a little love

Lisa didn't want any dinner. She didn't want to play with her sisters or watch a cartoon, and she certainly didn't want me to change her pull-up. The house needed to be cleaned; there was no time for such terrible outbursts. Even so, the tantrums continued for most of the night until I was sure my head would burst open and expose the monster that was raging like a lunatic inside there. You parents know what I'm talking about, right? That frustration that builds and tenses your muscles and stiffens your shoulders when you've been pushed to the brink of head explosion--that's the monster I'm talking about.

I wrestled her to the floor when all other methods failed and attempted to put a fresh pull-up on the bottom of my five-year-old. She kicked and flailed, and her screams were deafening, but the deed had to be done. Brenna, 7, sat on the couch engrossed in TV, numb to the interaction going on less than three feet from her dangling legs. Paige, 2, watched from the hallway as Lisa's screams subsided into sobs. The messy pull-up was off, her butt was wiped clean, but Lisa still wouldn't let me put the new one on.

"Lisa... Lisa, listen to me. Shhh... listen," I said, attempting sound calm. "Lisa, do you want to wear panties instead?"

She bobbed her head up and down.

"Okay, that's good. You'll get to use the potty like Brenna!"

She responded with an unsuccessful kick at my face and a shriek, "NO!!!"

"Do NOT kick me, Lisa!" I said, anger scratching at my throat.

Then there was a flurry of feet and hands in the air as I tried to catch her legs before they struck me.

"That's it!" I yelled, lost for better words. "Put your pull-up on, NOW! Ow! Lisa, if you don't stop kicking me, I will spank you. Stop!"

And as I tried to swat her butt, she kept twisting away from me and laughing, which only fed the monster. I was screaming, Lisa was laughing, and Brenna was complaining about not being able to hear her show. But Paige had moved closer to the fiasco on the floor.

"What doing," I heard her squeaky toddler voice ask. And then she did an amazing thing.

Paige walked up to her screaming, laughing, flailing big sister and dropped to her knees. In the sweetest, most soothing voice I'd ever heard come from a child, she whispered, "Weesa, i's okay."

She took her little hand and caressed Lisa's forehead and hair, repeating her words again and again. The fit ended; Lisa and I were both silenced. And in the quiet of the moment, Paige leaned over her sister and planted a tender kiss on her wet cheek. She then got up, crawled onto my lap and hugged me. The monster retreated with its tail tucked between its legs, ashamed it had ever reared its ugly head.

"No spank Weesa. Okay, Mama?" she said and then headed back down the hall to play in her room.

I dressed Lisa (She even helped me!) and watched as she bounced down the hall to find her little sister.

"Hop, hop, hop," she said, like the tantrum never happened.

I could feel Brenna staring at me. She had a burning question to ask, I could feel it. Brenna is very inquisitive.

"Mom? Will Lisa always be autistic?"

"Yes, Brenna. Lisa will always be autistic."