Hey, the Romans used "v" for "u" (and pronounced "v" as "w" when it was at the start of a word---got that?) and they didn't have a letter "y" (the "i" of the Roman alphabet begets our "j" and also "y"). The "s" is a tricky one to form from a fine-motor perspective; I'm thinking that Charlie is trying his best to get in the two curves, and then leaving some of it to wherever the marker will go.
I taped the "snow day" paper to the front door Thursday morning, hoping I'd be able to take it down. But Friday morning we awoke to several inches (8 or something more) on our porch, in our small front yard, on the black and white cars. Charlie got his shoes thoroughly dusted in snow just by taking two steps out the door.
Fortunately, it was light and fluffy stuff and Jim and I made fairly short work of clearing it away and off we went, with more snow coming down for much of the day. Most everybody who could had stayed home for the day, including the office of Charlie's neurologist. As his office is an hour and a half/45-minute ride away, it wasn't a bad thing not to go (and there's that blood testing we still have to do) but we do need some of Charlie's prescriptions refilled and I can call them in. But nothing like talking to the doctor and the very kindly psychiatric nurse (who had a developmentally disabled daughter who passed away) in person.
The cancelled neurologist appointment and my own worries about how Jim and I would be able to manage keeping Charlie going with a total of four days off from school fueled some anxiety in me, I'll be honest. Charlie was very patient about waiting to get the walkways and car undug and an absolute trooper about walking with his feet all cold and wet from stepping into piles of slush. He is tremendously sensitive especially to people's---our---emotional states and after a quite quiet day, there was drama when he and I stepped into the house from an evening and some really loud yelps and flying objects. It passed in a half-hour, Charlie picking up what he'd thrown unasked and Jim getting him swiftly out the door for another walk.
I guess I needed to work harder at maintaining my own peaceful easy-feelingness. I know "we're all human," we can't be perfect parents, we get tired and worried too. And then sometimes one finds oneself caught in a maddening circle in which the unexpectedness of a snow day leads to parental anxieties about keeping Charlie's anxieties at bay and that leads to, how shall one call it, family drama.
On the other hand, it says a lot that Charlie is so aware. When I say we're a "tight team o' three," it also means that the three of us are all very attuned to each other's emotional and internal states, as much as some might not believe that about Charlie.
Jim and I got a good laugh later at reports of equal amounts or more or some such falling throughout the weekend, and how it's going to take who knows long to dig us out, meaning Charlie's snow day sign may remain taped to the door for quite some time. Shoes drying on the heater, Charlie was smiling and glad to curl up to sleep and I reflected, I need to follow his peaceful-easy-feeling lead.
I think that phrase will be on the next sign I'm going to ask Charlie to write, so I can post it on the door. However you write it (animus serenus?) it's a good motto.