I think it was midnight before he fell asleep.
I woke up at 7:25am; I am supposed to be at work at 6:50am.
He refused to take the Ritalin, even though it was on a spoon with water just like the million other pills he's taken in his life. This one was in the MORNING and IN ADDITION TO a semi-new routine of taking the Zoloft. It was all too much.
I've been able to bribe him to drink the Zoloft by offering a sausage biscuit (we all know how he loves those....). Today, he dumped out the Zoloft, so I threw the biscuit away. TEARS. SCREAMING. TEARS. (Let's hope he learned something.) In the midst of all the SCREAMING, though, I shoved the spoon with the Ritalin in his mouth.
It was already 8:10am by then, so he got out of the one med, which I hate, but oh well. I don't have an unlimited supply of Zoloft.
THEN, we stepped outside into The Great Rainstorm of July 2009. Sweet mother of Abraham Lincoln. It. Was. Raining.
I got to work at about 8:20am, looking like a drowned rat at a wet t-shirt contest, minus my water bottle, my lunch, and my sanity.