In which your humble narrator becomes confused about his geographic location, packs off the children into the care of trained professionals, encourages trained professionals not to allow Child #1 to walk at the end of any lines, and receives a teensy ray of email-delivered hope in his ongoing battle against imminent professional despair and eventual penury.
So it's June, which means apparently, that it will first rocket up to 103 degrees and then rain for three weeks with temperatures barely cracking into the 70s. This is the weirdest weather year in the Cities that I can remember and I've been here for quite a while. But today is sunny and nice and I feel good.*
The children are now "in care" three days a week. Child #1 is at day camp which is going well with one entirely predictable exception. On Wednesday two lines of small children were passing in a hallway, Child #1 was at the end of his line, no doubt rambling along without the slightest attention being paid to his surroundings. He managed to get turned around and start following the other line of children to their destination. No one realized this until adults responsible for the other group of children realized they had picked up an extra child. At this point of course, Child #1 snapped back to the reality that the rest of us inhabit and started to freak out, wailing, "I'm supposed to be in Beth's room!" He was promptly deposited back with his group though it apparently took him a little while to calm down.
How can one put this politely? Child #1 lacks focus. He is a terribly sweet child who has a certain difficulty in, shall we say, goal-directed and sequential behaviors. He has been strenuously arguing against my assertion that after using the toilet, pulling one's pants up before trying to flush, wash one's hands, and leave the bathroom will actually make the entire process more efficient. He rejects my narrow, linear, temporal conformity strongly.
Also, this morning I received an email indicating that I may get my dissertation data before the State government shuts down next week. If this in fact occurs, I can do my analysis this summer and (fingers crossed) complete my thesis. The only good dissertation is a done dissertation.
*By which I mean I do not feel actively bad because I am sublimating my anxiety with unusual success.
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