By the time I was my daughter’s age (12), I had gotten into loads of mischief.  Things that no one in my family would ever know and that I hope my closest friends will take with them to their graves.  But my daughter has no such liberties as I had.  She is constantly supervised, and the adult standard for her, the standard to which she is constantly held, is a behavioral standard that few neurotypical kids have to meet.  Am I the only one who, when my parents called up the stairs “did you brush your teeth?” lied and said I had because I was too lazy to get back up out of bed?  But Anna has me (or another adult) there every night to make sure.  There are lots of things that she does wrong, but all of it is in the light of day, under watchful, supervisory eyes.  So now and then, I like to let her believe that she has gotten away with something, sneaking a cookie into bed (I know, ick) or grabbing a spoonful of ice cream before dinner.