Different kids, Same disorder

I just love how Meghan listens to me. Really. It’s really very nice to know that I have complete control over my baby girl—that’s a 13-year-old baby girl, by the way. Yes, I’m being terribly sarcastic. Just drip, drip, dripping with sarcasm. But you have to understand that within the first 10 minutes of coming home for the weekend, she ate just about an entire half gallon of mint chocolate chip ice cream when I strictly told her that she could only have ONE bowl. Then she continued to eat these "multiple" bowls in her bedroom in front of the television watching cartoons, cartoons that she cannot so easily watch at school (or eat multiple bowl of ice cream for that matter). But, I--of course--told her that she had to at least stay in the kitchen if she wanted to have ice cream, but, sadly, my demands simply fell on deaf ears. It’s like I’m talking to a wall half the time.

And all this took place after she walked through the front door this afternoon after being at school for two weeks. She ran into the house and walked right by me… just fllleeewww right by me. No hi, no hug, no wave, but she did turn around to acknowledge me with an--oh, so nice-- big smile, oh, sweeet, even though it was only to give me her coat to hang up for her.

Sigh.

But I really was a bit sick today, so I did not have the energy to blockade the refrigerator, or the kitchen, or the bathroom supplies, or my bedroom and the ripped comforter—sigh, sigh! But then I was thinking while I was relaxing on the couch trying to find the extra strength around a miserable cold, that Meghan should really be listening to me and doing what I say. Ha-ha, did you just hear what I said?? Perhaps I’m just a little feverish, too, but I was really thinking that that is how it works, NO? Not to compare my kids, but my son always listens to me. I asked him to get the mail for me this afternoon, before it got too dark, and he jumped up and ran for the door faster than my cat runs to the sounds of the can opener, even though the neighbor's dog barks at him when he reaches the end of the driveway—and he’s afraid of dogs …Oh, such a nice boy.

But my girl, well she’s different. And I do love that about her. I love how she smiles while simply ignoring me. I love how she’s this fierce fighter in the dark of autism. I love how a psychologist once likened her to the proverbial bully on a school bus who steals homework from little scared kids and laughs hysterically afterwards … I love how her behavior of trying to push her luck--and keep pushing and keep pushing, is the color of her creative soul.

I realized today that it’s a control thing. Well, actually, I’ve always known this fact. But the only problem is that I like control as much as she does … so, we tend to clash that way. That’s what’s going on ...

Is this what you call a love-hate relationship? I don’t know. But I now hear her rummaging through my drawers looking for my chocolate stash …

Oh, just like her mama!!