The Girl Who Listened

We are living with a spy!  No, really!

It started with sinister shark but things have progressed from there and it is like the espionage era of the Cold War in our house. Let me explain.

Like a lot of autistic people, Emilie loves repetition and she became addicted to her toy shark, which could record a few seconds of sound and then play back. Sinister shark was a scary looking thing, about as cuddly as Anne Robinson holding open a man trap. But Emilie loved it and carried it everywhere. Anyway it broke and like fools, we bought her a proper, hand-held recording device to replace it.

Mistake.

The thing is, it doesn't just record five seconds and then self wipe when next used. It can record.....hours. But most scary of all - you cannot tell when she has switched it on!

WE HARDLY DARE SPEAK!!

Our most intimate moments could be relayed round the school quicker than you can say - 'do you fancy trying something different tonight honey-bun?'  She also goes to respite once a week of course, another opportunity to share the goings-on chez Willis with a wider audience.

And we are so on our best behaviour. Having two autistic daughters means we have a social worker. A social worker who will visit the children at school. Picture it:-

'How are we doing, little Emilie?  Oh what have you there. That looks interesting, let me see.'

CLICK - <sounds of exasperated male parent fills the room - Em always has it on full volume>

'For God's sake, Helen. A man can't even go for a crap now without one of the little gits wanting to be in.'

'I know, I know.'

'Do you think we could stun Emilie long enough to parcel her up and post her to Rwanda?'

'Possibly, can I do the stunning please, you didn't see what she did with my nail varnish.'

'Or we could just blend then little sods and feed them to the cat, nobody would ever kn......oh hello Emilie.'

CLICK

So yes. She has us where she wants us. Anytime she does wrong and we bear down on her with grievous,  parental intent - CLICK!!

'Never mind, Emi - am sure you didn't mean to chew daddy's laptop keys. Poor little mite, are you hungry my darling one?'

So there we have it, we are the Big Brother house (apologies to George Orwell). Everything under surveillance. My daughter is the Spy Who Came in from the Cold.  The Girl who Knew Too Much.  Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Emilie!

Of course there is one consolation. One small little flicker of light in the dark, dark tunnel. Now, how can I put this? Well, if you are reading this and work at Emilie's school or at the respite centre (and I know YOU read it there!). And you thought your rather titillating secrets were safe?  Well, let's just say we don't need to bother watching soap operas in our house. We just need to.....

CLICK!

Thanks for reading.  :-)