Today in Aubree’s World, things started off quiet.
She’s been in her usual rhythm — rocking in her favorite chair, watching TV, just decompressing. She’s been extra tired today, probably still recovering from the weekend at her dad’s. Even though she slept last night, she still feels like she’s catching up.

Around 2 p.m., though, she got a little burst of energy — or maybe she was too close to dozing off and decided to fight it toddler-style.

Since then, she’s been into everything.

She’s pulled screws out of drawers, carried a little toy spoon like a precious object, swiped a clean paint stick (unused, thankfully), and fished a straw from the trash like it was a prize. Her ability to spot randomness and make it meaningful continues to amaze me.

And of course — the doggy door.

It’s been raining today, and Aubree LOVES water. I keep having to gently pull her back and redirect her, but honestly? I get it. Water is her peace.

But in moments like this — when she’s determined and not listening — I get stuck.
Because discipline with her is complicated.

Aubree is autistic and nonverbal. And some days, it feels impossible to know how to discipline in a way that’s actually helpful and not just frustrating for both of us. I try to be firm. I redirect her when I can. Sometimes, yes — I pop her little booty, just enough to get her attention. It’s never to hurt her. It’s not harsh. It’s just a way to break through when nothing else is working.

I was raised with belt whoopings. And while I came out of it “just fine,” I know that Aubree is different than I was. She processes things differently. She communicates differently. What worked for me doesn’t necessarily work for her — and that’s where I feel like I’m still learning every single day.

It’s hard.
It’s confusing.
It’s a balance between keeping her safe, respecting who she is, and trying to guide her in a way that makes sense to her world.

I’m hoping when we move down south, I can get her into an ABA program — something structured, something personalized — something that helps both of us figure this out.

Because I know she’s not “bad.”
She’s just different.
And I’m not a “bad mom” for not always knowing what to do. I’m just trying.

And today, that looks like rocking chairs, drawer raids, rain-soaked doorways, and a whole lot of love and patience.