Today I read this review of designer Dana Buchman’s book about raising her daughter, Charlotte (who has been diagnosed with a host of learning differences), and despite the fact that I have picked the book up on at least two occasions and not been able to get past page five, the review had me weeping.

Or maybe it wasn’t the book. Maybe it was Henry’s first day of speech therapy. Or Charlie’s playdate. Or the rain. Who can tell?

Speech therapy was . . . fine. Yes, fine! It was FINE! No, it was really stressful and overwhelming, but that seems to be the norm here these days. Henry didn’t cry, although he did talk the ENTIRE way there about how he was making a “plan” to go back to school next Wednesday. And as we were leaving, the speech path said, “I’ll see you next week, Henry!”

And he held his hand out toward her and said, “Yes! Unless you don’t!”

Ha ha, so not funny.

The speech path worked with Henry for half an hour, while I read an article about how important it is for women to schedule “me time” in order to avoid things like heart attacks and diabetes and the fat that gets left around your waist, and then it was my turn to “dialogue” with the speech path (her word, not mine). And apparently, “me time” is not on her schedule, at least in reference to ME and my ACTUAL time.

We had a lovely talk about social stories, which, she pointed out, are most often discussed in connection with autism, “but don’t let that put you off!” she said cheerfully. And I wanted to say, no, no, don’t worry, I am FULLY AWARE that the boy ain’t right! Then she asked what, specifically, Henry was having “the most trouble with,” socially-speaking, so that we could tailor his social stories to things he needs help with.

So I told her about him being sent home from school early on Monday, about how he was yelling out answers and jumping around and pushing the other kids. About how, when he and Charlie play together, he ALWAYS (and yes, I mean that in ALL CAPS) has to control the play, the narrative. About how when he tells a story or explains a game he can’t get to the actual STORY or the rules of the game but will go on and on and ON for oh, say, TWENTY OR THIRTY MINUTES about what exactly we’re going to DO with the football. Instead of just THROWING THE DAMN FOOTBALL.

And I watched her eyes get bigger and bigger. Because today I scared the holy living hell out of our speech pathologist.

I am not proud of this. (Well, yes, maybe I am, a little, in a weird way. Because I’m competitive that way. And because, at some level, it confirms that I am NOT MAKING THIS ALL UP. Just exaggerating it, for comic effect, you know.)

But back to “me time”–my homework, before next week’s meeting with the speech path, is to start writing social stories, for Henry to use to practice his social skills. After I write them, I will need to read them with him, daily, before and after school, before soccer practice and playdates and dinner in a restaurant. They need to be illustrated and printed up and LAMINATED (otherwise they are too flimsy and will fall apart). I need to focus on specifics and use repetitive language. I cannot be funny; I cannot talk about how much Mommy needs a drink. They need to have a POINT, for god’s sake.

I really don’t think I can do this.

I have moments–lots of them, whole days of them–where I doubt if I have what it takes to be Henry’s mommy. Today was absolutely one of those days. Because as I listened to this very nice, and doubtless VERY qualified speech path talk about how these stories would work and how we would incorporate them into our daily routine, all I could think was, OH MY GOD when am I going to DO THIS?

Here is what I do NOW, before the Writing of the Social Stories, to get some “me time:” I get up at five am to read. I write late at night. I cram a whole day’s worth of “me time” into an hour or two on the weekend, right after I pay all the bills and load the laundry and fill out whatever evaluations or forms have to be filled out for whatever doctor we’re going to see this week. I meet my husband at the door, after HIS long long day, and say, “The boys have had dinner and a bath. There is a frozen pizza in the oven. I AM LEAVING. If you are lucky, I will come back” (yes, I have said that! Last night, in fact!).

It’s not a good system.

This morning, because I couldn’t take Charlie with me to the speech path, I mooched off my friend Christa, who is an attorney and works two days a week. I left Charlie at her house, first with her (while she got ready to go to work, in a suit that made me want to cry it was so pretty) and then with her sitter. Charlie had a fabulous two-hour playdate with her daughter, Cate–apparently they spent most of the time in a tent in her room, tending to a stuffed leopard who had eaten some balls and some money. Or so Charlie told me.

When I picked Charlie up, Cate came downstairs and solemnly announced, “Charlie, I need to give you a kiss.” And they had a nice hug and kiss. I was nearly killed by the cuteness.

Tonight Cate came to our house to play, while Christa and I went to a coach’s clinic at the soccer fields. Wade said that they played together and they played apart and everyone was very nice and peaceful and polite. And at the soccer clinic I watched Henry not stand in the line and not listen and not play like the other kids and I watched him watch his reflection in my sunglasses when I was trying to talk to him and then in the parking lot someone pulled out behind me while I was talking to Wade on my cell phone and I started yelling at HIM, at Wade. And it made me think.

I need some “me time.” But I don’t have any idea what to give up to get it.