How an Autistic Child Says, "That’s MY Brother!"

Today Marty had his butt well and truly tanned.  I'm usually a rather laid-back parent (probably too laid-back), but this was a safety issue and a problem that has been addressed REPEATEDLY over the past two years, pretty much since Marty learned to crawl.

For those of you who don't know Marty, or haven't spent a lot of time with him, he is a stubborn, defiant little boy.  Now, mind you, there is not one drop of meanness in his little body.  He is the sweetest, cuddliest, cutest, most intelligent, compassionate, empathetic, loving and loveable little guy on the face of the earth.  This explains why he is still alive.  Having Marty helps me to understand why some animals eat their young.  We joke about tennis shoes on the Thanksgiving "turkey".  But holy cow, he can try your patience!  Tell him no, tell him no again, tell him no louder, smack his hand, he seems to stop.  Leave the room, he does whatever the heck it was he wanted to do anyway.  Catch him at it, spank his butt, leave the room, he does it again as soon as he thinks you can't see.  Catch him at it and he'll drop his hand, hang his head, and say, "Uh-oh" in the cutest little voice - but it won't stop him from doing it again as soon as your back is turned, or from doing it within moments of having his butt swatted.  Maybe I don't swat hard enough.  I don't like to swat, but good heavens sometimes I don't know what else to do with him!

The only thing that really flips my switches and puts me into "Mama Bear Mode" is severe safety violations.  This particular violation involves the outlet behind my recliner.  When he was barely big enough to crawl, he got back there and figured out he could turn the lights on and off in the living room by wiggling the plug in the wall.  This has always been an absolute, hard-line NO.  This has resulted in scolding, time-outs, hand smacks, and butt swats.  This is too dangerous to play around with.

Today, I was sitting in the recliner, reclined, with Ellie laying on me and tickle-fighting.  The light went out.  The light went on.  I looked up at the switch, which Marty has been able to reach for about a year - no Marty.  I realized he must have crawled under the end table and behind my chair to get to the plug.  In my loudest, meanest voice, I told him NO in no uncertain terms, to leave the plug alone, and that if he touched it again I would spank his butt.

The light went out.

I sat up, sat Ellie gently on the floor, and said, "Excuse me, but I have to spank your brother."  By this time Marty was trying to squirm out from behind my chair and run before I could catch him.  I snared him, scooped him up, bent him over my arm, and gave him five firm smacks on the diapered butt!  I took him behind the chair, stood him next to the plug, pointed at it, said, "NO!  NO!" in my loudest, meanest voice, and swatted his butt once more for good measure, just so we both knew exactly why Mommy was in beast-mode.  I then scooped him up and sat him in my chair.

Ellie, in the meantime, was trying to be invisible.  She crawled on all fours, very slowly and even more silently, out of the living room.  She reminded me of a video I once saw of a three-toed sloth crossing an open area, so quietly and slowly that it didn't seem like something moving at all.  As soon as she reached the dining room she stood up and ran off to her bedroom.

I scooped Marty up and loved on him.  He stopped crying immediately and started playing with his Easter toys.

That's when Ellie started.  First, there was a broken-hearted wail, and I realized I must have scared her when I yelled at her brother.  I started to get up and go to her, but then the pitch of her voice changed.  She wasn't heartbroken, she was TICKED!  She screamed, her angry scream, at the top of her lungs several times.  She stomped and kicked her feet.  I think she even threw things.  Marty squirmed out of my arms and ran to her.

I followed because I didn't want him to catch the brunt of her being angry, just in case.  I got to where I could see into her room, and it was amazing.  The best way I can describe it is that she was curled around him protectively.  Of course, he didn't stay there, because he's 2 years old and Neurotypical.  As soon as he left her room she started to squall again.  I went back to my chair to let her work out the anger.

It was a just a couple of minutes later that she came out to me, snot-nosed, wet-cheeked, and red-eyed.  I wiped her little face, and she climbed up in my lap, curling to all fit (at two inches shy of four feet tall).  I put my arms around her and she just snuggled.  Marty climbed up on the footrest, leaned his back against Ellie, and watched cartoons.  We stayed like that for a long time.

I can't hardly believe I made Ellie angry - especially that angry -  by disciplining Marty.  She's never had that reaction to me disciplining him before - then again, I've never been quite so thorough with him before, either.  It always surprises me when I realize how posessive she is of him, or how much she loves him, because most of the time he seems to be "just sorta there" for her.  It's surprising, touching, and a bit amusing.

There's still a princess in that tower.  She's still in there.  Sometimes she peeks out the windows...