tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73576380175454696162024-03-05T20:53:09.861-05:00I am Micro-ManagingONE boy with Microcephaly, TWO typical siblings, THREE deep breaths...Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger117125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7357638017545469616.post-67566753042300778812010-04-01T23:05:00.020-04:002010-06-03T15:48:41.588-04:00I Can't Believe He Ate the Whoooole Thing.<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_XVkaPne6692MMZkWrkv_bOWvbzRQb5aN2IJ5D6xTAV0IMOoNeD41eBKXvLPZI4EdGN2Pt3VhDdpinV4iDYfyIG_aRrlyn6fL-lmtOohzEvhA6PoPwe4Uq-45j32GAGydyXTZx1tsG-5p/s1600/DSC02405.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_XVkaPne6692MMZkWrkv_bOWvbzRQb5aN2IJ5D6xTAV0IMOoNeD41eBKXvLPZI4EdGN2Pt3VhDdpinV4iDYfyIG_aRrlyn6fL-lmtOohzEvhA6PoPwe4Uq-45j32GAGydyXTZx1tsG-5p/s400/DSC02405.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a> </div>Max wanted an apple for his after-school snack today.<br /><br />He's requested apples many times before, but he doesn't usually eat them. (I think it's because of his wonky front tooth. Eating them hurts.) It was also a novel request because <span style="font-style: italic;">9 times out of 10</span> he asks for crackers or popcorn the moment he steps off the bus. But today it was if a whole new snack idea had occurred to him. He entered the kitchen and only had eyes for the apples. I got out a knife to cut one into slices, which is what I usually do to make a giant apple more approachable, but he did NOT want me to cut it. He simply took it, sat down at the table, and started eating.<br /><br />He sat. And he sat.<br /><br />He ate. And he ate.<br /><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2CauXVVSdxi4Wo5oQweybxDY7yhRWna5mEZFQ2gZDbgg2EWvEtSZpY_n9Ybo2tRLRchYVm4Yst5OOKSi_4ZsEud8fW2La6oyhPP3BvlVbItyjh8qq8xWPTXmv1bZ4lYYFzSL5Xe6v0Xl6/s1600/DSC02404.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2CauXVVSdxi4Wo5oQweybxDY7yhRWna5mEZFQ2gZDbgg2EWvEtSZpY_n9Ybo2tRLRchYVm4Yst5OOKSi_4ZsEud8fW2La6oyhPP3BvlVbItyjh8qq8xWPTXmv1bZ4lYYFzSL5Xe6v0Xl6/s400/DSC02404.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:78%;">If investigators on <span style="font-weight: bold;">CSI: Kitchen</span> were trying to determine who was eating this apple, those bite marks would leave no doubt!<br /></span></div><br />He didn't look around. He didn't squirm. He didn't run off. He just sat and ate, with a singular focus.<br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjXz4wEJGPHxN3ES-NojidhPF4oHDxnMO_ManKBi_UB38Yh3xYy-nDoUKstT2vhwV-IXx1izpIxaUjEibbFK-AumkZ-3tR-MwT0Q1A93MtsK0X9LegTilHQUxfS4XpM3PJA9cautnf1-j2/s1600/DSC02396.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjXz4wEJGPHxN3ES-NojidhPF4oHDxnMO_ManKBi_UB38Yh3xYy-nDoUKstT2vhwV-IXx1izpIxaUjEibbFK-AumkZ-3tR-MwT0Q1A93MtsK0X9LegTilHQUxfS4XpM3PJA9cautnf1-j2/s400/DSC02396.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" >(Note to self: consider new bowls.)</span><br /></div>And he ate.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">And he ate.</span><br /><br />I tried to convince him he was done with it, <span style="font-style: italic;">that he had eaten all the good fruity parts</span>, but he ignored me.<br /><br />Finally, he said "Done!"<br /><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT4kXhxasErG_N8zH3rkaYJ3g6Pm7KHhMVd-NgEIRqMHVanuGoC8GzTHS-tu3ucGG83TOsyNBB-KVDPVDnMDIuCzDrSBafRITMsTxapmoGHbnOjh0vmHu6Vo6njjEhnHC_ZxWeWdiJB1ED/s1600/DSC02393.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT4kXhxasErG_N8zH3rkaYJ3g6Pm7KHhMVd-NgEIRqMHVanuGoC8GzTHS-tu3ucGG83TOsyNBB-KVDPVDnMDIuCzDrSBafRITMsTxapmoGHbnOjh0vmHu6Vo6njjEhnHC_ZxWeWdiJB1ED/s400/DSC02393.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">This is what was left.</span> <div style="text-align: left;"><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">*6/3/10 Edited to add: Two months later, and he's turned down every apple offer since.</span> <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> It's a mystery. </span><br /></div><br /><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7357638017545469616.post-86773178484549122632010-03-30T09:15:00.001-04:002010-04-01T06:50:00.711-04:00IndependenceIndependence seems to be the theme this year. Max has made so much progress lately. He has settled. Matured. He's suddenly doing <a target="blank" href="http://i-am-micro-managing.blogspot.com/2010/03/sleeping-update.html">some <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">really</span> exciting things</a> all by himself!<br /><br />And the flip side of that is that I am becoming more independent, too. We are tied together in so many ways, for so many pieces of daily life. There is a sense of freedom when I am no longer required for something. And I know that's a feeling that goes both ways.<br /><br />Sometimes his new independence creates more work or mess or worry for me. That's a truth for any child, but perhaps more literally so with Max.<br /><br />For example, the other day he entered the kitchen where my husband was making dinner and asked for "Help, please." He's been doing this thing with his videos where he wants help to change them or start them or rewind them or adjust the volume -- all things he knows how to do on his own, barring some complication -- because he simply wants the interaction. And every now and then there IS a complication, in which case he really does need help. But it's usually not clear until we go with him and assess the situation. After the bazillionth time, it is something we are reluctant to do. So, when he entered the kitchen with a request for help, my husband assumed it was yet another false video alarm. He refused to go, and sent him off with the encouraging words, "You know how to do it! You can do it yourself!" Max paused, but agreed, and took off down the hall. We found him in his room, gamely attempting to change his own messy pull-up. Ugh.<br /><br />But <span style="font-style: italic;">mostly</span> the changes have been good.<br /><br />We finally had a spell of warm weather recently, and the snow melted off the pavement, making our street and sidewalk visible for the first time in months. I desperately needed to get outside and feel the sunshine on my face, and decided to do just that. <span style="font-style: italic;">Without Max.</span> He's been sick, didn't want to go, was happily watching a movie just inside the front windows. He is clearly visible from outside. Our loop is a scant 1/3 mile, with a good portion of it in view of our house & yard. There is no traffic. Our neighbor was outside in his front yard. Max's brother was riding his bike in laps around the loop. I decided it could work. And by all my explaining here, it's probably clear that a) I don't want you to feel the need to call CPS or criticize me, and b) even though there are many reasons it <span style="font-style: italic;">sounded</span> like a workable idea, <span style="font-style: italic;">it wasn't. </span><br /><br />I noticed on the 2nd lap that I couldn't see him in the window, and there was no response to my maniacal waving. So I went inside the house to check on him. When he heard me enter the house, he came skittering down the hall from the bathroom, with a guilty look on his face. He was shaking his head no, and hiding his hand behind his back. I assumed the worst in a toilet-y sort of way, but the bathroom seemed fine. Then I noticed the fingernail clippers on the counter. And <a target="blank" href="http://i-am-micro-managing.blogspot.com/2009/10/wordless-wednesday-clipper-danger.html">that is NEVER a good sign</a>.<br /><br />Sure enough, I asked him what he had been doing and made him show me his hand... <br /><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTJivZdgvVu4TGWhE9pdEaVV7Hmzx8iUn9NQlDLLTzN3nUJn8ceai1_6W-F9YVNR3HveD0bH3zcx4eeqepGZXYMGYGfnvDrDnZdz64TYyW7lexwh-Vl5E-XpCpeMKa_32J5D27yC6DDpNJ/s1600-h/DSC02320.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTJivZdgvVu4TGWhE9pdEaVV7Hmzx8iUn9NQlDLLTzN3nUJn8ceai1_6W-F9YVNR3HveD0bH3zcx4eeqepGZXYMGYGfnvDrDnZdz64TYyW7lexwh-Vl5E-XpCpeMKa_32J5D27yC6DDpNJ/s400/DSC02320.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">...and THIS! This is what he had been doing -- trying to trim his own nails!<br /><br />Independence is a tricky thing. It's long overdue, yet way too soon. It's two steps forward, one step back. It's trial and error. It's mess and discomfort.<br /><br />But I'm trying to remind myself that it's positive. And beautiful. And necessary. For BOTH of us.<br />Just as long as it doesn't involve clippers. <br /></div></div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="blank"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7357638017545469616.post-69744301977190599422010-03-28T07:41:00.022-04:002010-04-01T06:39:39.299-04:00Sleeping Update<span style="font-weight: bold;">Sleep Update, Month 4. </span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /><br />1. The <a target="blank" href="http://i-am-micro-managing.blogspot.com/2010/03/come-closer.html">new sleeping arrangement</a> continues!<br /><br />2. <span style="font-style: italic;">Even through a bit of sickness!</span> (It was just a cold, but that is an incredibly encouraging sign. He did wake during the night and needed some help & comfort, but he went back to his own bed each time. That's huge.)<br /><br />3. Not only is Max sleeping through the night in his own room, but he's also falling asleep <span style="font-style: italic;">by himself</span>, in bed, ALONE! (That one fact might be an even bigger accomplishment than the location, frankly. There have been times when he slept in his own room, or slept through the night in our bed, but there has NEVER been a time when he fell asleep <span style="font-style: italic;">alone</span>.)<br /><br />4. And if <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> didn't impress you enough, here's one that will make you fall right off your computer chair -- <span style="font-style: italic;">Max wanted to read in bed and turn off his own light! </span> (It was a passing phase, but must be noted because of the incredible Wow Factor.) He tried it for a few nights, and though we left his room with crazy grins (and a hefty portion of doubt), <span style="font-style: italic;">he actually did it.</span> He looked at his books, then turned off his own lamp, and then went to sleep. That's some beautiful independence, there. (And imitation at its best!)