I got back from Montreal late Saturday night after Z was in bed. The next morning she was full of questions about where I had been. Turns out that I was in a bit of trouble with her for being out of town “because you’re part of my family now” and therefore it is my job to be home when she is there. I was a bit surprised to hear that from the same kid who has repeatedly told me that I’m stupid and need to leave. I’ve worn her down!
She did have a mini-fit that morning. It was sort of cute since it was such a shadow of what used to be normal for her pre-medication. I was upstairs and I heard, “NO!! Stop! I hate that song!” Then she came running upstairs and threw herself against the bed dramatically. Her father was playing music she hated on YouTube. Since I’ve also retreated upstairs in the face of his musical tastes I sympathized with her feelings if not the method of expression. I asked her what song she wanted to hear. She hiccuped out, “Old McDonald.” So I told her that she should go downstairs and sing five verses at the top of her lungs. She giggled and agreed. Her volume was good but it turns out that she doesn’t really know the words except for Old McDonald had a farm EIEIO. Then she came running upstairs again to report that he didn’t seem to notice. Oh, well, it was a good revenge plan even if the execution was a bit weak.