The weather report state’s it’ll be 107 but the temperature in the house is already running hot. It’s August and school is in full swing. The summer’s never felt so short, but at least it’s a Friday, the start of the weekend should be a cause of celebration, a day of not too much school work.

That’s the plan, the dream so to speak. It never works out that way.

There is nothing like a pair of angry and obstinate 2nd graders at 6:30 in the morning, every school day. Their vitriol has only grown with each passing school year, the anxiety and fear consuming them and finding new ways to shatter any hope of a normal day.

For the next hour, the battle wages on. There is the throwing of items, the crying and tears, the screaming. There is bargaining and breathing techniques. There are hugs and whispers of encouragement while having breakfast.

Negotiating with autism is a losing battle a lot of days. Every kid has a bad day, but the amplification the last year has been an extreme. Every school day for them is a challenge, no matter how much fun the school day may contain. It is very much your worst Monday, a hangover you can’t shake, a feeling that the world is too big and that you don’t matter.

School drop-offs are a test of your will, to get them there on time, to not break down in a public places. Coupled with fast moving twins, you can only catch one when they decide to run. They know this and will exploit it. Eventually school administrators help make sure the kids stay put, as hand and hand they walk to class, angry and dejected.

Even with all of that, you’re not out of the woods. You sit in your car across the street as the bell rings, tears streaming down your face, hoping your kids find just a little joy in friends and in learning. In you your heart, you know they’ll be okay; you see their joy at the end of many school days and you hope today is a good day, that the hard morning can be erased.

In that moment, at 8:03am, the future however looks very far away. Your mind wanders a bit, only to realize the school is now quiet, kids in classrooms and parents off to work.

You wipe away your tears and put the car in drive. It’s Friday and there is work to do, but it sure feels like just another Monday.