<br /><br />***<br /><br />To truly appreciate how far we've come, I had to revisit some posts from the past. Follow the links to see both the <a target="blank" href="http://i-am-micro-managing.blogspot.com/2009/03/one-theory-about-why-i-have-insomnia_17.html">illustrated version</a> and the <a target="blank" href="http://i-am-micro-managing.blogspot.com/2009/03/one-theory-about-why-i-have-insomnia.html">wordy version</a> of our sleep struggle from ONE year ago, and <a target="blank" href="http://jujyfruitmcgee.blogspot.com/2008/04/rude-awakening.html">this little story</a> from TWO years ago.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7357638017545469616.post-61245153298035973352010-03-18T09:50:00.022-04:002010-03-18T11:02:49.965-04:00Shattered by Socks.This morning was not easy. It's a regular school day, so we were just going through the regular school day routine. It should have been simple, a choreographed 45-minute routine.<br /><br />Except my husband is out of town. And that changes everything, in Max's mind.<br /><br />Or maybe that wasn't it at all. I don't know.<span style="font-style: italic;"></span> (Which is precisely the point.)<br /><br />Max started to cry in the shower. He didn't want to be alone, he didn't want to get in, he didn't want to get out, he didn't want to be wet, he didn't want to be dried. But he was calm again after being wrapped in a towel and got dressed quietly and willingly. I thought he was fine.<br /><br />And then we got to the socks. I had grabbed a pair of socks from the very end of the supply, and had one sock on his foot when he suddenly realized that it was a pair he did NOT want to wear. Most of his socks are solid white, soft and stretchy, all an identical Max-approved brand. But there are a few random pairs that appear when the laundry is backed up and choice is limited.<br /><br />Max did <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> want to wear those socks. They didn't <span style="font-style: italic;">feel </span>right. They didn't <span style="font-style: italic;">look </span>right. They were simply not going to go on his feet today. So I went in search of a new, acceptable pair. I offered two other choices -- tube socks or footies -- knowing he typically disliked both, but they were all that was left. (And some days he's fine with them!) But not today. Today he got upset and flatly refused to cooperate any more. <span style="font-style: italic;">With anything. </span><br /><br /><br />I dug through the laundry basket and found yesterday's pair of dirty socks -- the last of the preferred kind -- and tried to put those on him. But he was done. The window of opportunity had already slammed shut.<br /><br />He cried, he gagged and puked, he scratched his face, and hit his head against the wall. He kept his bare feet far away from me, scrambling sideways like a crab, refusing to calm down or listen to reason.<br /><br />I kept telling him the bus was coming and he needed to let me put his socks and shoes on. I pointed out that the socks were his favorites. I gave him some time, hoping it would let him push his own re-set button. When that didn't work, I pleaded, I begged, I scolded, I threatened, I reasoned, I promised, I yelled, I wrestled, I pulled & I tugged. <br /><br />Then I slumped down, defeated & frustrated, buried my face in my hands, and <span style="font-style: italic;">cried. </span><br /><br />Max saw this and staggered over to me, his face crumpled and his arms out for a hug. He crawled onto my lap, wrapped his arms around me, and buried his face.<br /><br />We comforted each other for a moment, and then put those socks and shoes on.<br /><br />Generally speaking, once the situation is resolved, Max is over it. He forgives, he forgets, he doesn't hold a grudge, he regains control, and he moves on. <span style="font-style: italic;">But the rest of us can't.</span> We're shaken. We're upset. We're bothered, frustrated, sad, resentful, <span style="font-style: italic;">worried</span>.<br /><br />And today was no different. Max's tears ended, but my older son's <span style="font-style: italic;">started</span>. He waited for his own bus with tears dripping silently down his cheeks. And so my own eyes fill yet again. I tried to talk it through with him, but I'm at a loss myself. I don't understand why it happened. I don't know when it will happen again. I don't know how to prevent it from happening. (We can avoid those socks, obviously, but the reality is that it will be about something else next time.)<br /><br />Max got on the bus and left for school. He's ready, he knows what to do, and everything makes sense.<br /><br />But for those of us left in the wake of the storm, <span style="font-style: italic;">nothing </span>makes sense. We <span style="font-style: italic;">don't</span> know what to do. We <span style="font-style: italic;">aren't</span> ready for the day. <br /><br />I'm throwing away those socks and doing a load of laundry. But beyond that, I'm at a loss...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7357638017545469616.post-57737169221386518982010-03-13T11:14:00.003-05:002010-03-13T12:43:12.838-05:00Come Closer!I have a secret to tell you. Well, it's not really a secret...but it's one of those things that I'm scared to say out loud. <span style="font-style: italic;">But I'm bursting at the seams and I need to tell someone!</span> So lean in close and I'll whisper it in your ear....<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >MAX IS SLEEPING IN HIS OWN ROOM! BY HIMSELF! ALL NIGHT LONG!! <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />HE'S <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">SLEEEEEPINNNNG</span>!!!!!!!!!!!!!!</span></span><br /><br />(There are not enough exclamation points in the world.)<br /><br />Truth be told, he's been doing it for several weeks now. So it should "stick" -- <span style="font-style: italic;">right??</span> But we continue to tip-toe around in the evenings and keep our fingers crossed that he does not regress for any reason. I think that if I let him crawl in bed with me ONE SINGLE TIME, or if he comes down with the flu, <span style="font-style: italic;">or if a butterfly spreads its wings in China</span>, all that progress could vanish instantly. (But even then, I would know that we've made it here once before and we can do it again!)<br /><br />It took 3 months to get here. <span style="font-style: italic;">(That is, 3 months in addition to the 8 1/2 years of previous work!)</span> For 3 months, we faithfully recorded everything and worked towards this goal with a singular focus. We did not give in. We did not back down. We got creative. We changed some things. We added some things. AND IT WORKED.<br /><br />I have to add -- a small part of me wonders how much earlier this could have worked, and how many nights of frustration we could have avoided. I don't know. Maybe a year? I seriously don't think it could have happened much earlier than that. And it doesn't even matter now. But I do know this: the time was right and it went smoothly because HE was ready.<br /><br />There are things we did to help him <span style="font-style: italic;">be</span> ready, but the bottom line is that <span style="font-style: italic;">his</span> changes were more important than <span style="font-style: italic;">ours</span>.<br /><br />This is big, people. HUGE! <span style="font-style: italic;">(So DON'T EVEN <span style="font-weight: bold;">THINK</span> ABOUT IT!!) </span>*tossing salt over shoulder*Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7357638017545469616.post-11599765932642563172010-02-12T06:08:00.000-05:002010-03-13T12:33:16.274-05:00Valentine's Day<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipBPJGpx71LvX2lcBEmhMGTJFjw86ixZsnXv2tl2RWHY515WImDRFwPF2zkWyVA2RYhZsu-8C7i9NL1Gf_f9xxW0eye1zBI-_yND9c6YbAUMyPrWStR0GOor0B4aqApdPZ1djzPp-7CG3a/s1600-h/DSC01548.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipBPJGpx71LvX2lcBEmhMGTJFjw86ixZsnXv2tl2RWHY515WImDRFwPF2zkWyVA2RYhZsu-8C7i9NL1Gf_f9xxW0eye1zBI-_yND9c6YbAUMyPrWStR0GOor0B4aqApdPZ1djzPp-7CG3a/s400/DSC01548.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div>I baked giant heart-shaped cookies for Max's teachers and bus drivers while he worked on the Valentines for his classmates. He helped mix the food coloring into the icing and chose the sprinkles, but then moved on to his own project.<br /><br />I bought supplies for him to make his own Valentines this year: red paper, a variety of heart-shaped stickers, and treat bags to fill with candy. He spent a long time applying stickers and signing his name over and over.<br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQkf3cO9rAKft-kFE2G_LZv5PYO4cPChuOMgzeT03KwhTEs9F8c6Wpu_gpFHGVmG23eBexD-yzlyGEutVcJ9GslECeJO2gZ_ixlXheIZLjvuqvQKiP5h2sRSugamywFY9Flo8TRBVPuw1k/s1600-h/DSC01542.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQkf3cO9rAKft-kFE2G_LZv5PYO4cPChuOMgzeT03KwhTEs9F8c6Wpu_gpFHGVmG23eBexD-yzlyGEutVcJ9GslECeJO2gZ_ixlXheIZLjvuqvQKiP5h2sRSugamywFY9Flo8TRBVPuw1k/s400/DSC01542.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div>Even though the big kids said they were too old to exchange Valentines anymore, they ended up drawn to the table of supplies and had fun helping him out. All that <span style="font-style: italic;">love stuff</span> may be embarrassing for kids of a certain age, but we ALL enjoy Max's whole-hearted embrace of it. This is a holiday right down Max's alley. He simply LOVES to love. (Plus? <span style="font-style: italic;">Candy! Gifts! A PARTY! </span>It's pure fun<span style="font-style: italic;">.</span>)<br /><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUr6_NiGFBLYdLVTPGH18QgMASfEWMt2jHwq_jwvoaubiYOCRuhuuIrxWYiA3sqwRJ7TyWeJIFZCXM22Q_f39joOsEvIDsSyB_j7guITLmyXv1OYhcJZHV2DtE8QVOv1AViSMgPuiFpwz5/s1600-h/DSC01546.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUr6_NiGFBLYdLVTPGH18QgMASfEWMt2jHwq_jwvoaubiYOCRuhuuIrxWYiA3sqwRJ7TyWeJIFZCXM22Q_f39joOsEvIDsSyB_j7guITLmyXv1OYhcJZHV2DtE8QVOv1AViSMgPuiFpwz5/s400/DSC01546.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div>Ta-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Da</span>! The finished products are ready to deliver. (And Max is ready for bed.)<br /><br />Happy Valentine's Day!<br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQkf3cO9rAKft-kFE2G_LZv5PYO4cPChuOMgzeT03KwhTEs9F8c6Wpu_gpFHGVmG23eBexD-yzlyGEutVcJ9GslECeJO2gZ_ixlXheIZLjvuqvQKiP5h2sRSugamywFY9Flo8TRBVPuw1k/s1600-h/DSC01542.JPG"><br /></a> </div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7357638017545469616.post-81148749918592638422010-02-10T12:50:00.000-05:002010-02-10T12:55:11.755-05:00Rachel<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguCK9JiRHGnpcI36p1SppqvMWkY31diPwunOYY20Erj9-zHSCoOBPCQvxCvqio0_BpNEwk7V3vq24P_wookJigQr3sR5byHW4d6b2_z-DlD8Ct41NwErMh-pzT9kz0AX5jcOEOthKILoK9/s1600-h/DSC01540.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguCK9JiRHGnpcI36p1SppqvMWkY31diPwunOYY20Erj9-zHSCoOBPCQvxCvqio0_BpNEwk7V3vq24P_wookJigQr3sR5byHW4d6b2_z-DlD8Ct41NwErMh-pzT9kz0AX5jcOEOthKILoK9/s400/DSC01540.