The Rascal has been giving us a run for our money lately. She has decided that all the good people who come to the house to provide support and guidance are actually agents of some dark lord. Despite the fact that the physical therapist, speech therapist and occupational therapist have been coming to our house on a weekly or bi-weekly basis for at least the past year and a half, The Rascal has decided that she is fed up with their agendas and she is having none of what they are peddling. She’s a two year old, autonomy is cool.
I’m glad I’m not one of these therapists. I don’t think my ego could handle it. Her occupational and physical therapist visited last week. The minute the occupational therapist walked into the house, The Rascal positioned herself in the middle of the family room floor with legs and arms crossed and glared at her while she tried all kinds of tricks of engagement. None of them worked. Soon after the OT left The Rascal went back to being her happy go lucky self. When the physical therapist came through the door, The Rascal lead her to the dining room window, pointed to the therapist’s car in the drive way, looked at her, waived bye bye and proceeded to play with our dog for the entire PT session.
The speech therapist is coming today. I’m sure The Rascal is preparing herself for a complete hour devoid of verbalization or singing.
Here is what she thinks of the table manners I am trying to introduce.