January 28, 2025 (part 1)

Tuesday morning began with A being the first out of bed, as he usually is. His zest for life and eagerness to spend time together makes shaking off a.m. grogginess a little easier. He and I sat on the family room floor and played monster trucks together before the sun rose. I feel such gratitude for the one-on-one time I spend with A. When I get to experience him being his unfiltered self and witnessing the curiosity and joy he feels for simple things.

The time spent with R on Tuesday morning starkly contrasted that spent with A. To say the least, it was chaotic. R felt some residual frustration from his Monday night homework. His frustration manifested as rage, as it often does, due to an 'Unspecified Developmental Disorder.' In this instance, T and I endured being punched, sworn at and watching many items being thrown around the house. The last words R said to me that morning before leaving for school were "Remember: I don't care about you. I hate you." I realize that, deep down, he didn't truly mean it; that his words were intended to hurt me, and they did.

Some photo albums, books and birthday cards laid in disarray on a shelf. One of his journals sat open on the floor after being heaved across the room. The journal landed next to one of the monster trucks that A and I had been playing with and hour earlier.

I had three thoughts looking at the items on the floor: that I was grateful for the quality time I'd spent with A, that I was sad and frustrated about the distressing morning with R, and that I was proud of the creativity R displayed in the open journal.