Carrie is widely known for taking out her pent-up energy on a yoga ball. She’s popped five or six of them. Yesterday, she woefully stood before me holding a misshapen lump of latex and said there was something wrong with it. Yes, yes there was. There was a hole in this one, the poor ball number six or seven.
Instead of calling my husband to race to Walmart and get another one (like I’ve always done), I tried telling Carrie that she would have to wait until I went to the store again. I explained that payday only comes around once a week, and that she would just have to be content running back and forth in the hallway to get some of her energy out. She wasn’t excited, but she didn’t have a meltdown, either.
Now I’m the one enjoying all the thumping noises as she runs barefoot in the hallway below my office. I’m ready to WALK to the store and pay with liters of my own harvested blood. I don’t, of course, because I know this is good for her. To get an idea of what happens to these hapless yoga balls, watch this video…all the way to the end.
Autism By Hand 