Out Of Sorts, Of Sorts

Shhh, listen, I really don't have much time to post right now.  It's Day 5 of the Big Power Outage and I'm sneaking time on a computer at my parents' place.  I have to fight my dad for the computer time, and he's a slippery bastard. I got him in a headlock yesterday, but he wiggled out and beat me to the computer.

Plus, if I'm not watching the kids, Jim is watching the kids.  Since he's the only one of us that can control Conor if he decides to explode, they've been spending a lot of time together.

It's getting ugly.
We're all having a lot of quality time; the Supermoms would revel in it.  Me?  Well, I now have an intimate understanding of the phrase "my nerves are frayed" because I can feel myself slowly unravelling. Split at the ends and slowly peeling back. Everything is jangling and crashing together, a cacophony of six people unexpectedly living in a 2 bedroom house.  One of us is extremely perseverative and likes to hear the sound of their own rather high-pitched, agitated voice, but I'm not saying who.

Ok, it's Conor. Without the structure of school, camp, respite care providers, therapists and planned activities, he's, shall we say, a little out of sorts.  Ok, a lot out of sorts. 

What little sorts he musters on a good day have gone and left the building.

"Want the electrician to fix the power lines!"

Yes, Conor we all want that.

"Want a dog named Dusty!"

Yeah, I have no idea what that means, except that it means that he's pissed off.  Or frustrated.  Or disappointed.

"Want Linus to die!"

Ok, now you're talkin' crazy talk, Conor.

I broke down on Day 4, by the way, and put our standard poodle in the kennel. (He had stopped vomiting.  Then again, he stopped eating too.) He was so stressed out, the poor guy.  I listened to him chew on his ear all night long on Monday night.  He just couldn't take the homeless situation.

I asked if they had room for me at the kennel, but for some reason the little girl checking us in just laughed. I'm sorry, did someone make a joke?

School is back in session tomorrow.  The power is back on at our house. We're spending one last night at my mom's for our annual 4th of July celebration. Conor loves the fireworks; we can walk to the grassy hill to watch. He was bummed he missed them last year.  So we stayed just one more night at my parents' house.

I'll be happy to sleep in my own bed tomorrow night.  We all will be. I'll miss my mom's home-cooked meals and seeing my dad chase my 10 year-old around the house in a game of "Tag, You're It". 

But you know what I won't miss?  Twelve hours a day of an upset Conor, with desperate crying jags and near-constant perseverations.

"Want the electrician to fix the power lines!"
"Want the electrician to fix the power lines!"
"Want the electrician to fix the power lines!"
"Want the electrician to fix the power lines!"
"Want the electrician to fix the power lines!"
"Want the electrician to fix the power lines!"
"Want the electrician to fix the power lines!"
"Want the electrician to fix the power lines!"
"Want the electrician to fix the power lines!"
"Want the electrician to fix the power lines!"
"Want the electrician to fix the power lines!"
"Want the electrician to fix the power lines!"
"Want the electrician to fix the power lines!"
"Want the electrician to fix the power lines!"
"Want the electrician to fix the power lines!"
"Want the electrician to fix the power lines!"
"Want the electrician to fix the power lines!"
"Want the electrician to fix the power lines!"
"Want the electrician to fix the power lines!"
"Want the electrician to fix the power lines!"