I guess, sometimes, I’m wrong. And, I guess, sometimes, Mia knows best.
Today was beautiful. The sun was brightly shining. Roger had the afternoon off. As we drove to pick Mia up from school we deceived that it was too nice of a day to not play outside. So, after we got her, we did exactly that.
As we wandered towards the playground Roger and Mia we’re “talking”. It was just another of those classic one sided conversations we, as the parent’s of a non-verbal autistic child, tend to have. Questions more often answered if we voice the responses ourselves.
“How was school Mia?” He said. “Was it good? Yeah, it was good.”
“What did you do today, Mia?” He continued. “Did you have art? Or, music?”
“It’s Wednesday, Roger, Mia had her special language arts cooking class. Didn’t you Mia?” I interjected. “Yes, you had cooking.”
“And what did you guys cook today, Mia?” Roger asked.
“No. Bikes outside.” Was the shocking reply she gave.
“We don’t have your bicycle here, Mia. Maybe when we get home.” I said, changing the subject quickly back to cooking class. “Did you make something yummy this week?”
“No. Bikes outside.”
Roger started listing various items she had concocted in this class before but was interrupted by Mia’s decision to take off running – something she often does. He dashed off, quickly chasing her without finishing the list. “Just another unanswered question”, I thought.
Mia had better things to do than saunter towards the playscape making small talk with her parents. She had better things to do than continue arguing with me. She’d drop it (for now) because she had a swing to ride on. She had a tree to watch her father climb. She had a sunny afternoon to seize. So, she did just that.
She soared above my shoulders on the swing because her balance has gotten better. She instructed her father to climb the tree “higher” because she has a voice that emerges more and more each day. She seized the afternoon because that is how Mia approaches life.
When we were done playing, we slowly made our way back to the car. While walking we had another conversation. It went much like the first.
“So, Mia, how WAS school today?” Roger asked. “Was it good? And, how was cooking.”
“ No.” Mia abruptly replied.
“You had cooking today, Mia.” I countered, before shrugging my shoulders. Accepting defeat is something that doesn’t come easily for me. Yes, I was arguing with a six year old.
When we arrived home I went through the usual motions of preparing Mia’s afternoon snack – peanut butter atop saltine crackers. As I reached into the fridge to grab a pediasure I was startled to see the truth staring me in the face. There it sat pinned to the fridge in the form of a daily “activity” schedule her teacher had given to me months earlier. The very one I thought I had memorized. It read: Wednesday – Bikes (outside, weather permitting).
Sometimes I am wrong. And, sometimes, Mia knows best.