently.

(I suppose the same goes for the bathroom incident.)

Must be my lucky day.

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