Dave: "They're going to work out just fine"
Me: "Really? How can you tell?"
Dave: "Well, I just told them. Live together, or die alone."
(Although if you reflect on it, the statement doesn't totally make sense, it was enough to make me spit out my coffee.)
Live together! We choose "live together"!
In other news, I had a panic attack today (tears and all) about my failure in trying to teach Maya shapes and colors. Or much of anything lately. I've been so focused on the PT work, and the feeding/speech work, that I feel like I haven't been doing many cognitive types of exercises or direct teaching. Since her receptive learning-ness (that's a technical term) seems to be her biggest strength, I had a total meltdown over how we'll never get into preschool (and therefore elementary school, middle school, college, or be successful at life) because I haven't been mentally stimulating her enough. Luckily one of the therapists could tell by my manic-sounding text message that I was out on a ledge, and she called to talk me down.
(This may or may not have been triggered by the fact that I'm going on a preschool tour this Friday. Yeah, that's probably what did it.)