We yell, we scream, we whisper and we cry. It’s a circle. An everyday circle. What tips it off is different. Today it was washing her hair.

I am fully clothed and in the shower. I have to pin her between my knees while hurriedly scrubbing the scent of too sweet apples from her hair. I briefly wonder if when she is grown, the smell of apples will panic her. She is shaking and gasping like a fish deprived of water, only water is what started this whole mess.

One can not imagine the horror of water touching the front of her head and possibly running onto her face. It’s the same horror that strikes when a tag is itchy, when she wears blue jean shorts, when lunch at home is not served precisely at one-two-zero-zero. I talk about bravery, about how getting to go to swimming lessons means putting her whole head in the water. She flails and frets. I am certain that I must be leaving finger length bruises as I try to maintain my balance and still keep her slick wet body under the spray.

We emerge from the shower and I help her towel off. I must rake a brush through her hair while she sobs. I gently explain that we didn’t get a chance to use conditioner, her panic over the shampoo was all that I could stomach. She is dressed and skips off - for her it has ended. I am left worn and ragged, wondering if perhaps I used up all my patience during her toddlerhood.

I know that I snap more easily these days. My middle child has rarely known how placid and patient I can be. A preemptive “NO!” is more likely to escape my lips then a simple “I love you!” These are things I work on.

I am hoping over the summer we can weave a new pattern. Our home life should be settling down. The house is coming together, the end is in sight. My youngest is coming into his own, developing a groove. For 3 months it will be me and my three. My goal is to hide less, yell less, say no less. I am hoping I can relearn that less is more and hoping to build enough reserves to handle the storms sure to come with my oldest as she sails into kindergarten.

Last week was the IEP meeting. She will be going to a whole new school next year. New building, new teacher, new therapist and new friends. The bright spot in all of this newness is the hope I have for people in her new school “getting it.” For the first time she will be attending a school with an Autistic services class- someone trained in dealing with foibles such as hers. A small haven where I won’t have to defend her tiptoe walking, incessant fretting and unending need for routine.

After tucking her into bed, I hear her softly crying. “What’s wrong honey?” I curl my body into her bed and around her. “Maybe I can swim with no head in the water, I want to go to swim lessons!” I promise her that we will practice, that we will learn to be brave together. I think a lot of the journey ahead will be us, me and my daughter, learning to be brave. Her so she can face and florish in the world and me to face my own daemons. Letting go of this all or nothing pursuit of perfection, realizing that yes isn’t a four letter word, and accepting the bumps are part of the ride (sometimes the part that even makes you smile).