"You Know I Hate You"

I was in the basement working on Daughter's skirt for Easter when I realized I hadn't put the cable locks on the cupboards and refrigerator, so I came upstairs (they were locked, but only with one set of locks). Daughter was in her bedroom, and I was immediately suspicious. She insisted, of course, that she wasn't into anything. I asked to smell her breath. Her reluctance told me she'd been into something. Yup, I definitely didn't smell the ice cream I'd just given her for a snack.

"What did you eat?"

"Salt."

"You weren't eating salt. What were you into? Do I need to go search your room?"

.

"Crackers."

.

She had gone searching my bedroom and found the spare keys for the pantry locks. She's not even supposed to be in my room. I confiscated the keys, and located all the other spare keys I have around the house. They are now in my pocket. I'm not sure where I'm going to keep them. After confiscating the keys, crackers, and doing a quick search of her room, she announced, "You know I hate you!"

"That's okay. You can hate me. I sill love you and will work hard to keep you safe."

"Back off!"

I returned to the basement and her Easter skirt. When she got hungry, she came down to apologize. I told her I thought her apology had more to do with hunger than remorse. She didn't argue that point. I took an individual serving of Spanish rice out of the freezer and handed it to her. I made her show me her blood sugar on the meter and gave her insulin. When I finished the skirt, I came upstairs. She wanted to snuggle, so I let her lean against me as I watched TV. At bedtime her blood sugar was sky high. She insists she wasn't into anything. Of course I don't believe her. Sigh.