Hooray, at least on Tuesday.  W. wore long pants during a neighborhood walk!  thanks to the miraculous intervention of our most wonderful skills trainer.   She made it a choice – either your wear those tennis shoes you really don’t want, OR you get pants on in order to get your Crocs which oh by the way you left in the basement instead of bringing them where they belong.  How wonderful the basement is the usual path out the door to a neighborhood walk.

Unfortunately I couldn’t replicate the miracle the rest of the week, nor could school which I promptly alerted.  But that’s OK.  He walked down the path toward half-normalcy once, and lo and behold, those Crocs are in the same place yet again this morning.  Here on the “Fall Back” end of Daylight Savings time today gave me an hour to blog, bake bread and drink coffee, not necessarily in that order, everything seems doable.  It’s presently 39 degrees Fahrenheit here on a rainy Sunday morning in the Boston suburbs and I’m not sure I can rally the family rallied to do what I really want – hike – with 45 mph winds forecast at the base of the peaks, let alone the summits.   So we’ll be likely be off to church shortly, meaning I have a perfect opportunity to incentivize the W. man to get warm pants on – and if it fails, well, those Christians get to practice their non-judgmental attitudes yet again.

But wait.  I just whispered the H. word to the hubby – “hiking” – and the light in his eye sparked as did mine.  It’s been three weeks since we last were on the trails and I’m sooooooo missing the release and the sustenance of the mountains.  We drove north yesterday but by the time we got halfway the rains began and it didn’t seem fun or prudent to embark, and with only a few hours or daylight left.  -Hiking today most clearly would give us an opportunity to drive the pants agenda as the winds wouldn’t be safe unless exposed skin was covered.  OK the wind have just howled here. Yeah I know the H word is pretty impractical.

Beyond Hooray, and the treasuring of small milestones, another “H” word – ‘hope’ – comes to mind.  How much of this journey in parenting a special child relies on a massive dose of believing, trusting and hoping you will endure the yucky moments, and finally near your goal.  For me, much of that is learning  that “help” is just as important an H word I don’t use nearly as much as I should – when events like this show me it’s less a sign of weakness and more often the smarter choice.