I’m tired. I’m not sure if it’s the weather changing or the days getting shorter, or the seemingly endless IEP triennial meetings lately, but I am flat out exhausted. What’s worse is I’m irritated and guilty about being exhausted, which is making me weepy and giddy and surly. It’s like I’m having my first hypomanic episode – 10 minutes ago I wanted to call up my friends and get them all together to go out to dinner tonight, and now I feel like crawling into my bed with a glass of milk and a book.

Timothy has had rages since he was two years old.  I remember the first time I realized he was raging out of frustration or anxiety – he was a tiny little thing, with a head full of brown curls.  He didn’t have very much language yet; maybe a word here or there, and he was frustrated.  His teeth were bared, and he was stomping around.  He fled up to his room and slammed the door.  When I went in, he pulled the twin size mattress off his bed and threw it at me.  I was amazed at the sheer force he was able to get behind it.  I think that’s