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A few minutes ago, TJ decided it would be fun to dump his juice on the floor. Thankfully, it was in a sippy cup, so it wasn’t a huge puddle, but it wasn’t a spill-proof one, so it was wet enough to be a problem.
I called him over and sat him on my lap. I put my hands on his shoulders and told him to look at me. He didn’t maintain eye contact the whole time, but he was at least listening.
I told him firmly, but calmly, that dumping juice on the floor is a bold thing to do. And he doesn’t want to be a bold boy and do bold things, he wants to be a good boy and do good things. He nodded his head and responded yes or no as I talked to him. I ended by saying that he would have to sit if he dumped the juice again, and he didn’t want to have to sit, did he?
He looked right in my eyes and said, “I’m sorry, Mommy.” Then he gave me a hug.
I’ve gotten fake, squirmy apologies before. This was the real deal. And I didn’t even prompt him for it.
I’m a big puddle of gushy Mommy right now.
That’s me: Christina Gleason. I’m a writer, editor, and disability advocate. I'm a multiply disabled autistic lady doing my best in this world built for abled people. I’m a geek for grammar, fantasy, and casual gaming. I hate vegetables. I cannot reliably speak, so I’ll happily conduct business over email or messaging instead.