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a> </div>I have been putting off this particular post far too long. Those of you who know me in real life already know the heart-breaking story I need to tell, but if you happen to follow my blog without that real-life connection, you have been left <a target="blank" href="http://i-am-micro-managing.blogspot.com/2010/01/waiting.html">waiting</a>.<br /><br />How I wish I had a happy ending for you. But I don't.<br /><br />Every time I sit down to type it, I am paralyzed by the enormity of the situation. How can the beauty of a child's life be captured in a <span style="font-style: italic;">blog post</span>? How can grief be expressed in html code and jpegs? It can't, of course. It's absurd.<br /><br />But here's the thing: <span style="font-style: italic;">the internet is what brought us together in the first place. </span>Though Rachel and I never met face-to-face, my life was greatly impacted by that intangible connection I felt to her and to her mom. Our relationship wasn't just meaningless type floating back and forth through modems and cables. It was <span style="font-style: italic;">real</span>. It was <span style="font-style: italic;">significant</span>.<br /><br />***<br /><br />When my son was diagnosed with microcephaly, I turned to the internet. That is where I found the most information and the most support; it was where the <span style="font-weight: bold;">true</span> experts were -- <span style="font-style: italic;">other parents</span>. An entire community is gathered here, full of information, stories, pictures, acceptance, help, encouragement, humor, wisdom, support. In the hundreds of online voices, certain ones began to stick out to me. They were the ones that I could identify with most closely -- whether from shared experience, compatible perspectives, similar frustrations, parallel goals, or even sanity-saving humor. I found this common ground with Rachel's mom.<br /><br />Our two kids had many similarities. They were both physically active, spirited, independent, challenging, charming, loving little rascals that had continued to surprise the experts and shatter predictions. We commiserated over the never-ending messes and frustration of challenging behaviors, and cheered together over milestones met & skills achieved. We laughed about the humorous moments, and warmed at the gentle ones.<br /><br />Rachel was several years older than Max, so in many ways I viewed her as his role model. None of the textbooks or doctors or specialists could predict Max's future, but I saw a new potential path by looking at Rachel. In her, I caught glimpses of what he might look like in 2-3 years' time. Her astounding success with her talker, with letters and spelling, with problem-solving, with cleverness & humor -- it all helped me to believe that <span style="font-style: italic;">every bit of it was possible.</span> That we needed to keep trying, keep working, keep believing the best, keep expecting more.<br /><br />And Rachel's mom inspired me, too. She made me feel less alone on this journey. She "got" me. She could hear my deepest fears and darkest thoughts, yet always managed to revel in the mystery, and consistently remained her daughter's number one fan. She reminded me to embrace the magic.<br /><br />***<br /><br />The other reason this post is so hard to type is because it's really not my story to share. I feel like I am trespassing on sacred ground.<br /><br />I am hesitant, knowing that Rachel's story is far deeper than I can post here, and far larger than the small points of overlap with mine. I write this out of a desire to proclaim her bright, shining existence and unforgettable spark. I write this to acknowledge the impact she had on me. I write this to remember.<br /><br />Rachel left this world just as she once entered it -- with her parents by her side, in a hospital room filled with boundless, endless love. <br /><br />Her funeral was heart-breaking and beautiful, filled with moments of laughter and rivers of tears, abundant love and wrenching grief. I carried away with me a sense of comfort that is created when shattered hearts are bonded together with the glue of community, soothed with the balm of shared love and the gentle wrappings of memory. I also carried away with me a continuing ache for her family members, who are now forced to redefine themselves, to find a way to carry on, to thrive even in the face of overwhelming grief. A piece of my heart remains with them still, as I long to ease their pain.<br /><br />There is a large Rachel-sized hole in the world. She leaves behind two younger brothers, her devoted parents, and numerous friends and relatives, neighbors and classmates, teachers<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>and <span style="font-style: italic;">students</span>, doctors and therapists, supporters and admirers -- young and old, near and far, past and present. The number of people whose lives have been touched by this one amazing girl, <span style="font-style: italic;">and forever changed as a result</span>, is inspiring. She brought seemingly disparate lives together. She made all of us become better people. She created an amazing community, for herself <span style="font-style: italic;">and for us</span>, and her memory lives on in our hearts.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7357638017545469616.post-25872710292255550072010-01-19T12:49:00.003-05:002010-01-19T12:51:02.035-05:00Waiting.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE3PKiD4vcLmAJZLOskKUexeAG_KM5-iYKJOt8zXGQfRWw8ZAwoPEKRfVdSGXmAMjHbbZkIuTal19IEsmXpqjziVOEz1huxWeOf-Bbwz9VOwKdfI6tcrewJngHoqy4u58xFEY6wSlHyTJQ/s1600-h/DSC01528.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE3PKiD4vcLmAJZLOskKUexeAG_KM5-iYKJOt8zXGQfRWw8ZAwoPEKRfVdSGXmAMjHbbZkIuTal19IEsmXpqjziVOEz1huxWeOf-Bbwz9VOwKdfI6tcrewJngHoqy4u58xFEY6wSlHyTJQ/s400/DSC01528.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428506461508833778" border="0" /></a><br />A dear friend of mine is in the hospital, at her daughter's side, waiting. Waiting for news, waiting for tests, waiting for results, waiting for miracles, waiting for signs, ....waiting.<br /><br />Her daughter had a stroke. <br /><br />My fingers can't begin to understand the import of the words they just typed. My mind can't, either. That is a sentence that simply <span style="font-style: italic;">should not exist.</span> <br /><br />I can think of little else today as I sit in waiting, my gaze wandering between the quiet stillness of the snow outside my window, and the flame of a candle, lit in honor of sweet Rachel and her fiery spirit, which is burning on the window sill below.<br /><br />If you are the praying type, please do so.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7357638017545469616.post-42207414949732691592009-12-23T23:01:00.007-05:002009-12-23T23:39:49.954-05:00Wordless Wednesday: Santa Has Been Informed -- Max Wants a Movie<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw3ha1QegycasY7CrsSWI7VZuoSL-wF_W1NUxaQoa7qgFHxGlUNa_w9cUb46uK360H_UN5nX9QJgUcX_g36_ac0DxwRzbT1N2DI30nH4yDIa4Wlywy11BZdto0CRUS1mIiAAIVxWcEQLpX/s1600-h/Flatbed.BMP.jpg"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw3ha1QegycasY7CrsSWI7VZuoSL-wF_W1NUxaQoa7qgFHxGlUNa_w9cUb46uK360H_UN5nX9QJgUcX_g36_ac0DxwRzbT1N2DI30nH4yDIa4Wlywy11BZdto0CRUS1mIiAAIVxWcEQLpX/s400/Flatbed.BMP.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">"Cheeeeeeese!"</span></span><br /><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" align="middle" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7357638017545469616.post-52498581078836291802009-12-15T13:04:00.016-05:002009-12-15T14:52:47.607-05:00A Christmas SURPRISE!Last night I was reading over Max's weekly review sheet from school. It's always helpful to see what they've been working on so I can talk about those things with him here at home. Last week was brought to us by <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic;">the color red</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">the number 17, the sign for "snow"</span>....and <span style="font-style: italic;">working on</span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"> A Christmas Surprise.</span><br /><br />I asked Max about each these things, and he got so incredibly excited about the SURPRISE! that he nearly jumped right out of his socks. He kept exclaiming "PIES!" (his version of "SURPRISE!") while beaming from ear to ear and jumping around with glee.<br /><br />We always joke that our secrets are safe with Max. And when he truly does have a secret, I never ask him to tell me what it is. (<span style="font-style: italic;">Partly</span> because I don't think he would be able to tell me, but <span style="font-style: italic;">mostly </span>because it just isn't fair to tempt him to spill the beans like that.)<br /><br />But last night, <span style="font-style: italic;">I did.</span><br /><br />We were talking back and forth about this fabulous SURPRISE! over and over and over...and finally I just asked, <span style="font-style: italic;">"What is it??"</span><br /><br />He yelled, "CAKE!" and then promptly fell off the stool in all his excitement.<br /><br />His delight was so pure and the novelty of having this SURPRISE! just wasn't wearing off, so I did what I always do at moments like this -- I pulled out the camera for some video footage. <br /><br /><object height="300" width="400"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=8196294&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=0&show_portrait=0&color=00ADEF&fullscreen=1"><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=8196294&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=0&show_portrait=0&color=00ADEF&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" height="300" width="400"></embed></object><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/8196294">A Christmas Surprise!</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user1485849">Jujyfruit</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.<br /><br />I have no idea if the surprise really is <span style="font-style: italic;">cake</span> (as he told me off camera), or if it is a mysterious Christmas-related item that sounds like <span style="font-style: italic;">"Kai-ooo!"</span> (as he told his dad in the video), or if it is something altogether different.<br /><br />But I can tell you this: I'm really eager to find out. <span style="font-style: italic;">His excitement is contagious! </span><br /><br />*****<br />Also, I wanted to point out that this video captures another one of Max's enduring (and endearing) quirks -- <span style="font-weight: bold;">his confusion about using the pronouns "you" and "me."