These were the words written on the make-shift masking tape sign on the back of each stall door in the women’s restroom at my older daughter’s high school. LuLu and I saw them last night as we were using the restroom after Kay’s chorus performance.

LuLu did remarkably well during the 1.5-hour concert, given that she often is unable to handle the sensory overload of the applause, and we often end up leaving in a rush as she starts to come unglued.

We were positioned on the aisle in the far back, with ever-vigilant Mom prepared to beat a hasty retreat, when a friend of Kay’s who is home from college, came over to speak to us. Next thing I know, LuLu has invited herself to sit with the girl, who tells us that she and her family are sitting right down front and center. I am highly hesitant, but LuLu promises that she can handle it. And I think “what the heck!” (Most of the people who know is in the auditorium know of LuLu’s special needs. And those who don’t; well, we don’t know them so they can think what they want.)

There were a few dicey moments, and her biggest agitation happened when Kay’s choir (the last one to perform) took the stage. But we stuck it out.

In the restroom afterwards, she had the most amazing conversation, with herself. That further drove home just how deeply imbedded her tendency toward opposition is.

“Do Not Flush Pads in Toilet,” I heard her read from the stall next to me. I said nothing. Having just started her period, I knew she was sporting the forbidden object.

“Do Not Flush Pads,” she repeated, “they’ll clog up the toilet.” “I’m going to flush my pad. They can’t stop me.”

Now this is the point where any typical parent would jump in with the correction or admonition. But I stood by silently. At this point, after nine years of being her impulse control, she needs to exercise her own restraint muscle, if it’s ever going to be operational. I also eyeballed all the other women in the restroom, wondering what they were thinking. But they said nothing to her either. And in the back of my mind I was figuring out just exactly what I would do if she decided to flush her pad…

“I’m going to flush it,” she repeated defiantly. Then followed it up with “No, I’m not. That would be the wrong thing to do.” She grabbled with herself a couple more rounds, as only LuLu can do. (It’s a direct insight into the battle she fights continuously in her brain.)

I nearly chuckled out loud – after all, she was arguing with a piece of masking tape marked with Sharpie and stretched across a bathroom stall door! No wonder I tire of the constant arguing all day…I don’t even have to respond for her to be defiant! The restroom was exerting some authority over her and her response was defiance. (I’m wondering if the sign had said “Please” if she would have reacted the same way?)

Then she announced, “Nope, I’ll just go on and get out of here, before I make a bad choice.” Then I heard a FLUSH.

As we left the building, I gave her my best loving-eye smile and told her I was proud for all the choices she’d made during the evening. And she smiled back – feeling a fleeting moment of pride. Chalk that one up as a win for LuLu.

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