Luna falls for Chloe at first sight . . . literally, off a ladder. And it's the beginning of a beautiful friendship, after Luna gets past the fact that Chloe doesn't seem to be single.
They soon discover all the things they have in common, their tim...
It starts getting light a little after five toward the end of May, and it was no different later that morning when I was up once again with Hailie.
"I wanna get dressed," she announced, beaming at me as she stood shivering in the glare of the bathroom light. "And make a new house for my Minnie Mouse doll. And today I want to make a cake! A chocolate one with sprinkles but they can't have food dye so can we get some of those natural ones, even though they're not as brightly colored?"
My eyes were gritty and I was half asleep, dying to crash for more. I was averaging five hours a night for the last four nights. It wasn't enough. "Okay, let's wait until the sun comes up. Enough so we can actually see the actual sun," I added, because I needed time to drink coffee. "How about wrapping up in your blanket and having some tea?" That would at least keep her sitting for a few minutes.
"Noooo, I need to get dressed! I have things to do right now!" she insisted, her voice rising. "If I wait to get dressed there are things I could miss doing!" She looked panicked at the thought. Anxiety, not to mention her mind was full of ideas all the time and the compulsion to try all of them, regardless of how many actual hours there were in the day.
"Okay, okay, be quiet though. Nathaniel and Mommy are still sleeping," I reminded her as we went to her room. Understanding that it wasn't good to wake people up wasn't something she really grasped yet.
Her cognitive empathy, which is basically our automatic drive to respond appropriately to someone else's emotions, was delayed. She just didn't understand the way other people felt or their needs, though she was beginning to.
She was excited about the day ahead. "This is going to be so much fun, Lulu! I also want to make a biiiig maze for the mouses to go through, it needs to have at least ten halls and four dead ends and an entrance for them to go through and an exit with something at the the end, and it needs to fit into their tank . . . are you listening, Lulu? You probably want to write all this down. It needs to fit in their tank, I said. Ten halls. At least. And the entrance and exit need to be in an arch shape but maybe still attached on one side so they open and shut." She tugged at me. "Are you listening I said?"
"Mostly," I said blurrily, finding a pair of her pants and shirt. She only wore these certain super-soft turquoise pants, so we had five pairs of them.
"I'm going to need a box that's not too high, and it needs a cover, but the cover will need to be clear because we have to see the mouses of course while they go through the maze."
Oh my God. So much talking. I nodded as I motioned for her to cover her ears, and switched on the hair dryer to warm up her pants because she didn't like them cold. The wires between her senses and her brain were mixed up, so something that would be unnoticeable to most people felt extra something to her. Extra scratchy, or tight, or short, or long, or loose, or "just not right".
She hadn't worn socks in over a year.
Luckily, California weather didn't get too extreme, so flip flops year-round worked for the most part. Rainy days kind of sucked since she hated water touching her. She says it feels like it "zaps" her when water first touches her.
Noises, especially loud and/or unexpected ones, were upsetting. Hand dryers and toilets flushing in public bathrooms were the sworn enemy. At home we were able to regulate the sounds for the most part.
"Okay, here, see how these are," I said, holding out the pants for her to put her leg into.
She did, and then the second one, and pulled them halfway up. "I hope these are the ones from last night that I took off because if they are newly washed they will feel too wrong," she fretted.
"They are."
"Okay that's good, because I need to have things the way that is comfortable for me," she reminded me as if I didn't live by that rule.
To some she appeared spoiled, or a bratty kid with a sucky attitude, or in need of "a good spanking"; we'd heard it all. She needed more sleep or less sleep or less attention or more punishments or a reward system or stronger parenting or more respectful parenting or less sugar or whatever else people had to offer while they judged.
But to us she was obviously doing the best she could, as children do when they're able. We didn't want to change her or "cure" her, only help her figure out what worked best for her, to find what tools would make her navigation through life easier.
Getting her autism diagnosis at four had been a relief because we'd been trying to convince people for two years she was on the spectrum. I had worked in a special education preschool aftercare program as a teen, and I knew the signs well enough. But because of her huge vocabulary and her ability to look people in the eye, we were dismissed by her pediatrician at the time. Even mocked.
"Yes, it's probably from the vaccinations, right?" he'd asked, barely refraining from rolling his eyes. "She's fine. A normal if somewhat precocious child."
Now she went to occupational therapy, which helped with her sensory issues, and had a weighted blanket, and we knew to just try to help her through the frustrating times.
"These pants will be comfy," I assured her, a yawn cracking my jaw. Crows were flying over, cawing. I liked crows. But it was too damn early for them too.
The little frown on her face relaxed as she adjusted the pants at the waist. "These are good," she said in relief, then covered her ears so I could user the hair dryer to warm up her shirt. The shirt was usually not a problem; she had three she liked and they didn't give her the trouble the pants did.
Sure enough, it went on fine. "Where's my yellow binkie and my red one?" She went searching for them in her covers. "Found one! The red one! Can you wash it please?" She needed it rinsed off a thousand times a day, and it was one thing her "bad brain" refused to let her do herself yet. "I'm going out now! Bye!" Her feet pounded down the hall.
I ran it under water and splashed some on my face. It didn't help much. "Damn," I said to my pale, not-so-pretty reflection. My freckles stood out among my acne scars, my eyes bloodshot. I shook my head. "My kingdom for a mocha."
"Lulu! Are you COMING?" Hailie shouted loud enough to wake the dead, and I winced. My aunt would sleep through anything, but I didn't want Nathaniel to be woken up.
"Yes, be quiet!" I whisper-shouted with my head out the door, and hurriedly dried my face.
My phone buzzed on the counter, perilously close to a puddle of water. I grabbed it and read the messages as I went to join The Queen.
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Blinking while I tried to process that, I handed Hailie her red binkie and covered her spot on the couch with the sheet she liked to sit on.
"Is it clean?" Hailie asked automatically, rummaging in the corner where she had bins of stuff.
"Yes," I said, moving toward the front door, perplexed by the text. My brain was so slow in the mornings, ugh.
"Lulu! I found a box for the maze! Now I need just a few things; some tape, which should be strong tape so not the blue tape, and some cardboard so I can cut out the pieces for the walls, of course."
"Hold up, small fry," I told her, unlocking and opening the door. The smell of Starbucks hit me first, and I felt like I was dreaming as I picked up the drink holder that held two of their largest cups. LUNA mocha x2 shots was written on each.
