So, I did manage to get the Young Prince to decorate the yard in time for Halloween, and he had a nice day of the Actual 'Een—starting with his friend's bar mitzvah in the morning, progressing through his music lessons, spending the early evening trick-or-treating with some neighborhood kids, and wrapping up the night with some horror movie viewing par excellence.
(His assessment: "I enjoyed going and wasn't bored or anything—but I think I'd learn more at services where most of the talking is done in English," "I am now learning my third Christmas song on piano, and I don't know why because it's not like anybody will come over to hear me play them," and, "Look, I got Reese's cups!")
I spent most of that weekend working, wrapping up with a 32-hour stint from Sunday morning until Monday evening. I then took two days later in the week to clean house, do laundry, and take the YP to the allergist. Turns out he is allergic to virtually everything all year round, and in two weeks he begins a weekly regimen of shots that will last three to five years, but theoretically render him invulnerable in the long run. Or so they say.
We are also taking him for another assessment this week for sensory issues to see if something else is at play in his brain and whether someone can figure out how to make him less twitchy and grumpy. I have no idea what will come of that. Can't hurt, might help, probably won't do much of anything. And then next week, we find out what the school system has in mind as far as accommodating his assorted issues. I'm sure you can imagine how excited we all are about that bit of business.
Meanwhile, Not Your Average Blogger is proceeding apace on his book and job and things seem to be going well on that score.
I had a possible nibble on my own writing effort, but it fell through, so I'm on round 2 of researching publishers. I know I only need to find one match, but jeezopete. You know, I hated dating, and this is an even worse variety of the "you're really nice, but..." song and dance. I suppose being told that my book is well written and interesting is preferable to being called illiterate and tasteless, but it's sort of like hearing "you look nice and smell good" as the lead-in to "but I'm just not that into you." It's complimentary, but ultimately not terribly helpful or much salve to the ego.
So all of this agita has conspired to make me fairly preoccupied, alternating with ridiculously sleepy. As a result, not much else is happening. Barring some sort of massive upheaval, I expect the holding pattern will continue through Thanksgiving, if not the end of the year.
Anyone want to come visit for the holidays and give me a reason to decorate and cook (and the kid an external reason to keep practicing his piano lessons)?