Joey has started occupational and behavioral therapies (speech therapy starts later this week). Occupational therapy was great; the woman providing the therapy is one of the people who assessed him, and she’s still wonderful. Most of the things she wanted him to do were things he enjoyed, although he was grouchy about being asked to do things—but he clearly enjoyed himself, and he wept a bit when she left. ABA was a different story. Although no intensive behavioral therapy has started (the therapists are trying to get a sense of what he’s like at where he’s at, first), they tried a couple of small things with him that he HATED. They brought two small containers of bubbles with them, and Joey wanted to carry them around wherever he went. Every so often, the ABA supervisor would say to him “In three seconds, it’s teacher’s turn for bubbles! Three—two—one—” and then she would take the bubbles from him. He would grab for them, and she’d say “In three seconds, it’s Joey’s turn for bubbles!” And so on. She also pushed him to ask for more bubbles to be blown instead of just flapping his hand at the container and whining. This unbelievably cruel treatment (if you ask Joey!) had him hiding from them, trying to get me to pick him up and carry him away, and, by the end, tantruming and weeping. My understanding is that kids do mostly hate ABA—if they didn’t, they wouldn’t need it. But by the time they left, he was exhausted and glad to see the back of them. I don’t think he’ll be pleased to discover that they’re coming back this morning. . . .