"You can't just do nothing with your life."

Jupiter said this to me in all seriousness on Sunday. I wish I could have blogged about it at that moment, because the entire conversation is now lost. I just remember the earnestness in her tone when she told me that, followed by a whole listing of things that qualfied life as "something." That was after she told me that the cinnamon bread I made out of the leftover pizza dough was the best ever, and maybe we could even bring some to the White House and there could be a law. I'm not sure what kind of law, exactly. Some kind of law regarding cinnamon bread, apparently.

This whole conversation was after I came outside to play soccer and discovered that Jupiter, in a huff because I had a couple things to do before I could come out and play soccer, trampled and uprooted 1/4 of the daylillies that are coming up over by the mailbox. We had discussed the daylillies in depth on Saturday when I looked over and saw her stomping on them, so we had to discuss that despite the fact that they are not in the "garden", they are still living garden plants and needed to be respected. Perhaps the daylilly patch needs a clearly defined rock border, since she doesn't bother the plants in the gardens. But then again, since we had the conversation, I know she attacked them on Sunday to express her displeasure with me. I expressed my displeasure with the wrecked flowers by choosing not to play soccer at all.

Did I tell you that on Saturday we found soccer socks with the shin guards already inside them at the kids consignment shop? For $1.99? I bought them on the off chance they fit. They fit perfectly. Couldn't ask for better. So now every time she wears them she appears to turn into Mia Hamm. A month from now, when soccer actually starts, she'll probably be done with them.

I just got House Rules from the library on Friday. (Along with 21 other books, but that's another whole story). One of the main characters in the story is on the autism spectrum. Jodi Picoult does such amazing, complete research when she creates a story and its characters. Although Jupiter is not on that particular spectrum, the character also has the sensory issues, the literal thinking, and the need for routine. LOVE LOVE LOVE this book. I'm only on page 117 and already I'm trying not to peek ahead to find out who killed the social skills tutor. I have yet to get through a Jodi Picoult novel without peeking ahead to find out who did the killing or who dies. Check back, and I'll let you know if I make it through this one. Not likely.

Speaking of routine. I went on Jupiter's field trip to the Planetarium on Friday. At lunchtime, I left to go do some errands. 25 minutes later, I got a call. I missed the call, because when I was in the classroom I put my phone on vibrate instead of its noisy ring. The missed call was from the school phone number. Of course.

Friday is pizza day in the lunchroom. Jupiter has hot lunch on Fridays, and only Fridays, because it's pizza day in the lunchroom. (She also refuses to eat my homemade pizza anymore because the school pizza is better. That's just mean.) This Friday, however, the cook was cleaning the kitchen, and created something called "Quesedilla pizza." Jupiter looked at the aide and said, "THIS is NOT my pizza and I am NOT eating this." And she didn't.

Normally we would do a natural consequence. But hunger is not an okay consequence for Jupiter. Hunger, either because her blood sugar plummets or because it causes a subconscious fear reaction in her going back to the time when she was hungry all. the. time. and not fed, causes her behavior to tank. The classroom aide dug through the box of snacks and found a package of peanut butter crackers so she would at least have something. I got back to school about 1:45 with a full lunchbox. She decided she didn't like the group snack either (vanilla animal crackers, so she was just being cranky and stubborn about that) but ate some of the lunch during snack, some after recess, and some in the car after we left school.

She now refuses to eat hot lunch even on Fridays because she doesn't trust the lunch people to make pizza when they say they will.

She labled me with a name tag. Since I almost never get to go to school, she stuck a piece of masking tape to my shirt and wrote Mom on it so everyone would know who I was.

I saved it.