It’s been a pretty good Father’s Day.
Domestic bliss in the bosom of the perfect family. It’s on days like these that Ethan seems just like anyone else. And I wonder if I’m making a bigger deal of the Aspergers thing than I need to.
There are just little hints, slight nods, in the direction of an Asperger nature: him feeling he needed to enlighten me as to the one thing that wasn’t quite right with the bacon and egg sandwich I brought him in bed (it didn’t have enough brown sauce, if you’re interested); him coming in from the garden after an hour of tinkering (whilst I’d unpacked the day’s bags, made the kids tea and done lunchboxes for tomorrow) and exclaiming that the dining room table was a mess; and him trying to usher us on whilst a bearded, legging-wearing medieval guy was telling us about the worst injury he’s ever seen ‘on the battlefield’.
Maybe if I wasn’t so used to living with Ethan’s Aspergers, I’d be disappointed. As it is, I feel rather pleased that the only negative behaviours thrown at me today were two insensitive comments and a slightly embarrassing social situation.
Not sure whether that’s a good or a bad thing...