Good Old-Fashioned Crying Night

I must have a huge ability to put bad times out of my head.  Maybe it's something that you develop with special needs parenting, so you can go on and face each new day.  If Janey goes a few weeks without a huge crying spell, I can almost let myself think it will not happen any more, despite all evidence to the contrary.  I can let the harsh edges of the last time soften in my mind.  I guess Janey felt I needed a reminder, as tonight was a good ol' cryfest.  It was probably my fault.  I had library books I needed to pick up after I got her at after-school.  She seemed okay, and she had a snack in the car, so I thought we could risk it.  She was good in the library (I just go to the desk and pick up books I have ordered).  She even said "thank you" to the nice librarian who gave her a rubber bracelet for being good (they know her and are better with her all the time, one of the reasons I always go to the same branch at the same time).  But as soon as we got back in the car, she freaked out.  I think it started because I didn't take her to the CVS for a treat after the library. I hadn't said I was going to---I'm trying to gradually phase that out, so I only do it every other time or so.  But Janey I think knew things were off.  She didn't say anything, but stood for a while at the door before getting in the car, as if to say "Forgetting something?"  If she had asked verbally, I probably would have taken her.  But it was getting late and I didn't.  She started screaming in the car, which is a half hour of screaming while driving in stressful areas.  She screamed in the house, despite Tony giving her everything she wanted for supper and then also getting her a Happy Meal.  She screamed pretty much non-stop until she fell asleep.  I mean SCREAMED---with a loud, loud voice.  It doesn't take much of that until I'm a wreck.  I try to be totally calm, to talk to her calmly, to rub her back or encourage her to take deep breathes, to understand what is wrong and try to fix it.  But none of it works, pretty much ever.  And all my theories and good feelings and understanding becomes hard to access, and I just want her to stop.  I go numb, saying the right words to her while in my mind going to some far away place where she isn't screaming. The boys get upset---they can't work.  They go elsewhere to do their homework.  Tony and I can't talk.  Even the cats get spooked.  It's a long night.  It's a crying night.  And I hope like heck it's an isolated night.