</span> It's an oddly circular grammar rule and our attempts to correct his usage sometimes turn into little <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sShMA85pv8M"><span style="font-style: italic;">"Who's on first?"</span></a> comedy routines.<br /><br />Think about it -- how DO you teach that? Modeling doesn't work, because what WE say is always the opposite of what HE should say. My brother actually tried switching them once, saying "you" as he pointed to himself and then "me" as he pointed to Max...but then Max mimicked, <span style="font-style: italic;">just the way we always want him to, </span>and the pronouns were still exactly opposite.<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Oh, to get inside that brain of his! </span><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7357638017545469616.post-82904525798455257672009-12-08T08:04:00.008-05:002009-12-15T13:04:30.669-05:00Back to the Basics...and True Mom Confessions<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcU9NqqcFgoWqSjNOAC7NH3628yba84e0qLiwl2lCHCBaHul06q55Wjqwxiarg2Ye8QVNjhoUzA84N0Ft0uMPA3YwCXksuOWbZLYpCv4dGNVfOK7h3H8uJ1DPkGipymXWJEEyDpQZxJR5s/s1600-h/DSC01027.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcU9NqqcFgoWqSjNOAC7NH3628yba84e0qLiwl2lCHCBaHul06q55Wjqwxiarg2Ye8QVNjhoUzA84N0Ft0uMPA3YwCXksuOWbZLYpCv4dGNVfOK7h3H8uJ1DPkGipymXWJEEyDpQZxJR5s/s400/DSC01027.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div>Max was sick all weekend and stayed home from school on Monday. It's not often that he and I are home all alone, just the two of us, for an entire day.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">True Mom Confession:</span> I sort of <span style="font-style: italic;">like </span>sick days with kids. I mean when they aren't TOO sick and miserable, of course. I'm talking about those <span style="font-style: italic;">sort-of</span> sick days, when they are <span style="font-style: italic;">almost</span> better, but not <span style="font-style: italic;">completely</span>. They're bored from all that time spent feeling lousy and laying around and watching TV and sleeping, so they're totally ready to DO something. But at the same time, they're still feeling kind of fragile. That means they are highly moldable. Snuggle-able. <span style="font-style: italic;">Content.</span> Energy is low, but connections are high. They're glad simply to be feeling better, and suddenly realize they can reap the benefits of all that precious one-on-one time. Don't get me wrong -- my kids get vaccinated and we wash hands frequently and<span style="font-style: italic;"> if you have the flu you will definitely not be welcomed here!</span> I'm just sayin'...a slight illness now and then is actually kinda nice. <span style="font-style: italic;">Does that make me a bad mom? (Or just an </span>honest<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>one?)</span><br /><br />So anyway. Monday was a day like that. The worst was over, Max was happy, the house was quiet, his usual tv shows had FINALLY lost their allure. It was the perfect day to go back to the basics, where <span style="font-style: italic;">basics</span> equals <span style="font-style: italic;">all those good things I used to do when the kids were little that I don't really do anymore</span>.<br /><br />The most exciting thing we did was <a target="blank" href="http://www.creativekidsathome.com/activities/activity_8.html#Cooked%20%28flour%20and%20salt%29">making homemade play dough</a>. Max enjoyed the cooking process (though was very upset that I wouldn't let him stir the <span style="font-style: italic;">burning hot pan</span> of ingredients or play with it <span style="font-style: italic;">immediately</span>), and he had fun choosing which two colors to add to the finished product. <br /><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOAZhBIg3U7loH_VY7hlEoHbEy6y-673Bg6f3Xi2mwtwi0DweHyFmOpBC0CS_s6QZZMZrKcgv3WX6oPBguStXz9mj4f3FIHOT1T1o8yKsjnDUQfaMKjIDUt1LqvIeqcLPyFPovfW-UJEr3/s1600-h/DSC01031.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOAZhBIg3U7loH_VY7hlEoHbEy6y-673Bg6f3Xi2mwtwi0DweHyFmOpBC0CS_s6QZZMZrKcgv3WX6oPBguStXz9mj4f3FIHOT1T1o8yKsjnDUQfaMKjIDUt1LqvIeqcLPyFPovfW-UJEr3/s400/DSC01031.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><br />We played with the dough for a long time. Each time his attention began to fade, I pulled out a new trick. <span style="font-style: italic;">Stamps! Knives! Cookie cutters! Look -- PRETEND PIZZAS!</span> He requested that I make <span style="font-style: italic;">violins</span>, which I actually managed to do. Then he wanted me to make his favorite <span style="font-style: italic;">Christmas song</span>. (That one totally stumped me.) I distracted him by making one of his other favorite things, instead -- <span style="font-style: italic;">his name</span>.<br /> <br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBlukROamnBKjFBqnRkuMLMyTsavHbUzZVfQiumf-QDdUg6AhZUso-aX5OtqyeHbJuRLpSUQ187oMHJTnkY0PhJVbXwpQ6XaWDUO_olmiWrRxvb2yipzlt_cqhw4GnyHmcjJkbWrGdrzxu/s1600-h/DSC01028.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBlukROamnBKjFBqnRkuMLMyTsavHbUzZVfQiumf-QDdUg6AhZUso-aX5OtqyeHbJuRLpSUQ187oMHJTnkY0PhJVbXwpQ6XaWDUO_olmiWrRxvb2yipzlt_cqhw4GnyHmcjJkbWrGdrzxu/s400/DSC01028.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><br />This was a good day, illness and all. <br /><br />Just a nice quiet day with a boy and his mom. <br /><br />And some play dough. <br /><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_eE8ZRaepJ4gJe9Rvvk2Q4Ex0p2P7FCbenccxcp0umPSOtcqf1kBOVQBeZgzd5d6d6c8cFSKBPN9mIenCfg6OySt9xKdg_3UtkUFqSKPWnCALLHU1-jYrRIOT27f6LkevPsGrs7t2Z6An/s1600-h/DSC01026.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_eE8ZRaepJ4gJe9Rvvk2Q4Ex0p2P7FCbenccxcp0umPSOtcqf1kBOVQBeZgzd5d6d6c8cFSKBPN9mIenCfg6OySt9xKdg_3UtkUFqSKPWnCALLHU1-jYrRIOT27f6LkevPsGrs7t2Z6An/s400/DSC01026.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOAZhBIg3U7loH_VY7hlEoHbEy6y-673Bg6f3Xi2mwtwi0DweHyFmOpBC0CS_s6QZZMZrKcgv3WX6oPBguStXz9mj4f3FIHOT1T1o8yKsjnDUQfaMKjIDUt1LqvIeqcLPyFPovfW-UJEr3/s1600-h/DSC01031.JPG"><br /></a> <div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">Having said all that, it's now high time for Max to go back to school.<br /><br />*<span style="font-style: italic;">Giving him Sudafed and quickly wiping away the tell-tale line of snot as I push him out the door and wave merrily at the bus driver.*<br /><br /></span>Because here's my other True Mom Confession: <span style="font-style: italic;">I really, really, REALLY love </span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">school days, </span><span style="font-style: italic;">too.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span><br /></div><br /><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7357638017545469616.post-63893228018852070412009-12-07T12:02:00.004-05:002010-03-13T11:08:50.825-05:00Wordless Wednesday: Chex Mix....for Breakfast?<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZOKY5O_KN-PG3f7Q682DoyRZTEejxKsznJMi0dhPbqdWDVaYs-D8BQEpOMhKVI_pYQVJ0RiNQdutziabM-3Pj9sEFCWQu2EPlp2cdgCF4zwPQE50m0nGTY21bcjBYrMM01ByIHzDlDZro/s1600-h/DSC01018.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZOKY5O_KN-PG3f7Q682DoyRZTEejxKsznJMi0dhPbqdWDVaYs-D8BQEpOMhKVI_pYQVJ0RiNQdutziabM-3Pj9sEFCWQu2EPlp2cdgCF4zwPQE50m0nGTY21bcjBYrMM01ByIHzDlDZro/s400/DSC01018.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >(Sure, why not?)</span><br /><br /></div><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi12Yg0aebnMYosKokWYI86RmsJi8RGagBV4tRA0XIL_XqXnINcF1t8LTuvMvT7SYWYAkw_Z2TQGc6AElPzkyuyafxDA433ePymnJeQM7L0luzZAjITsKMmfoX-HNSA3q3GINFSvhTxgDJv/s1600-h/DSC01021.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi12Yg0aebnMYosKokWYI86RmsJi8RGagBV4tRA0XIL_XqXnINcF1t8LTuvMvT7SYWYAkw_Z2TQGc6AElPzkyuyafxDA433ePymnJeQM7L0luzZAjITsKMmfoX-HNSA3q3GINFSvhTxgDJv/s400/DSC01021.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(Yep, corn nuts, garlic salt, and all...!)</span></span><br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXCTbWwIgrL9UVudC-AsQjPw3aURuupy_27RUg5DlVBxFtiDjGEeFNEd3ZJ8s0gyo70DZvd4hwxFdWf3VuH2elhTfUElCSj6KkRmP6CrtnoVYb4bgEkC2LJ5FrvBKly5b-wFRPLanfHLWI/s1600-h/DSC01023.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXCTbWwIgrL9UVudC-AsQjPw3aURuupy_27RUg5DlVBxFtiDjGEeFNEd3ZJ8s0gyo70DZvd4hwxFdWf3VuH2elhTfUElCSj6KkRmP6CrtnoVYb4bgEkC2LJ5FrvBKly5b-wFRPLanfHLWI/s400/DSC01023.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(Signing "X")</span></span><br /><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7357638017545469616.post-18210406570732110742009-12-05T11:11:00.000-05:002009-12-10T10:15:52.168-05:00Sick.<div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">The <a target="blank" href="http://i-am-micro-managing.blogspot.com/2009/12/only-string-we-have-to-fear.html">string incident</a> should have been my first clue. Yes, Max is sensitive to strings, but such a STRONG reaction should have made me realize he was feeling slightly "off" in general. <br /><br />Clearly, the runny nose was a second clue. But it wasn't that bad. (As I said, it was <span style="font-style: italic;">clear</span>. heh.)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">So there were signs. But none of them was a flashing red arrow.<br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />But then I happened upon this scene:<br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDElA_Rji2OWWNPRgYZWvQ4F5oMVrt5w5eA_ee4wEGHdoSct6fwXT3vcFRzSxBax7qLF4rhrQwLehc6Kt4B9yhfW1zmpVEv9z-oi2WJpK1liMX1sW5Xo6sRGm8B-ya1cDY3Rcrm1q8nSqZ/s1600-h/DSC00988.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDElA_Rji2OWWNPRgYZWvQ4F5oMVrt5w5eA_ee4wEGHdoSct6fwXT3vcFRzSxBax7qLF4rhrQwLehc6Kt4B9yhfW1zmpVEv9z-oi2WJpK1liMX1sW5Xo6sRGm8B-ya1cDY3Rcrm1q8nSqZ/s400/DSC00988.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><br />THAT, my friends, is a Flashing Red Arrow. (As well as one of the saddest little scenes I've come across in a while.) <br /><br />Max loves his videos with a passion. It's a loud, messy, hands-on, interactive, busy type of passion. For him, watching videos is practically a sport. We are constantly reminding him to pick ONE movie, to turn down the volume, to back up, to sit down, to LEAVE THE BATTERIES IN THE REMOTE, and COME DOWN FROM THERE!<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span>But today he was in a dark room. All by himself. With a barely audible soundtrack from one silently spinning DVD. He was perched on a hard ledge at the far opposite end of the room, quietly rubbing his shirt seams. He hasn't made a single peep, yet the message is loud and clear.