Your mission today, should you chose to accept it, requires you to create a brand new word to describe The Autie Day From Hell.
You can restore all your other adjectives to their original factory settings, as none of them do justice to the whole new level of lunacy we reached today.
...as each new level was cracked open and I thought "surely there can't be more", but guess what?
There was more.
And plenty of it.
Allow me to walk you through my day.
Point and laugh as you please.
In the perfect 20/20 vision of hindsight, I shouldn't have climbed into bed beside my daughter late last night for a "quick cuddle". Especially not after sharing a rather lovely bottle of wine with Himself, filling me with a delicious cosy sleepiness.
I was unconscious after about 4 seconds.
I may have mentioned this before, but sleeping with my daughter is like being battered by a human windmill. I woke up 2 hours later, curled in the foetal position, whimpering "please make it stop".
Meanwhile, Bob had assumed the 'Move-Me-And-You'll-Pay-For-It' position next to Himself, and I marveled at the ability of small children to expand in size, like an evil sponge, to fill completely the bed they are sleeping in. Some clever physicist must have written a law about it.
I observed the painfully learned wisdom of Let Sleeping Bobs Lie, and concluded that it was safer to risk bodily injury from my daughter, than the ear-splitting outrage of a displaced autie kid.
People have walked to the gallows with more enthusiasm than I trudged back to my daughter's bed.
So I woke up this morning feeling like I'd done 12 rounds with an unusually skinny heavyweight, and then the real circus began.
I had just finished my second mug of tea, when an ominous silence descended on the house.
Experience has told me that this can only mean water.
With no small amount of trepidation I sprinted upstairs, only to find an empty goldfish bowl next to the recently flushed toilet...Bob was nowhere to be seen, but it had his modus operandi stamped all over it.
These are the same goldfish I found flopping about the floor yesterday after Bob emptied their bowl on top of himself. I was sure that having survived that, they would live forever.
As Forevers go, I would feel pretty short-changed to only get 24 hours of it.
So the goldfish have been prematurely jettisoned into Fishy Heaven.
(Or flushed down the jacks, as my oldest son less poetically put it.)
More tea was made, the laptop was switched on and we resumed our favourite game of Redress the Streaker, which has become a regular pass-time chez Bob.
I returned from a search and rescue mission to find Bob's clothes, only to discover my lovely pink laptop wearing the tea I was trying to drink. Bob was looking very pleased with himself.
Apparently, pink laptops don't like tea as it has been sulkily refusing to work ever since. I said a prayer of thanks to the patron saint of extended warranty (St Harvey Norman, I believe) and tried hard not to dispatch my child by express delivery to somewhere far, far away....like Jupiter.
As the day wore on, the hoover was dismembered and it's contents were artfully displayed throughout the hallway. Juice was requested and poured over the sitting room floor. Dinner was made and not eaten. My older kids couldn't put a drink down for a moment without Bob tipping it over.
My patience had long since packed a bag and said "I'm outta here" and I thought "this is it...I am finally. Going. Mad".
But from somewhere deep inside me (probably from my last shreds of sanity), a question bubbled up.
Why was Bob behaving like a small God of Destruction?
I'd love to say I had a delightfully satisfying "A-Ha!" moment of clarity, when the common denominator of pouring occured to me.
What I felt was more a forehead-slapping, Homer "Doh!" moment.
All day Bob had been trying to tell me that he wanted to pour, and I hadn't seen it until the house (and my mental health) had been reduced to a sodden pile of rubble.
You'd think after living with autism for 3 years that I could read the non-verbals.
Anyhow, peace was restored when I produced a basin of water and a couple of jugs so Bob could pour with happy abandon.
After he had soaked himself, the decking and an 8 ft circumference around him, a trip was made for some emergency chocolate shopping. Not for the kids, but for myself.
So, back to a single word to describe that day?
I'm going with "D'OH!"