I’m sure it was Keyser Söze who took it…

An exhaustive search of the house has failed to turn up the disc for the Wii Fit Plus.  Coincidence?  I think not!  The usual suspect is at school, but I’m sure he knows where the disc is and will refuse (on grounds of moral conviction and principle) to turn it over…in a word: I told him we would be resuming our exercise routine today and, lo and behold, the disc is gone.  As I said: coincidence?  You tell me…

This morning I was reduced to running in place for 25 minutes (yes, you read right…I ran in place for 25 minutes…bored out of my skull in spite of the musical background, thank you) and I intend to take that child for a vigorous walk in the great outdoors that, hopefully, will convince him that I am bound and determined to not let the little detail of the missing disc interfere with my plans.  Prepare yourselves for loud complaining…he WILL be vocal about this.

It seems to us that this new wave of protest responds to J’s desire to mark territory once more.  He does that once in a while; J determines that it’s time to stretch boundaries, push envelopes, stomp on toes and crush egg shells, and we negotiate the expansion of his freedom and self-determination like any other set of parents would, but with the caveat of the dang autism lurking in the background.  We figure that we have to take THAT into consideration while trusting that we’ve done a good-enough job of giving J…wings?  Some sort of propeller?  At least a parachute?

Little by little J’s pushed his bedtime back…on a weeknight he will lurk in his room, fighting the desire to curl up and snooze, as late as 10:30…11 PM when he’s feeling feisty.  He’s taken to fishing out the pants he wants from the hamper, and I could make him wash them every single day, but I think that would interfere with some of the “normalcy” he thinks he’s gleaning out of this particular action.  He brushes his teeth religiously, until the morning when he just doesn’t want to be bothered to go back upstairs to do it and pops an Altoid in the same fashion any other kid would when trying to sneak out of the house with dirty teeth.  When I brush his hair (more to massage his scalp after hours of being constricted by his scrum cap than to make him look a certain way), J messes up his hair with his hands, all while rolling his eyes at me.

I have to give in on some things, but for others I am forced to put my foot down.  In the absence of the disc we need to follow the workout we designed for him, we will have to be firm about making him do it with us, no technology involved other than his iTunes account playing in the background.  It’s possible J thinks he has foiled us in hiding the disc…if that is what he intended to achieve, then we have even less room to negotiate.  With fine weather becoming more abundant, he is now in a position to walk outside…shouting out his discontent to the neighbors if he is so inclined.  If he wants to walk around like the Mayor of Halloweentown in The Nightmare Before Christmas, so be it…but his girth must be put under control and his heart has to be exercised with something other than the excitement caused by Katy Perry’s boobies.

On Saturday my husband cut my hair.  Well…he mowed my head is more like it; I now sport the same haircut that everyone in the household has right after I sit them down and swoosh with the hair clippers.  J happily ran his hand over my head and giggled when I’d first shown him; the next time he ran into me, he looked at me as if appraising a painting or sculpture, and then patted the top of my head in an attempt to make the fuzz flat.  Walking past me, he will stop and gaze or he will walk around me, staring intently at my head.  This morning, as I brushed his hair, he kept touching mine and closing his eyes, more interested in the texture than in the way I look.  I wonder what is going through his mind…

I am sure that the severity of my haircut, combined with the severity of my insistence in exercising this evening, will not endear me to J.  If he is the party responsible for the current absence of the Wii Fit disc, well, we might be in for a long tug-of-war with him.  J likes to get his way, and he can be a handful when he’s trying to prove that he is right.  There is something of the melodramatic in him: I have seen him dragging an empty laundry basket down the stairs as if it had one-hundred pounds of rocks in it, all the while sighing and stopping to wipe his (dry) brow.  J will react to a request for assistance with bags of groceries with such horror that one would think we’ve asked him to club baby seals to death.  Ten minutes later, he will be dancing and leaping with enthusiasm over something HE wants to do…

So…I’m going to be Big, Bad, Bald Mom today…that child is going to exercise, and he is going to do it for the prescribed half-hour even if it kills ME.  He’ll be fine.  He’s always fine.  He just whines a lot when he’s so inclined.  He doesn’t need Tiger Balm, Epsom Salts, warm compresses, a massage, ice packs…no…he’ll be peachy and happy once we’re done.  Throughout the half-hour, though, I will not have respite from the wailing and protesting, and afterwards I will be sore and exhausted and cranky and I won’t be able to complain because this whole exercise thing is supposed to be FUN for all involved…

I sure hope I can find that disc somewhere…I like it so much better when he complains at the TV!

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