Day 4: The promise of a new day.
Our little boy is experiencing what I call a stage of disequilibrium － some sort of transition period that's making him difficult to deal with (a sizable understatement). Way too much whining and too many tears, sometimes off and on all day long － like Sunday. Naturally, the time change didn't help, either, but by bedtime, he was essentially a pool of melted five-year-old lying in the middle of the living room, alternately blubbering and muttering, unwilling (or maybe unable, really) to do anything we asked as we tried desperately just to get him into his pajamas and off to bed.
I confess － I did lose it fairly bigtime once during that longest of days, but by the time he was a babbling mess on the living room carpet, I just felt bad for the poor little guy. I mean, I've got limited coping skills as a 41-year-old adult, so his coping mechanisms must be few and frequently far beyond his grasp, y'know? So eventually, with gentle coaxing and plentiful hugs, we got him all tucked in, still on the verge of tears, but somewhat functioning once again. "Tomorrow, we'll have a better day, I promise, buddy," I cooed into his ear, channeling Scarlett O'hara as I kissed him goodnight.
And he seemed a little calmer.
Day 5: A red flag for a client.
I don't want to disclose too much information about a professional situation, but here's the skinny: I had contributed, along with others, to a list of statistics for the client to present to the media. Today, I was reviewing the final list, and noticed two of the stats regarding the same subject, when you compared the math between them, substantially contradicted one another. I quickly called the client, who was greatly appreciative for the heads-up. Yea － brownie points!! :)