Oh, I am extremely grateful for my recliner. After 6 hours of driving, it is lovely to sit here with my feet up. My living room may now be half the size it was two days ago, but there's still room to fully recline (admittedly, this wasn't possible without first moving the coffee table to the garage for storage). Here's to 1200 square foot houses that are made smaller by fashioning bedrooms out of living rooms.
The road trip is always uneventful, with the exception of Aspie Boy's incessant chatter and toileting issues. It's just insanely boring. I'm not kidding when I tell you I'd rather drive from here to Pennsylvania, 12 hours on the road, than drive from here to Atlanta. That stretch of Interstate 20 is mind-numbing. Oh, and then when you drive it at night and there is literally 30-40 mile stretches of road of NOTHING, absolutely nothing and it is pitch black and you have to be ever-vigilant for deer and Aspie Boy is asking every 5 minutes when we'll be home, water torture would be less painful.
Therapy at the RTC? The staff filled me in on a few things about Sissy's hygiene battles, all the same as we've had at home minus the melt downs. They report that she gets whiny and aggravated but when put to the task, she acquiesces without much ado. I told them how she behaves at home when asked to do the same tasks and they just nodded knowingly. Then we filed all five of us, me, Sissy, Aspie Boy, Wonder Girl and the therapist into that tiny room and attempted to play Chutes and Ladders so the therapist could observe family dynamics. Aspie Boy was crawling out of his skin as I predicted, Sissy got mildly annoyed a few times and Wonder Girl was just giddy and glad to be out of the van. No major meltdowns except for me.
The therapist asked me how things were going and I caved. I just blurted out all of my fears and worries, every last issue I could think of all while sobbing, sniffling and making a royal fuss. Sissy feigned concern and the therapist called her on it. Aspie Boy soiled himself because non-residents aren't allowed to use any of the residents' toilets and Wonder Girl played in the sand. All in all I think it went well, don't you?
The therapist can't do much for us other than make notes in her biweekly eval that our resources here are pitiful, that I can' possibly replicate the therapies that Sissy is currently getting when she returns and that if nothing else, we need more time to get an appropriate school placement for Sissy before she comes home. She'll send her report some time this week and we cross our fingers. If we can buy more time, we'll try to do a weekend TL this weekend and if not, then we'll use this weekend as our last time of respite before Sissy returns. When asked when insurance might give her the boot, the therapist just shrugged her shoulders.
So we had supper at tudusamom's house and that was crazy fun. On the 12 minute drive back to the RTC, Sissy and Wonder Girl had it out in the backseat so that by the time we pulled into the parking lot, Sissy was quite relieved to be done with us and didn't give me a second glance when it was time to say good bye. Typically she trumps up a huge crying jag for show. Not today. Whatever! I told the staff that Sissy had a few issues and left.
I should be in bed. Like, right now. My friend's bringing her SpEd and RAD kids tomorrow at 7:45 am because it's furlough days for our county which means the kids are out but teachers are in (she's an EBD teacher). I have a very full day of miscellaneous whozits and whatzits which at this point, is a welcome reprieve to the last six days of fretting and figuring over Sissy. The Dad says, respite? what respite? we've spent the last three months doing nothing but think about Sissy - when to call her, what to say, when is therapy, when do we drive back, TLs and her return, blah, blah, blah and we've yet to feel safe after all those months of chaos
what he said.