Pizza

As an autism mom, I'm thankful for pizza. Here's why:  This weekend hasn't been a good one for me.  First off, my daughter is in a funk.  I literally have to wrestle with her to get her to do anything that involves wearing clothing or doing anything besides flooding the bathroom.  She's tantruming sooooo much right now.  I don't know what to do with my cute little girl.  Secondly, yesterday I found my iPad in the toilet. I think that pretty much means goodbye. I'm hoping the rice trick works, but I don't have high hopes cause the screen was already cracked, and I could totally see water all throughout it.  Perhaps the worst part of my weekend was when I went to check on Garrett (who I thought was napping), and his bedroom window was open, and there was no sign of Garrett. He figured out (and he's not even a rebellious teenager) that he could sneak out the window if he wanted to go have some fun.  Luckily, I knew he had been obsessing about our park across the street, so I didn't have to go far to find him.  So stressful. I ended up having to switch his and Caiti's bedrooms because Caiti's window leads to the backyard, so he's not going to run off if he climbs out of the window in that bedroom. That led to even more problems though.  Autism doesn't make it easy to handle change. Caiti has been screaming/kicking her bedroom door for 2 hours straight because she doesn't want to sleep in a new room.
So where does pizza come into all this:  My sister Michelle showed up this evening with a couple pizzas and a smile. That was the best part of my day. She knew just what I needed. I'm glad she followed whatever little prompting she was having and came to help brighten my day a little bit.