Tonight, I got that rarest of treats for dinner: fast food. Crown rack of lamb with mint jelly may have its devotees, but popcorn chicken and fries with ranch dressing is the culinary zenith of Mo's world.
Plus, there's the prize in the Whacky Pack.
I keep asking Mo, 'How old are you?' Because you know she knows, but getting a straight answer from the kid can be impossible. At first I thought she was just being stubborn, but when she was asking for Oreos after dinner, I said 'not until you answer my question. How old are you?'
She was struggling with it, I could tell. Then she said, 'I am fine.' So I'm like, 'No, not how are you, how old are you?'
To which Mo said, 'Answer the question.'
'Yes,' I said. 'Answer my question. How old are you today?'
'Thirty.'
'You're not thirty! Are you eleven maybe?'
'Cookie.'
This actually went on for a couple more exchanges, me hoping for that breakthrough to actual communication. This is one of the most frustrating things about autism, one of the hardest to explain to others, too. Very often, her comprehension is perfect, though her verbal responses sometimes make it seem otherwise. Then there's times like this when I think she understood every word I said but had absolutely no clue what I meant by it.
Maybe her symptoms were running higher than usual, but I think I might as well have said, 'Dog phone eating the blue bubbly earth? Can't milk improvising string obnoxiously as per?'
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