Little Hobbit is screaming, screaming, SCREAMING. Each cry is louder than the last one, higher pitched, more frenetic. Approaching full-on hysteria, but never quite getting there, stopping just shy of the edge. Poor Hobbit. So much going on in that powerful little brain of his, and little insight just yet into how to control all that power. So very bright. So VERY confused. Poor Hobbit.
The day started well:
“Do we have strawberries? May I have a strawberry?”
“Yes, Hobbit, we do. Pick a hand.” Strawberries hidden in each hand, so he can’t lose the game. Delight breaking across his little face as he finds one, then another, then another hidden in my palms.
“Do we have more strawberries? May I have more strawberries?”
Sadly, no more strawberries left. Hobbit just ate the last three, filched from the lunch intended for another.
Hobbit handled it well, no more strawberries. But the pressures of the day built, bit by bit. No, you can’t play with trucks during your reading lesson. No, it’s not time yet. It will be soon. Just a few more minutes to wait. And Hobbit reached 100% of his limit. And so started the screaming, screaming, screaming.
And I knew, all those hours later, that the screaming was connected to the strawberries. A result of the strawberries. A direct line from A to B. A favourite treat. NOT ENOUGH of a favourite treat. A day filled with new things: data, information, rules, lack of rules, new senses, old uncomfortable ones too. But it all started with the strawberries.
Poor Hobbit. Sleeping now. All the screaming tired him out.