9.01.2003

Sugar: The New LSD

Leelo has been a full-on nutter this morning, resuming the "neh neh neh" running around in circles and picking two things up and running around with them behavior that we thought we'd quashed. What the fuck is going on? He was barely able to pay attention during Therapist L's session this A.M., although she got him to do lots of "good work" by keeping his sessions short.

Ah. Seymour just told me that, at my cousin DD's birthday party yesterday, Leelo got hold of some kids' lemonade at least 3 times and "I didn't really see how much he got, but he was gulping it." God damn fucking shit FUCK!!! So there you go. Sugar is our boy's warp drive toggle. If I understand the theorized process correctly, an over-yeasted gut goes nutty when it gets a sugar dose, and starts excreting opioids into the boy's bloodstream. Our boy isn't just nutty, he's totally high. As I told LH this afternoon, if you pretend Leelo is 21, then his behavior is plainly that of someone on recreational drugs.

Therapist F conducted Leelo's afternoon therapy session. She is ever-cautious and polite, but was clearly concerned by his regression. To get the full idea of how the session went, picture me downstairs, hunched in the corner and chewing on my knuckles, while listening to the boy upstairs babbling and running, followed by his therapist crooning "Leelo! Leelo! Leelo!"

Afternoon playgroup was a needed distraction. SS raided our mint forest and liquor cabinet to make mint juleps, but hey--someone had already been in the liquor cabinet that we never open because we're too lazy to mix drinks, and almost cleaned out the Maker's Mark (I suspect a relative). Everything else in the cabinet was clearly a souvenir or gift, and none of it qualified as a bourbon substitute: Norse cloudberry liqueur, Cypriot dessert wine, and tequila. Somehow it worked out okay. No one fell over, though. Damn.

The kiddlings and I are going to San Diego on Wednesday. We'll get to see my newly-back-from-Afghanistan brother, his wonderful wife, and their 18-month-old boy who will probably run developmental rings around Leelo--who for his part gets to miss two-and-a-half days of sorely-needed therapy. But I do want to see my bro.

Seymour will fly down on Friday, and he and Iz might stay down there for some extra few days. This would mean that Leelo and I would have evenings to ourselves for a bit--excellent news to me. I'm one of those freaks who functions better when my partner is away, and not cluttering up the decision-making processes. For a bit. Then when he does come home he is welcomed openly, rather than growled or grunted at. Everyone wins.

Spent far too much of this day dismayed or depressed. Thankfully I am armed with a great new fluffy yet engaging book, Nancy Farmer's The Ear, The Eye, and The Arm.

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