Bubbles. Round, iridescent, and fragile, bopping along in the breeze until a gust dashes them against an unforgiving surface, shattering their short and playful existence. Sometimes our kids have days that remind me of this tumultuous dance. They arrive at school, cheerful, dressed in the rainbow of colors that is the latest in the all the stores. There is a skip in their step, but also a sort of obliviousness that comes with a happy spring day and a lack of executive functioning. Sometime unexpected happens, dashing their delicate sense of self against the unforeseen and shattering their mood.
My “drop ins” all have various forms of this scenario that disrupt their days. You can’t really repair a bubble, but, where there is one bubble there are usually hundreds. So, my job really is to help them identify what burst their bubble and then to identify a new bubble that can carry them through the rest of the day. Eventually I’d like to upgrade them to the more resilient balloon, but as young children I am content to see the carefree bubbles dancing in the breeze.