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Max is sick. </span><br /><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"> </a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7357638017545469616.post-57841220166795648222009-12-04T16:04:00.003-05:002009-12-09T14:14:00.165-05:00The Only String We Have to Fear...<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJEbVn1l0ww4UwSoVWIRNY4czO5UzZBZr28h9_OHiKA3TEjPAfZuj74MwbF_cC4G3c6S-ecYAXfa8ENNu2fDXrC894EdFBU937vZxERh-DUKcDZZDgg3q1yYK9qh3nQrxRNuSWhHyChdxF/s1600-h/DSC00979.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJEbVn1l0ww4UwSoVWIRNY4czO5UzZBZr28h9_OHiKA3TEjPAfZuj74MwbF_cC4G3c6S-ecYAXfa8ENNu2fDXrC894EdFBU937vZxERh-DUKcDZZDgg3q1yYK9qh3nQrxRNuSWhHyChdxF/s400/DSC00979.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">Strings, yarn, dangling ties, long fringe -- they're all banned in our house. The reason is simple; they make Max puke. It's not enough just to keep the offending strings out of his face or away from his fingers, either. He gags on sight alone.<br /><br />Today I wore a new sweater. <span style="font-style: italic;">(You already see where this is going, right?)</span> I put it on after Max left for school this morning, so didn't give much thought to the draw strings dangling so <span style="font-style: italic;">flamboyantly</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">offensively</span> down the front. The sweater is a basic gray, zip-up, hoodie type --the kind of thing I often wear -- so I promptly proceeded to forget about it, actually. I wore it all day without a second thought....<span style="font-style: italic;">until Max got home.</span><br /><br />I was standing in the driveway to greet the bus, like normal. And he <span style="font-style: italic;">started</span> down the stairs, like normal, but then something changed. He gave me a weird look and then he stopped in his tracks, refusing to budge. I didn't catch on to what was happening, so I moved in <span style="font-style: italic;">even closer</span> to grab his hand and coax him on down the stairs, tugging at him while I rolled my eyes and chatted cluelessly with the driver. Then Max stepped down onto the driveway, turned dramatically away from me, leaned over, and puked. <span style="font-style: italic;">Repeatedly. </span><br /><br />Oops. <br /><br />In that split second, I suddenly realized what the problem was and grabbed my strings, tucked them out of sight, then wrapped my arms around myself to keep everything firmly in place and securely hidden. Max followed me -- warily, at a distance -- into the house while I assured him we were going straight to the scissors <span style="font-style: italic;">to cut those strings off.</span> <br /><br />Max hovered near the sink <span style="font-style: italic;">(just in case)</span> while witnessing the operation, and then continued to give those strings the ol' stink eye while I quickly photographed them lying on the counter. <span style="font-size:78%;">(<span style="font-style: italic;">What?</span> It only took a second!) </span><br /><br />Order has been restored. All is well. Nevertheless, we have officially upgraded our household security alert to Code Orange. We urge you to go about your regular business, but <span style="font-weight: bold;">PLEASE</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">remain on the lookout for any suspicious strings in the area and report them to your nearest authorities!</span> Thank you.<br /><br /></div><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7357638017545469616.post-2252610760291658092009-11-26T09:10:00.002-05:002009-12-07T16:31:58.668-05:00Happy Thanksgiving<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1H54dSiXBpNZMa8pe0oqL3Zaau_PUrTR8DWsIcR1K3NEVC2SRtZTvGDiLB_HVg0ntpXaFv3PduzgOwtJoUIabDXSqdVEPL4TzOrx8kLfbDF6TXkr1PLfi4GJNtIua8H47FFDmqsVI8Ogk/s1600-h/DSC00986.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1H54dSiXBpNZMa8pe0oqL3Zaau_PUrTR8DWsIcR1K3NEVC2SRtZTvGDiLB_HVg0ntpXaFv3PduzgOwtJoUIabDXSqdVEPL4TzOrx8kLfbDF6TXkr1PLfi4GJNtIua8H47FFDmqsVI8Ogk/s400/DSC00986.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div>Don't you love craft projects that your kids bring home from school? I do. (Seriously, I do!) I especially love this turkey that Max brought home because I can tell he really did glue those feathers on all by himself. <br /><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgdow7IOuBOVVLTJwdjLA32MV7YConYTXWH8RXxIiTp01UJKRk9RWkqXlKDFIMWdRfd5Wu6lyr-LpeMbAl88zHOx-b2il8MAQzlBei0QDjCa2ZxnbZeEHX1Msh52Z74TcJmB2nRD-CEOnJ/s1600-h/DSC00987.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgdow7IOuBOVVLTJwdjLA32MV7YConYTXWH8RXxIiTp01UJKRk9RWkqXlKDFIMWdRfd5Wu6lyr-LpeMbAl88zHOx-b2il8MAQzlBei0QDjCa2ZxnbZeEHX1Msh52Z74TcJmB2nRD-CEOnJ/s400/DSC00987.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div>May your day be filled with thanksgiving & laughter, friends & family....and syrupy waffles. <span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(grin)</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7357638017545469616.post-36270575712337197942009-11-22T08:37:00.003-05:002009-11-22T08:41:50.074-05:00TapToTalk for Nintendo DS!<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-cNtKYD0gkw2hYRumeBg9ngSWXgJv8HcE9HFKkDKXUUP89clwhopv7Uabl_f2D3aA06sbGMpP6wKgeLnVcDV2AjBVbQOYZkf7EAnKqXIFDA1bK9NvF4amWVjjm9SsQHKBBpLOXiOhyugP/s1600/tttondsi2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 382px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-cNtKYD0gkw2hYRumeBg9ngSWXgJv8HcE9HFKkDKXUUP89clwhopv7Uabl_f2D3aA06sbGMpP6wKgeLnVcDV2AjBVbQOYZkf7EAnKqXIFDA1bK9NvF4amWVjjm9SsQHKBBpLOXiOhyugP/s400/tttondsi2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406250421477243362" border="0" /></a><a target="blank" href="http://www.taptotalk.com/"><img alt="TapToTalk" style="border: 1px solid rgb(79, 129, 189);" src="http://www.taptotalk.com/images/t3link.png" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(click the button to visit the product website)</span></span><br /><br /></div>Last night I was browsing on the <a target="blank" href="http://teachinglearnerswithmultipleneeds.blogspot.com/">Teaching Learners With Multiple Special Needs</a> blog and saw the most intriguing post -- <a target="blank" href="http://teachinglearnerswithmultipleneeds.blogspot.com/2009/11/two-ways-to-make-nintendo-ds-aac-device.html">Two Ways to Make Nintendo DS an AAC Device</a>. <span style="font-style: italic;">(Three cheers for Kate!)</span><br /><br />I have been scouring the web for more information and have decided that this might be IT, you guys! This might be exactly what we've been looking for! It runs on a Nintendo, people. <span style="font-style: italic;">A NINTENDO!</span><br /><br /><object height="364" width="445"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/HH1SADGD0Yo&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/HH1SADGD0Yo&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="364" width="445"></embed></object><br /><br />You have heard me repeatedly grappling with the issue of<a target="blank" href="http://i-am-micro-managing.blogspot.com/2009/08/heres-diy-budget-friendly-aac-option.html"> communication</a>, and with the frustratng and overwhelming task of <a target="blank" href="http://i-am-micro-managing.blogspot.com/2009/03/dr-seusss-aacs.html">finding an appropriate AAC device</a> for my son. And, honestly, this is the first thing I've seen in several years that I am <span style="font-style: italic;">ready to BUY</span>.<br /><br />Here's why.<br /><ul><li>First of all, <span style="font-weight: bold;">it has a dynamic display</span>.*<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>We've tried devices in the past that have only one level, but they are way too basic for our purposes. We've tried devices that can switch between several pre-programmed levels with different printable sheets or cards to swap in and out, but they are impractical (and, again, too limiting). On the other end of the spectrum are the very sophisticated dynamic display formats with <span style="font-style: italic;">so many levels and choices</span> that my son gets completely lost or distracted. The TapToTalk program seems to offer a solid <span style="font-style: italic;">middle</span> ground, which is what we need right now. </li></ul><span style="font-size:85%;">*</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">Dynamic display</span> means the user can navigate through levels by selecting options and advancing through screen after screen with increasingly narrow/specific options. Go to the <a target="blank" href="http://www.taptotalk.com/demo.aspx">online TapToTalk demo</a> to try it for yourself.</span><ul><li>I'm listing this second, but it's a <span style="font-style: italic;">major</span><span> selling point</span>: <span style="font-weight: bold;">TapToTalk is <span style="font-style: italic;">affordable</span></span>. The one-year subscription cost for the TapToTalk service is only $99 -- a far cry from the $7,000-$9,000 price tags we've been dismayed to find on other devices. We already have a Nintendo DS, <span style="font-style: italic;">so for around a hundred dollars we could be set up!</span> Not only does that relieve an enormous amount of pressure for making The "Perfect" AAC Decision, but it also means there's no major funding required, and therefore <span style="font-style: italic;">no insurance, no paperwork, no waiting period, no grant-writing, no approvals, no jumping through hoops, either!</span> (In addition, the company offers a 30-day return policy, so if I'm <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> impressed with it, I could actually send it back and put that hundred dollars right back in the AAC fund. There's no risk.)<br /></li><br /><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">It looks <span style="font-style: italic;">doable</span></span>. I know this kind of programming always takes more time than I expect it to, but there are lots of good online tutorials and it really doesn't look complicated. I could start out with a basic outline for immediate use, and then tweak and edit and continue to build over time as needed; the customizing potential is great. In addition, the program navigation is so intuitive that I know we can <span style="font-style: italic;">hit the ground running</span> and not get bogged down in learning a new language or reading complex training manuals. That's important, because there are very few resources or specialists in this area to turn to for assistance; I am, by necessity, <span style="font-style: italic;">the expert. </span><span>I can do this!