Not a mother so much as a taxi driver

Little Mr. Smarty Pants is feeling better. This is a little unfortunate for him, because he likes nothing so much as complaining, and he had a legitimate reason. Oh well.

I've been doing more running around and driving than I like to this week. Mr. Autism has camp (still), and now, Mr. Smart Pants has Upward Basketball Camp this week, 6-8:30 p.m., which he seems to be enjoying. Back-and-forth, across town, drop off a kid, wait a few hours, pick up a kid, wait a few hours during therapy, drop off a kid, wait a couple of hours, pick up a kid, wake up, repeat.

Mr. Smarty Pants hasn't figured out the mechanics of basketball, or the point of it, really, but he likes the other kids and the coach and hasn't hurt anybody or himself yet with a basketball, so it was worth the money.

I've already signed him up for Upward Flag Football, which starts in September. It will annoy my husband, because it is so non-competitive and positive, which are the very reasons I enjoy involving Mr. Smarty Pants in it.

He is not very athletically inclined. Those cells went to something else, like his really good reading comprehension, keen grasp of the basic principles of addition, subtraction, multiplication and division, or possibly his ability to ask 1,000 questions per hour. It's a genetic thing. I can't walk past a piece of furniture without bumping into it, even if there's 10 feet of empty space on either side of it. Plus he can't see well out of his left eye. He's athletically doomed. I'm okay with that.

If it weren't for Upwards' child-friendly, equal-play time, everyone's-a-winner spirit, Mr. Smarty Pants would probably detest sports and be ridiculed by his peers for his lack of coordination and talent. Those kind of kids aren't playing Upwards. They're playing in our traditional little leagues and football teams, the ones with the really, really enthusiastic parents.

The parents I've met through the Upwards program so far are very low-key. We clap for each other's kids. We clap for the other team's kids. No one cries. No one takes it too seriously. That's a sports program I can get behind. Shiny happy people.

I just wish there was a special needs outreach involved with it for Mr. Autism. It makes me a little sad each time a new season starts and he's sitting there with me, on the sidelines, watching.

We are back to normal, or what passes for normal here at our house. The laundry is (mostly) caught up, so I know my mental health must be okay. Mr. Autism hasn't destroyed any more property since Saturday, which is good, although he did summon the fire department the other morning.

I'm still not ready to talk about that, but we are all fine and the house is standing.

Plenty of work to do in the garden, plenty of cleaning to do in the house. Only 2 more days of Mr. Autism's camp.

I think I'm going to sit and read for a little while instead, and enjoy the quiet while I can.