Today was one of those “get stuff done while trying not to lose my mind” kind of days.

I spent most of it painting cabinet doors and caulking trim around the living room and hallway. Productive, yes — peaceful? Not even close.

Aubree was in full testing mode.
She kept trying to sneak out the doggy door (because it was raining at that time) and spent half the day picking apart her diaper, bit by bit, until it was hanging on by sheer stubbornness because she doesn’t have enough booty to hold it up, the poor thing. Eventually, she just tore it off completely.

Now listen, I know some parents live and breathe by gentle parenting — and I totally respect that. But sometimes, in my house, with my autistic four-year-old who doesn’t respond to words the same way other kids do, I have to do what actually works.

And what’s worked — so far — is a quick pop on the booty. No lasting marks, of course.
Just enough to stop the chaos spiral.
She cried for maybe two seconds… and then went right back to normal like nothing happened.
Discipline with her isn’t easy.
She’s not your typical four-year-old.
She’s Aubree. And we’re figuring it out one diaper disaster at a time.

Meanwhile, Piper — queen of cling — has decided that being held is her full-time job. She doesn’t understand why we can’t hold her while I am sanding cabinet doors or wrestling Aubree out of the doggy door, or her Mimi working, or her Papa working on the house remodel. Her whole vibe today was:
“I am one of the most important things in your life and I demand attention now, thanks.”
(She’s not wrong.)

I tried to get her to take a nap. She laid down… but I don’t think any sleeping actually happened.

They’re at their dad’s again tonight.
He’ll bring them back in the morning, then pick them up again in the evening and start his full summer week with them.

And I’m not gonna lie — I’m struggling with it.

I know he has a right to be with his kids. I’m not trying to take that from him.
But being without them for a whole week?
That’s hard.
I’ve never gone that long without them, and it’s just this weird ache that hangs around even when the house is quiet and clean.

And to top it all off? Our bathroom — the one in the room I share with the girls — is getting redone next week. I’m glad for the upgrade (especially since we want to sell soon), but I’m not exactly thrilled about losing my bathroom in the meantime.

On a lighter note, Piper was doing this hilarious thing today — she kept putting her head on the floor and sticking her booty in the air like she was doing toddler yoga. Full downward dog, just walking around like that through the kitchen.
She was playing with a random cup lid (because, of course), trying to kick it across the floor with her foot like it was a soccer ball.
She looked like a tiny chaotic troll ( the cute ones with the tall hair because she was having a wild hair day) gymnast, and I couldn’t stop laughing.

And then there’s the part that sits with me quietly — the part I’m still trying to figure out.

Piper has said a couple of words before — like “uh oh” and “thank you.”
Just little things. But they meant so much.
Only… they didn’t stick. She used them for a day or two and then, nothing. I try to get her to say them again, over and over, but she doesn’t. I don’t know if it’s a form of regression, or if I’m just overthinking it like moms tend to do at 2 a.m.

She imitates her sister a lot, though, — jumping when Aubree jumps, trying to run like she does.
She loves her sister so much.

And Aubree? She doesn’t really understand that Piper wants to play.
She doesn’t notice Piper is trying to connect with her.
She’s content on her own with a piece of diaper and her rocking chair, while Piper would probably cry from loneliness if no one talked to her for five minutes.

They are so different.
So unique.
And I love them both so fiercely it hurts sometimes.

I’m still learning about them.
Still learning how they learn.
Still figuring out what works, what doesn’t, and what’s just them evolving.

All I can do is keep showing up — for Aubree, for Piper, and for the versions of themselves they’re growing into.

So yeah. Today was messy.
Tiring.
Full of butt-in-the-air yoga, diaper negotiations, and painting between cling attacks.

But it was also kind of beautiful in its own ridiculous way.

Because I showed up.
Even when I was tired. Even when they’re not here. Even when I’m not sure how to parent perfectly.

I still show up.
And that counts.