Oh, life. You know, we're all getting older and all that. Some of us are getting older faster than others. I had an appointment this week with a vein specialist. Yes, you read that right. This twenty-seven year old is getting surgery in December and January on her VARICOSE VEINS that are not working properly. I am still planning to run my 5k next weekend, but not holding myself to any speed goals this time. Good thing I ran out on Tuesday and got a new tattoo, or the surgery news would have had me spiraling into a deeper circle of early-life-crisis. I recommend impulsiveness to all mothers as a legitimate form of therapy, by the way. I don't care what this rather large tattoo on the inside of my left forearm is going to look like at 80. Right now it makes me smile, run a little faster, and feel a little younger. Worth every penny.
Isaac, too, is growing up. Just tonight he chose one of the Shel Silverstein books on his shelf for bedtime for the first time. He didn't care that they weren't filled with colorful pictures, the poems cracked him up. He also informed me that he is officially done playing with his toy kitchen. This is not news to me, since it's been months since he's touched it, but it just drove home his new level of boyhood.
Likewise, I had a phone interview with the school psychologist yesterday for the autism part of Isaac's re-evaluation. It felt good to be able to say, "Oh, that used to be a problem, but not so much anymore" so many times. It also made me laugh when she told me that Isaac said he didn't have any friends and didn't want any. I know what that was about. She pulled him out of class, out of his routine, and he was searching for the quickest answer to get him back to where he was "supposed" to be. I'm sure he was grumpy about it, too. The truth is, Isaac has friends. In fact, he even made a valentine for a girl in his class on the first day of track out break. He wrote, "I love you, Joy" on it all by himself and cut it out into a rough heart-shape. He brought it to her on Tuesday, along with some Space Angry Bird drawings for his teacher. He learned how to spell and call me a b-o-o-b from a boy in his class. Although I wasn't impressed at the time, I realize that all this is NORMAL and I'm grateful for that. Now I just have to find the motivation to sit down and fill out the SAT sized packet for the rest of his evaluation. You would think I was applying for citizenship by the size of this color in the dot test. Ah, more wine, please.
Part of me doesn't care if his diagnosis changes from PDD-NOS to Aspergers. Or if he gets labeled as having ADD while trying to function in a busy classroom of 20 kids. We will keep doing what we're doing either way. Trucking on, being surprised, being proud, and most of all, being absolutely in love with this little boy.