We don’t plan to fail, we fail to plan.
That’s how that saying goes, right?
Coming off the high that was Jake’s weekend, I should have known Sunday would suck. Our original plan was to spend the middle part of our day at Popham Beach with family, and then come home. No big deal, kinda loose, but that’s what it was; and Jake was ready for it.
Problem was by Saturday night, my weather app called for intermittent rain and highs of 68 at the beach. 75-85 everywhere else in the world, but crappy at the coast. Time for a change in plan.
Jake didn’t get enough notice.
Worse, the new plan was to meet up with everyone, babies and all, in the chaos that is Freeport on a summer weekend.
Lunch was great and we found some excellent deals, but Jake didn’t have any fun. Zero fun. “I hate this place and all of you” fun. We were having a full on “You ruined my life!” moment, complete with tears, in front of dozens of tourists.
I can take a crying teenager in stride. Heck, I’ve had 13 years to get used to the idea. Judging by the looks on the faces in the crowd, clearly those people had not. We pulled Jake aside and tried to talk him down.
We tried some quiet talk, some rationalization (we can’t go the beach in the rain), and then some good old fashioned ‘deal with it.’
He spent a quiet few minutes on the floor of Van Heusen, which may have been a first in that place, though no one made anything of it.
He found some solace in the toy bus and train he bought at Sherman’s book store.
When we finally left, he was more than ready. My little homebody was so excited to be home that he giddily ran around saying, “my house looks like it’s good to be home” for nearly a half hour.
I guess the moral of the story is that autism is a lot like the weather in Maine: hard to plan for, and always changing!