<br /></span></li></ul><ul><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">It's replaceable</span>. My son is hard on electronic equipment. I mean <span style="font-style: italic;">*really*</span> hard. He loves hand-held games and players....but it's still very likely that he will get too rough, or throw it, or drop it, or mess with the hinges, or pull on the cords, etc. <span style="font-size:85%;">(We have a Nerf protective shell and screen clings for ours, but I am still worried about those fragile </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >hinges</span><span style="font-size:85%;">....)</span> But this is basic, light-weight <span style="font-style: italic;">gaming equipment</span> we're talking about! The hardware (platform) itself could be replaced, and the software is accessible online. That means the content can be downloaded again if anything goes missing. Breakage would not be a major tragedy; I <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span> like that.<br /></li></ul><ul><li>Nintendo DS<span style="font-weight: bold;"> is a familiar platform</span> for my son. He can already navigate on a Gameboy, and he's watched his older brother play on a DS many times. I'm confident he can figure this program out very quickly. In addition to being small, portable, and readily available, this system would also let him be <span style="font-style: italic;">just like his brother</span>. (That's highly motivating stuff, right there.)<br /></li></ul>Is anybody else out there as excited as I am? I can't wait to get <strike>my hands</strike> <span style="font-style: italic;">my son's hands</span> on this! <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span><span>I have no idea whether this program will prove to be a disappointing flop, a valuable stepping stone, or a permanent solution for communicating with our son...but I am absolutely thrilled to discover TapToTalk as <span style="font-style: italic;">such a wonderfully practical and accessible AAC option!</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7357638017545469616.post-78323836301674685482009-11-19T09:37:00.001-05:002009-11-19T09:40:41.171-05:00Losing My Marbles<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj21o7Ycv0M6YaEm_Qkvt52RX7Cfk2OXHcA9UBrbmXetVur5uMvBR_UWhmjf71FYh7XkB0sTRMnNk1s_jiCcYlXaQSTWBBAWiv5tPsYQVozhU2oOc7Mu1FVQm1vqyCOvtTYtaR_EEXuV7ux/s1600/DSC00596.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj21o7Ycv0M6YaEm_Qkvt52RX7Cfk2OXHcA9UBrbmXetVur5uMvBR_UWhmjf71FYh7XkB0sTRMnNk1s_jiCcYlXaQSTWBBAWiv5tPsYQVozhU2oOc7Mu1FVQm1vqyCOvtTYtaR_EEXuV7ux/s320/DSC00596.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404695338178337490" border="0" /></a>I'm going to tell you about a dream I had last night. Because everybody <span style="font-weight: bold;">loves </span><span>that!</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> <span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >(I'm saying that tongue-in-cheek, of course, having finally un-glazed my own eyes after an extremely detailed recounting I was just forced to listen to over breakfast.)</span> <span style="font-size:100%;"></span><br /><br />Seriously, I do realize that making you read about my dream is kind of weird, but I'm going to do it <span>anyway</span>. I'll keep it short.<br /><br />*****<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This happened, that happened, another thing happened...</span>and then I found myself leading Max through a crowded balcony to go sit with someone I could see about halfway up. The balcony was <span style="font-style: italic;">in a church</span>, and the church service was <span style="font-style: italic;">in progress</span>. It was very quiet, and we were facing rows of people, and I was trying to make our entrance as discreetly as possible.<br /><br />Now the thing that made this whole scenario really challenging (and <span style="font-style: italic;">dreamlike</span>, and <span style="font-style: italic;">worthy of repeating</span>) was that <span style="font-weight: bold;">Max kept turning into a marble.</span><br /><br />The balcony was full of pews and steps and hard, echo-y floors (not to mention all the <span style="font-style: italic;">people </span>with their <span style="font-style: italic;">feet</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">purses</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">WATCHING EYES</span>) and my marble just kept rolling out of reach, ricocheting, dropping loudly down the stairs, and landing in the darnedest places. I kept shuffling through areas and reaching under people's seats to retrieve my little marble, and would set it back on track, only to have it roll away once again. I didn't know why my marble wasn't following me better through that maze of balcony, but I kept trying <span style="font-style: italic;">again and again and again. </span><br /><br />The entire incident was confusing and frustrating and embarrassing and <span style="font-style: italic;">thank goodness, I woke up.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(Don't really need a dream interpretation manual for this one, eh?)</span><br /><br />*****<br /><span>Incidentally, the photo at the top of this post is one I took a couple weeks ago after noticing the bathroom door wasn't shutting correctly. </span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Coincidence?</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7357638017545469616.post-75748042643135653492009-11-19T06:02:00.004-05:002009-11-19T08:37:54.061-05:00Viola.This has absolutely nothing to do with my son or microcephaly or <span style="font-style: italic;">anything at all, really,</span> but I just realized that I accidentally typed "viola!" instead of <span style="font-style: italic;">"voila!"</span> <a target="blank" href="http://i-am-micro-managing.blogspot.com/2009/11/spackle-patch.html">back there</a>. I couldn't help myself -- I HAD to go back and correct it.<br /><br />But now I have the giggles and almost wish I had just left it alone. I mean, who couldn't use a little laugh as they randomly stumble across that typo over time, right?<br /><br />I'm thinking about adopting it as my new <span style="font-style: italic;">go-to</span> exclamation. It's clean, it's catchy, it lends itself well to dramatic pronunciation, and it works to express everything from breathless appreciation (<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">"Ooooo, Veeeeohhhhlaaaa!"</span></span>) to an angry expletive (<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">"Oh Vi-<span style="font-weight: bold;">O</span>-La!!</span></span>") -- or even an <span style="font-style: italic;">insult</span> (<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">"They don't know VIT from VYE-OLA!"</span></span>)!<br /><br />Viola. heh.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7357638017545469616.post-27219743264958408222009-11-11T12:30:00.011-05:002009-11-17T09:30:08.017-05:00Spackle & PatchI decided I really need to go back and fill in some of the cracks and holes in this blog. So, I just finished up a bit of site repair and filled in some of those neglected spots with a few old posts I'd been sitting on for no apparent reason. (I mean, other than reasons like...hitting the spellcheck button seemed too exerting, or the post had no ending, or I fell asleep instead, or something.)<br /><br />But -- <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">voila!</span> I deemed them "complete" and posted them.</span><br /><br />Where can you find these virtual spackle & patch editions? <span style="font-style: italic;">Just scroll back.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Or, if you prefer, use this handy dandy guide:</span><br /><br />1. We saw <a target="blank" href="http://i-am-micro-managing.blogspot.com/2009/04/tiny-adventure-chicks.html">chicks</a>.<br />2. <a target="blank" href="http://i-am-micro-managing.blogspot.com/2009/05/sibling-issues-strike-again-its-true.html">Siblings had issues</a>, part seventy-two.<br />3. We went to <a target="blank" href="http://i-am-micro-managing.blogspot.com/2009/06/where-wild-things-are-mesmerized.html">the zoo.</a><br />4. Max went to <a target="blank" href="http://i-am-micro-managing.blogspot.com/2009/07/amish-zoo.html">another zoo</a>.<br />5. <a target="blank" href="http://i-am-micro-managing.blogspot.com/2009/06/signing-time-swimsuit.html">Max got a swimsuit</a>.<br /><strike>6. We went on vacation.</strike> <span style="font-style: italic;">(In progress)</span><br /><br />There are a few other posts that I'll be finishing up and adding <span style="font-style: italic;">in real time</span>, because they didn't seem chronologically significant. (So if you notice Max's teeth randomly falling out and re-appearing, or his hair growing with bizarre speed, don't be concerned.) It'll all work out in the end.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7357638017545469616.post-25187384801646293492009-11-04T08:44:00.016-05:002010-03-13T10:46:13.614-05:00Halloween<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG2Ml9GzQ1QIKK5NqXLOxE0XLLJBU48664GriH_nNMZnq-B-STtp2vpAtXbMT7komnvbQqmpBq4YSa209eUQR5SJrVfcIlEI-rOn7cmqLcDh5UyW8ZEYLPNIpIr6bjnU3e92Rwstig3h6S/s1600-h/DSC00681.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG2Ml9GzQ1QIKK5NqXLOxE0XLLJBU48664GriH_nNMZnq-B-STtp2vpAtXbMT7komnvbQqmpBq4YSa209eUQR5SJrVfcIlEI-rOn7cmqLcDh5UyW8ZEYLPNIpIr6bjnU3e92Rwstig3h6S/s320/DSC00681.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448144855514467746" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ZFHm_shc5uV58R2SrZIbIBFuKb9EDM8_oYXJEGUj8AMzCiDQZDfgl58NOkOwir0Rt7XHsMpajPnwwmXc_zh73x0w6Do1p-SLq8rHhDIHkicB3pSOqA7l9r0HKv-K3lR2WpA4NFecMGnC/s1600-h/DSC00664.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 152px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ZFHm_shc5uV58R2SrZIbIBFuKb9EDM8_oYXJEGUj8AMzCiDQZDfgl58NOkOwir0Rt7XHsMpajPnwwmXc_zh73x0w6Do1p-SLq8rHhDIHkicB3pSOqA7l9r0HKv-K3lR2WpA4NFecMGnC/s200/DSC00664.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402115868242398290" border="0" /></a><br />Halloween was fun this year. Max totally "got" trick-or-treating this time, and his excitement was rather contagious.<br /><br />(Plus, he loved his costume -- Steve from Blue's Clues, <span style="font-style: italic;">who else??</span>)<br /><br /><br />We walked around with him for about an hour. (Or I should say, we <span style="font-style: italic;">followed him</span> for about an hour!) He was on a mission -- cutting through yards, scooting past small children, stomping up porch steps, eagerly gathering treats.<br /><br />We reminded him repeatedly, "Walk! Stay on the sidewalk! Only ONE! Say 'thank you!'" And though he would forget intermittently, he would get back on track and followed through amazingly well. Actually, the biggest problem turned out to be that whenever he spotted a live flame, he tried to blow it out. (He did manage to at a couple of houses.)