How do you move a concrete wall?

If only this were a riddle or there was some trick to it. The answer, I’m afraid, is you don’t. You can push and coax and cry and kick and scream, but the wall doesn’t care. The wall is stuck. The wall’s purpose is to be there, to stay there, to be firm and strong, no matter what forces oppose it.

And so it is with my child with autism.

The difference is with a wall, you would think, “Oh, well. It’s a wall, for Pete’s sake! Of course I can’t move it! What a good wall!”

With a kid, you think, “There has got to be a way.” There has got to be a way, even though there has never been a way. There has go to be a way because it’s not acceptable for there not to be a way. There has got to be a way because she’s a person, not a wall.

Unfortunately, when this particular person is short on sleep, the foundation digs even deeper into the soil. She is prepared for an earthquake after all, and no amount of earthshaking is going to rattle her even a little bit. She is bulletproof, earthquake proof, everything-proof. She is reward-proof, punishment-proof, logic-proof, emotion-proof.

That is how determined she is. I guess you have to admire her a little bit.

Unfortunately, Maddie stayed home all day yesterday and slept or just hung out in bed. I was kind of expecting it because she had been out of school for five whole days, and even a three-day weekend can make for a rough first morning back. So she was tired yesterday and behaved accordingly, which has a spiraling effect: If you lie around and sleep all day, you probably won’t sleep at night, which makes you sleepy the next day. And here we are. She needs to get up and suffer a little bit, but she won’t.

Yesterday she said she needed to sleep and would go to school later. But of course “later” never came. I asked her repeatedly about going to school, and finally asked her for a definitive answer to save myself some trouble. Did she intend to go? No. Yeah, I thought so.

She is saying the same thing now. She wants to sleep a little more and then I can drive her to school. But I have plans today. As happens many days, those plans may have to wait. I have a kid to deal with. I might have to spend the morning coaxing her up and driving her to school at the exact moment I hoped to be walking in the woods with a friend. I could really use some fresh air, some friend time, some nature. How therapeutic that would be!

Instead my chest is tight. My head is pounding. (Thank goodness for the funny Donald Trump post on Facebook today. It’s helping a little.)

I’m especially stressed out because Maddie’s drama class has a performance tonight. If she misses school today, can she participate? I’m not sure. Maybe she’ll go to school. Maybe she won’t.

Last year she completely bailed out on her drama class performance because once she got home after school, she decided she was too tired. I tried everything. Even her teacher talked to her on the phone. No movement. People were pretty mad at her the next day, but eventually it blew over. Then her report card came. Mostly A’s and then a D in drama. We agreed she had it coming. It didn’t feel good, but even if I remind her about that today, we all know she won’t care enough to change her behavior. She’s just not built that way.

Yesterday the only thing I had required of her was a shower. She has that performance tonight and she should at least be clean.

Guess what? No shower. Her scheme instead: her last period today is called Advisory. It’s a 90-minute block where the whole school is sort of on pause. Students are able to visit whatever teacher they choose for help, or just do homework, or whatever. Today, though, she planned to go to the gym and take a shower. What kid would ever opt for a school gym shower instead of one at home? Maddie, that’s who. We discussed this idea for awhile last night. I told her I wasn’t confident about her follow-through.

“Well, how can you know if I can do this if you don’t give me a chance?” she argued. Oh, she’s good. And to some degree she’s right. This particular plan hasn’t come into play before, so I can’t know if she’ll actually do it. But what she doesn’t understand is that her failure to get up in the morning, or take a shower at night, or do all the other things she’s supposed to do, is directly related to my faith in her follow-through on the gym/shower plan. I could tell my arguments weren’t going to get her in the shower last night, so I reluctantly conceded. She had to pack her shower stuff last night in preparation, and she dutifully did as I asked.

Here’s the thing: I have no doubt that in moments like that, Maddie fully intends to do what she plans. She can’t imagine that she won’t. She can’t imagine why she wouldn’t. So in her mind, it’s absurd of me to doubt her. Unfortunately, past behavior is the best predictor of future behavior. I need to throw those words out at her. Pointless, I’m sure, but maybe I’ll feel better.

It’s 8:07 a.m. I’m already burnt out for the day but I have so much more parenting to do, including–I hope–getting her to her performance tonight and enjoying the fruits of all our labor. I love to watch her perform. She’s a committed actor, fearless and funny. I could use some of that tonight, some of the fun parts of parenting. But I have a long way to go. Almost eleven hours.

I’m hopeful. Maybe stupidly, but still I’m hopeful. I am hopeful the play will be enough motivation to get her up and going. Just for today. And, for better or worse, tomorrow will be another day. But at least it won’t be a Tuesday.

So how do you move the unmovable? Beats me.