Here in my city, we're not used to 90 degree weather, and we wilt like orchids in the heat. June is famously cold, July and August are unpredictable and September is usually warm, sunny and lovely.
All summer, we drove up and down the hills as freezing tourists in hastily-bought sweatshirts passed by, clinging to cable-cars for dear life. Isaac grew, he read his first book, he got his first relatively successful haircut, he handled the dentist, the doctor and the developmental optometrist with aplomb. And there was more perseveration, more language, more affection and playfulness, more rigidity, more maturity and more obsessive-compulsive behavior.
His emerging sense of independence--of the desire to understand and try to control his environment--means that we have more compulsiveness to--what? Manage? Endure? Gently redirect? If only. Like so much in our world, it's good (desire for independence) and hard too (obsessive, sometimes even frantic).
And then there's school, and with it a sensory bombardment that is at times excruciating for him. He comes home exhausted, crabby, hyper, starving. He's immovable or he's bouncing off the walls. He wakes up in the morning saying, "No recess. I don't want to go to recess." I ask him why, and it's so obvious it hurts: too. much. noise. No structure, though he doesn't verbalize that. Children running past him, screaming.
How exactly is this supposed to be fun?
We've arranged for more support for after care. We're hoping to get more support for the transition times: lunch, recess. He seems to like his teacher and is already mentioning one of the kids.
It's Sunday, and after a low-key day yesterday followed by twelve hours of sleep, he's happy, relaxed, playful and silly. He and his dad are playing a game of smoosh (in which they smoosh each other with pillows) as I tap this out on the bed.
I am hoping that we'll find our groove. After two years of consistency and support, we're out there, and there's no going back.