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEI_Fe1QpbADUB4oj8GqteD3UReROAIqf235tGF9vDLUaP47CKyjzv_mbBGDgjhpgwL38rp-kQ3YgJj5f0WhJcUdHKhuPx4SEbIk1bYQKazWhfPA59JxUAB5nITFVVdSxSsAJ6slfeocDm/s1600-h/DSC00711.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEI_Fe1QpbADUB4oj8GqteD3UReROAIqf235tGF9vDLUaP47CKyjzv_mbBGDgjhpgwL38rp-kQ3YgJj5f0WhJcUdHKhuPx4SEbIk1bYQKazWhfPA59JxUAB5nITFVVdSxSsAJ6slfeocDm/s400/DSC00711.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402115225338416242" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">He managed this long walk ALONE -- passed the test with flying colors. </span> </span><br /><br /></div>He loved watching the kids walk by, and would get up verrrrry close and curious with the little ones.<br /><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtTRgPMHgk20nC8S2qmbBHkIrzFTJlngoKH9mKVQ-sZOrxAPX1oZKEtJAxA0yj2ga-HxPi12e41ThpaUwA0wSkIudD5lMs6-z2TBAlFBlBtcAaGkJSYZ2t20HL_FDO2dfI0DKvsX7_i3q2/s1600-h/DSC00686.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtTRgPMHgk20nC8S2qmbBHkIrzFTJlngoKH9mKVQ-sZOrxAPX1oZKEtJAxA0yj2ga-HxPi12e41ThpaUwA0wSkIudD5lMs6-z2TBAlFBlBtcAaGkJSYZ2t20HL_FDO2dfI0DKvsX7_i3q2/s400/DSC00686.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Ben's brother and friend posed in character...and Max followed their lead.</span></span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The moving decorations were favorites of his, too -- he would try to peek under ghost sheets or stick his hand in the rattling bones or poke the moving eyeball. But we were never far behind and kept him moving along.<br /><br /></div></div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyqPrZV965ykanzTkFA-NmEqbG4WjSyq49s8oFroDMkWUnhbXY5MNS-YLiQIsqoTiDhaYnqYvBNjwYtOWylKB3jgX0Ja2oklAAZptUEF1IN1TAuUnFwuFppUREQYZXs59Me9MGzQLuHJ4w/s1600-h/DSC00716.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyqPrZV965ykanzTkFA-NmEqbG4WjSyq49s8oFroDMkWUnhbXY5MNS-YLiQIsqoTiDhaYnqYvBNjwYtOWylKB3jgX0Ja2oklAAZptUEF1IN1TAuUnFwuFppUREQYZXs59Me9MGzQLuHJ4w/s400/DSC00716.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">He loved this interactive candy bowl. The hand flipped down and startled him again and again.</span><br /></span><br /><div style="text-align: left;">He was thrilled every time we encountered someone he knew. He was greeted with "Hi, Max!" many times throughout the night, and loved telling everyone he was Steve.<br /><br /></div></div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfgVGb6Bltk5LMSUeipPXs6852H_jfOmopeHTnp3d3FvuqJy1W1lzsMdO1d9dvG-QrrU5raroYGmaAZhQVyN6n0rK-HxzWm5jTIh7C9gzB5FZEL1SUpE_yuiwYCG_hY3cQzlJqluLl0vt3/s1600-h/DSC00730.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfgVGb6Bltk5LMSUeipPXs6852H_jfOmopeHTnp3d3FvuqJy1W1lzsMdO1d9dvG-QrrU5raroYGmaAZhQVyN6n0rK-HxzWm5jTIh7C9gzB5FZEL1SUpE_yuiwYCG_hY3cQzlJqluLl0vt3/s400/DSC00730.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">We found Sissy!</span></span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Suddenly, Max announced that he was all done. He was satisfied and <span style="font-style: italic;">ready to start eating!</span><br /><br />It was a fun night.<br /></div><br /><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7357638017545469616.post-19644933599838670672009-11-03T22:50:00.006-05:002010-03-13T10:12:34.474-05:00Wordless Wednesday: Someone's in the Kitchen with Dinah. UNSUPERVISED.<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5o1lh0KdaSVBfEJuyvZeRQBAjWuEzZASJgRiLNFE6oz5rzoI_lBrtSRH1DTWvFlua68lQvk24YRCyrcBybJ8_35fSGVm5Wtx5NTMgzUmP499eB9XQEAGLipr9-LQZ9krLPPjI_CpSumg1/s1600-h/DSC08800.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5o1lh0KdaSVBfEJuyvZeRQBAjWuEzZASJgRiLNFE6oz5rzoI_lBrtSRH1DTWvFlua68lQvk24YRCyrcBybJ8_35fSGVm5Wtx5NTMgzUmP499eB9XQEAGLipr9-LQZ9krLPPjI_CpSumg1/s400/DSC08800.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAO0myJFVYSKbNvbpatcF5HeiL04uogcdOaDIKa7uqyyuAik9j60d7Y4hFTlOcTZO3qurmZqO89stOd646EAzEO7ogW3TQrwyg_uT0DrsF70yIFxtZax1zDSFyE56wAeOGPoVSzpHdHDOt/s1600-h/DSC08805.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAO0myJFVYSKbNvbpatcF5HeiL04uogcdOaDIKa7uqyyuAik9j60d7Y4hFTlOcTZO3qurmZqO89stOd646EAzEO7ogW3TQrwyg_uT0DrsF70yIFxtZax1zDSFyE56wAeOGPoVSzpHdHDOt/s400/DSC08805.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaUrQW4GPb7c53ggMVsDIY1oZiRoQSXWOaR24kPOkBrSfE6jVVkeMoJO4Fn-IkZmzPk5KsMiRi_tUcTpFcf5PJN7YvodP7urRwLE-iFFWP6wz3rkMPAkEOkQsttEABeIwH3sHHoTbCv7f-/s1600-h/DSC08801.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaUrQW4GPb7c53ggMVsDIY1oZiRoQSXWOaR24kPOkBrSfE6jVVkeMoJO4Fn-IkZmzPk5KsMiRi_tUcTpFcf5PJN7YvodP7urRwLE-iFFWP6wz3rkMPAkEOkQsttEABeIwH3sHHoTbCv7f-/s400/DSC08801.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7357638017545469616.post-36704730114318691942009-10-30T08:50:00.002-04:002010-03-13T10:07:28.982-05:00Wordless Wednesday: Clipper Danger<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQQargAY8SjzuZL4pkQ9QqNlXvM0T2nQds4T7fXlgnLo6eBskhyphenhyphenJH1KKWV-IhBJ8KvjxsOEktPrNpnJSpIy0MTdu6ICKLC1RcDlON4Dul4fJL0e_UwbhKzWHFnlq0EEY4qdonPv1jPUoww/s1600-h/DSC09985.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQQargAY8SjzuZL4pkQ9QqNlXvM0T2nQds4T7fXlgnLo6eBskhyphenhyphenJH1KKWV-IhBJ8KvjxsOEktPrNpnJSpIy0MTdu6ICKLC1RcDlON4Dul4fJL0e_UwbhKzWHFnlq0EEY4qdonPv1jPUoww/s400/DSC09985.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7357638017545469616.post-22772048540318296822009-10-21T09:44:00.001-04:002009-10-21T09:45:27.103-04:007 vs. 8<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg29RAeEfy5oGSiZV21_ZJDJnXlF7S4pO4D5s3d2k57C6rnnfH2CPZFK8KnP9FBZlCaR3l3WkWtQsNKx1msfBaD8oZp8sDUxbB5O5fgldIH4A-dT4w6Lq0jpW6tVRwMXyn-SFGQqd5y3DxW/s1600-h/Seven+vs.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg29RAeEfy5oGSiZV21_ZJDJnXlF7S4pO4D5s3d2k57C6rnnfH2CPZFK8KnP9FBZlCaR3l3WkWtQsNKx1msfBaD8oZp8sDUxbB5O5fgldIH4A-dT4w6Lq0jpW6tVRwMXyn-SFGQqd5y3DxW/s400/Seven+vs.jpg" alt="" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0pt; clear: both;" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">I'm having a hard time seeing Max as eight.<br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>As I watched Max today, I realized that there's a reason besides "birthday grief" that I'm having trouble calling him 8. It's a very simple reason, too.<br /><br />He looks like a 7.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHFOWDoVhSM4a2SQJA3RadOSAe9rfyCT1MQcbjPObK-2Mzxfrm2rsS1CJJuzcj4WuehzE3QSS25fozdlo5zWyUhTL3-24py22U9eYyruU3fDX4NJws3aOeTPDvDm8AjWxEYW7dSSZTwIqP/s1600-h/Seven+vs3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHFOWDoVhSM4a2SQJA3RadOSAe9rfyCT1MQcbjPObK-2Mzxfrm2rsS1CJJuzcj4WuehzE3QSS25fozdlo5zWyUhTL3-24py22U9eYyruU3fDX4NJws3aOeTPDvDm8AjWxEYW7dSSZTwIqP/s400/Seven+vs3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392817247880537698" border="0" /></a><br /></div>His body continues to grow (and his facial features do, too), though his head doesn't change much. So there's that. And there's also the fact that the gap between his chronological age and "age-appropriate" behaviors continues to widen each year, so that things that were more easily overlooked in a two-year-old version of Max become glaringly obvious in his 8-year-old self.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpFp_mVngCwkDpp5elkp3s5qd8zTUGvDYx4yy3KH31s-iC8TpJY2TnyRxs0ADfI7SCqbh-1jDhA2c0bUID9se0q7eSXV5OenhDKfgafVDNfbMtZM1lZHSeOq2va4RPh2k-z08DqEbrIXUG/s1600-h/Seven+vs1.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpFp_mVngCwkDpp5elkp3s5qd8zTUGvDYx4yy3KH31s-iC8TpJY2TnyRxs0ADfI7SCqbh-1jDhA2c0bUID9se0q7eSXV5OenhDKfgafVDNfbMtZM1lZHSeOq2va4RPh2k-z08DqEbrIXUG/s400/Seven+vs1.jpg" alt="" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0pt; clear: both;" border="0" /></a><br /></div>When people ask his age now, and I reply, "He's eight," there is a pause that occurs while their wheels begin to spin...and it feels like that pause is now lasting a few beats longer than it did before.<br /><br />These things are all true, and I could easily go on, but what I'm trying to say is much more literal than that.<br /><br />I really mean <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">HE LOOKS LIKE A 7!</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiQxtJtTtVODmVVS-u7CTX_ntvkbavGnfVnq8mpTdhSeEtE7e9WeDEKoocenzlaKRJuqb31k71iGLRIzyETY0VeU2r_sV3EjvY3U-lV-RTsacBD5xPcCECg6BFeqRqGKLJ_AFzOFLiUoka/s1600-h/Seven+vs2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiQxtJtTtVODmVVS-u7CTX_ntvkbavGnfVnq8mpTdhSeEtE7e9WeDEKoocenzlaKRJuqb31k71iGLRIzyETY0VeU2r_sV3EjvY3U-lV-RTsacBD5xPcCECg6BFeqRqGKLJ_AFzOFLiUoka/s400/Seven+vs2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392817235810899282" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Seven is all angles and edges and lines and corners, slightly off-balance & a bit awkward. It's long and thin and sharp. It's bendy and tilted and seems to be perpetually aiming somewhere, hurtling towards a vague place just over there. Even in stillness, 7 implies motion. It's hard to capture and difficult to split. It's easily misread. Seven is odd.<br /></div></div><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span>But 8? Eight is round and smooth and even. It's perfectly proportioned and bubbling with symmetry. 8 is chubby and full, like babies, Buddha, fresh warm zweibach. It's quiet and still, poised and straight, endlessly balanced, <span style="font-style: italic;">Zen</span>. 8 is easy to dissect and examine, mathematically and visually. 8 is complete, full-circle, finished (<span style="font-style: italic;">twice!</span>) -- and when it gently lies down to sleep, it promises <span style="font-style: italic;">infinity</span>. Eight is whole.<br /><br />I often look for signs or symbolism that isn't really there. And when I see it, I want to believe it.<br /><br />So today I'm wondering -- could it really be that simple? <span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Is 8 a sign of things to come? </span> </span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhzBYotSQiYOIQ1nYtGVmePR9MMEHy8pUFqAGYrTp4XBDCvosUt1DXYH8jVw0NpGwlhK_rGTqnRKuO-FWIaZiDEdKC8MO2Cc4_7jxLQ66F_AcazfLd5Gd1GwlDj65FbSQYG1Cf3x__aGoK/s1600-h/magic8ball.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhzBYotSQiYOIQ1nYtGVmePR9MMEHy8pUFqAGYrTp4XBDCvosUt1DXYH8jVw0NpGwlhK_rGTqnRKuO-FWIaZiDEdKC8MO2Cc4_7jxLQ66F_AcazfLd5Gd1GwlDj65FbSQYG1Cf3x__aGoK/s400/magic8ball.