Part 2
When we left off, I was on my way to my first appointment of the day trying to ward off fate with a cup of coffee. Our house had no power, but most of the town was fine. The restoration time displayed online was steadily being pushed back, the heavens were scheduled to dump an inch later that day and we rely on a sump pump. What can you do but keep doing your thing?
My first student was a delight. School was in full swing. Kids were accessing good supports. In building A, my student used a written schedule to understand what I asked of him, chose a reinforcer to work for and used a token system to understand how close he was to earning his reward. He used a timer for a set amount of access what he earned, and then completed more work. He knew what was going to happen. I knew what was going to happen. It felt good.
As I drove from building A to building B, I called the power company. The representative informed me, in the clipped and tired tone of someone who chronically finds themselves with a dearth of answers to reasonable questions, that she had no more information what was available on their website. She didn’t even laugh when I joked that I really just wanted to know if I needed to be angry at a squirrel sad about an accident. She was absolutely just no fun at all. Martha, or whoever, acknowledged that It was true that a job that takes longer than estimated is an indicator of an unusual problem. She heard me invoke the weather forecast, but she was so sorry, there was nothing more she can tell me. Was there anything else she could help me with today?
I texted my husband and winced, knowing I was not sending fun news.
In building B, my student finished up his last session by branching out and choosing a reinforcer outside his preferred interest. The point was math, not writing, so I wrote and he told me his answers. I made plans with his teacher to come back the next week to work on some reading assessments. As, I signed out of the building, the school secretary fretted at the impending storm and lamented that the fun run scheduled for that evening was all but certain to be rained out. It would not be easily rescheduled.
I checked my phone on the way out the door. No missed calls, but a voicemail from four minutes ago. The Lowe’s delivery guy was not pleased that no one was there and was going to wait a few more minutes. This was the second of a myriad of missed texts, images, and phone calls that have been causing incidents of havoc for most people I know lately it seems. The week before, our wonderful daycare provider had missed my texts to arrange care and caused a needless and frantic evening. I raced towards home. On the way, the driver lamented that they had tried to call me, had knocked, but no one was home, and could I please hold while he talked to someone about what could be done? I waited, I drove, I prayed he would still be there. Mac had no more clean pants. He came back and told me that he would have to come back later that day, after their next delivery. There would be pants.
Probably.
“I wish this had gone differently and I bet you do too.” The delivery guy did not disagree. We hung up. What had just happened?? I missed no calls. Maybe the concrete walls of the school messed up the reception? Maybe he dialed the wrong number the first time? Maybe he was covering his ass? Maybe my phone was on the fritz? Maybe the universe ate his call? Who knows? I sighed and planned to stop in to my office and change out my materials instead of rushing home.
That’s when I noticed the flashing lights.
