Today in Aubree’s World, things have been… oddly quiet.

She and Piper spent the night at their dad’s, and I don’t think they got much sleep. As soon as they finished their snack and drinks, I tucked them back into their beds around 7 a.m., they were both out. No protests. No flapping. Just deep, immediate sleep.

Aubree didn’t wake up until almost 2 p.m., and I let her.
Sometimes her body just needs the reset — especially after routines have been off.

When she did wake up, she was in a slower gear than usual.
No big toy explosions or full-speed hallway runs. Just soft, steady stimming and a rotating list of odd little comforts:

• Her beloved sea turtle (still #1)
• Rocking in her favorite chair
• A spray bottle I use on her hair
• A xylophone toy
• A piece of diaper (because of course)

At one point, she had her foot in a tiny toy cooking pot, was rocking on the floor, and flapping a shredded piece of diaper like it was a victory flag. She’s always inventing new sensory experiences, whether we understand them or not.

And yes — the diaper gel crystals were back.
She must’ve had a late-night shredding session at her dad’s, because when I changed her this morning, there was gel on her skin.
I guess maybe he finally got to see the full diaper demolition experience for himself. 😅 Welcome to the club, buddy.

She also tried multiple times to steal my paintbrush while I was working. I told her “No” at least three times, and she gave me the look. You know the one — the silent “fine, I’ll allow it” glare.
By the fourth try, she gave up, slightly annoyed, and went back to flapping her diaper scrap like a boss.

She also got ahold of my drink when I wasn’t looking and immediately start playing in it like it was a new activity center.
So yeah. That was a cleanup moment.

But all in all?
It’s been a quiet day.
No big meltdowns.
Just Aubree doing her thing — turning everyday objects into her personal sensory playground.

She doesn’t need a toy aisle.
She just needs freedom, space to explore, and an occasional spray bottle.

And maybe, maybe, just one paintbrush. But not today, baby girl. Not today.