April is always a month when I feel overwhelmed by my load. Organizing for the seasonal changes, spring cleaning inside and outside the cave, Toe's 2011-2012 IEP meetings (April is renewal month for a public school autism individual education plan) and Roo's new school year registration, summer therapy program sign-up deadlines. This year has had the added baggage of increased blogification: blogging for me, blogging for the good, blogging for the man. Paperwork, work work, housework, the spiritual gravity of Lenten introspection (I know: lame way to blame Jesus!). Street hockey, popsicle-making, sidewalk chalk sessions. We are scrambling here and I feel small. I feel what we in the BS house call "squinkie."
Are you familiar with the Squinkie? The trendy fingernail-sized rubber baby animals one would perhaps call "collectible" (in the pre-K world ""collectible" means "to be hoarded, fought over with siblings, begged for incessantly and toted around everywhere one goes as if one's life depended on it")? In our house, thanks to a certain 4 year old, we've had a little experience with Squinkies. You could say Roo has a bit of a Squinkie issue.
You should know right off the bat that the signature of the Squinkie is it'strademark plastic bubble home. Even when marketed for "tea parties" or other Squinkie social event scenarios, the typical add-on toy involved is some sort of round, clear high-heat sulfone plastic prison in which the Squinkies can frolic in CDC-like isolation. Perhaps the Squinkies were designed to prepare children for the rapidly declining survivability of our environment--I just can't be sure.
At any rate, it is squinkie time here, so pity me. Have patience. Summon all those fruits of the Spirit I know you possess in your immeasurable goodness and shower me. I am squishable and minute, trying to escape my bubble the best I can.