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395047642527160626" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Magic 8 Ball Wisdom</span></span><br /><br /></div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7357638017545469616.post-13344265614221005052009-08-22T00:00:00.004-04:002009-08-23T08:00:13.500-04:00Birthday Boy<object width="445" height="364"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/oqoPv7mKTAQ&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/oqoPv7mKTAQ&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="445" height="364"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7357638017545469616.post-73656989753263087162009-08-20T09:40:00.002-04:002009-08-20T09:49:16.617-04:00Here's a D.I.Y. Budget-Friendly AAC Option: The Envue Digital Photo AlbumWe've had trial runs of several different <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">AAC</span> (Augmentative and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Alternative</span> Communication) devices, <a target="blank" href="http://i-am-micro-managing.blogspot.com/2009/03/dr-seusss-aacs.html">but don't actually own one yet</a>. As a result, I'm always on the lookout for creative -- (and cheaper!) -- alternatives.<br /><br />Our current experiment involves the <a target="blank" href="http://www.envuebyburnes.com/Default.aspx"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">EnVue</span> Digital Photo Album</a>.<br /><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a target="blank" href="http://www.envuebyburnes.com/Default.aspx"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtdBksahtOLQzOkO543trbQAoaAmaQWJ3Y7lcVOfiWuLnzjMCVedEfU8qk8lLspNjYAGPsUDss_lZLmmfWVR9UWvlsF8MFUWKgCm7EonSsFXirEgBc1pm8mhvDKxoPSgHVDCMfG6QRcx-E/s400/Fullscreen+capture+8192009+54150+AM.bmp.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><br />I chose the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">EnVue</span> because of its large, clear 3.5" screen and user-friendly control buttons. I also liked it because it looks like an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">oversized</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">iPod</span> (which makes it extra-appealing for my son), but it is actually made of plastic and is very lightweight.<br /><br />(Truth be told, "lightweight" here is implying a bit of "flimsy"...but I have come to view electronics as semi-disposable in our household, so I'm fine with its somewhat <span style="font-style: italic;">temporary</span> feel.) (Oh, and there is also the <span style="font-style: italic;">beware of flying objects </span>problem in our household, so, again, I'm fine with the nice, lightweight flimsiness; it won't do much damage.)<br /><br />Another feature the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">enVue</span> has that seemed intriguing is the thumbnail view option (labeled below as "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Thumbview</span>"). I like this because it provides another way to navigate through the photos, allowing you to see 9 photos at a time and then select the one you want.<br /><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a target="blank" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwIbznKmUTckwafGFohXJx7-xWFsgRuWW-bH1UxRkxIDWFLnhIdPmBJYjR27kPzFbaaBGHCmFMIeJUSUllTKwmHWG5baPjnlW9Pc71URfkUKZrRAkueoe96j-Le2E1fX4fAdKNmMxNfHhK/s1600-h/Fullscreen+capture+8192009+54404+AM.bmp.jpg"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwIbznKmUTckwafGFohXJx7-xWFsgRuWW-bH1UxRkxIDWFLnhIdPmBJYjR27kPzFbaaBGHCmFMIeJUSUllTKwmHWG5baPjnlW9Pc71URfkUKZrRAkueoe96j-Le2E1fX4fAdKNmMxNfHhK/s400/Fullscreen+capture+8192009+54404+AM.bmp.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div>I had planned to load a bunch of photos on the viewer that were loosely grouped by topic (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">eg</span>., Self Care, Food, School) and then use the thumbnail view to navigate to the desired topic & image. In reality, it didn't work as well as I had hoped it would as the buttons are fairly slow to respond. Max prefers to simply arrow forward and back, pressing repeatedly until he finds the picture he wants. It isn't terribly efficient for <span style="font-style: italic;">quick </span>communication, but it does make for a fun treasure hunting game along the way. And, in the end, he still gets there.<br /><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a target="blank" href="http://www.envuebyburnes.com/ContentPages/ProductInfo.aspx"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEZGpQQoN2jlAlx_I5FuaLpJq6BE06nluNILU3m13_Cm4Nqc5T_Oi6N3OzttwJ4lHfRnOTHs33WPmj3aoytjb0tfyh6a3KvZxb751yYX8N6CL6Wrq86wENEaFYMXEztbVFNsPrHE7hcKkI/s400/Fullscreen+capture+8192009+54421+AM.bmp.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Click on the photo to see all the technical details.</span></span><br /><br /></div>Another feature I like about the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">EnVue</span> photo viewer is that the memory card is <span style="font-style: italic;">optional</span>, which gives Max one less thing to fiddle with and/or misplace. The internal memory can hold up to 60 photos, which is sufficient for our purposes. The product box contains everything you need to start using the device, including a cable which connects the viewer to your computer's <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">USB</span> port. The photo editing software starts automatically when you plug it in, which I appreciate because it means <span style="font-style: italic;">no downloads</span> or CD-ROM to mess with!<br /><br />However, I should warn you that the editing software is less intuitive than you might think at first glance.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkvoaiuPG21YWbxGQkF8pl1_rN5yD1vK-soxEK4PMkZnj1vMCLYhWbE7AK7qXriQScTzjoRhDpXFHA0SPYWtbz18Ke_Qtf4xwuSrF7XhD52kdDHrwgu7G2GABZOUOPx3cEKhTn1H8IPRoM/s1600-h/Fullscreen+capture+8192009+83525+AM.bmp.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkvoaiuPG21YWbxGQkF8pl1_rN5yD1vK-soxEK4PMkZnj1vMCLYhWbE7AK7qXriQScTzjoRhDpXFHA0SPYWtbz18Ke_Qtf4xwuSrF7XhD52kdDHrwgu7G2GABZOUOPx3cEKhTn1H8IPRoM/s400/Fullscreen+capture+8192009+83525+AM.bmp.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371674461794463714" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Screen shot of the photo editing software interface</span></span>.<span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"> Looks simple, right?</span> </span><br /></div><br />Problem #1: It is possible to scroll through the photo <span style="font-style: italic;">images </span>without scrolling through the accompanying <span style="font-style: italic;">file name</span>; as a result, you might end up loading the same picture file over and over even though you were clicking on a different image. You'll see duplicates appearing on the right half of the screen if this happens, but if you're trying to select and load <span style="font-style: italic;">quickly</span>, you need to stay alert.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNsFENdDX4Y9RzkqEDuwz0vIS2e1T5ZEhJD_SG_q5Fa_jacX_MqL-OMnAvcBf-3XKsOBo98a6uwnNi0EyfcRVyhN7xbzuNZ3GJj8jAowejUotFUU9ZtimX8TxYDpiHiejYd5vDPW6IyZyT/s1600-h/Fullscreen+capture+8192009+83525+AM.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNsFENdDX4Y9RzkqEDuwz0vIS2e1T5ZEhJD_SG_q5Fa_jacX_MqL-OMnAvcBf-3XKsOBo98a6uwnNi0EyfcRVyhN7xbzuNZ3GJj8jAowejUotFUU9ZtimX8TxYDpiHiejYd5vDPW6IyZyT/s400/Fullscreen+capture+8192009+83525+AM.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371674449697662242" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(You're so lucky, getting the added benefit of my experience.)</span><br /></span><br /></div>Problem #2: Photos must be loaded <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">in the order in which you want them to appear</span>; you <span style="font-style: italic;">cannot move or organize them once selected.</span> For random photos, this is not a problem; for a slide show with text or chronological order, plan accordingly! If you forget to include a picture that needs to be towards the beginning, you will have to delete and then reload all the subsequent photos in order to get it up there. (I would have saved a lot of time had I known this in advance! <span style="font-style: italic;">You're welcome!</span>)<br /><br />Though it would force you to sacrifice some degree of control over the editing that connecting to a computer permits, <span style="font-style: italic;">using the memory card </span>would greatly simplify the loading process.<br /><br />In fact, I think it would be a <span style="font-style: italic;">wonderful </span>way to send photos back and forth between school and home. It would be quite simple to photograph a class party, or field trip, or other "hot topic" and then just pop the camera card in the viewer to send along with your child. (I'm going to try that method next and let you know how it goes! <span style="font-style: italic;">Maybe it's not as easy as it sounds</span>.)<br /><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvX3hgid7ZyZk3E-TDhOUE_vsjXGSoS1fuQfaX78WObe5M3RAMUleCYAqZoVIrc93TfYR0bA0qnsMdm76P7ocBNhEewRGXtvGXyt5ifMwiLvV1Wg8gltwGEJnYGvSI5xHX_HOXqW4t_0t4/s1600-h/DSC00924.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvX3hgid7ZyZk3E-TDhOUE_vsjXGSoS1fuQfaX78WObe5M3RAMUleCYAqZoVIrc93TfYR0bA0qnsMdm76P7ocBNhEewRGXtvGXyt5ifMwiLvV1Wg8gltwGEJnYGvSI5xHX_HOXqW4t_0t4/s400/DSC00924.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Want to know what Max is watching? <a target="blank" href="http://i-am-micro-managing.blogspot.com/2009/08/diy-communication-device-for-school.html"> CLICK HERE to find out!</a><br /><br /></span></span></div>The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">EnVue</span> Digital Photo Album is no longer available from the official product website, but it is still listed at <a target="blank" href="http://www.amazon.com/Burnes-Boston-Digital-Display-Interface/dp/B001N1J39O/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=electronics&qid=1250683936&sr=8-1">amazon.com</a> (wide range of pricing, from $19.99 to $67.50!) and at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">WalMart</span> (currently on clearance for $20).<br /><br />The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">EnVue</span> is not perfect, but it is a very handy shape and size and offers remarkably good photo quality -- all at an affordable price! I'm quite excited by it and think it's well worth purchasing at its current clearance pricing. <span style="font-size:85%;">(But if you have <span style="font-style: italic;">$67.50 to spend</span>, I'd encourage you to look for an alternative product.) </span><br /><br />I'd love to hear about other products (digital photo viewers, in particular) you come across that would lend themselves well to this type of D.I.Y. portable <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">AAC</span> usage! <span style="font-style: italic;"> Any others out there I should try?</span><br /></div><br /><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1