hello 2016

Christmas is over and we begin to look towards the beginning of the new year. I humbly offer you my imperfect attempt at a New Year Post.

I don't really know what to say because I feel like whatever it is should be sweeping and grand. You know- some sort of revelation or lesson I learned that could change both of our lives. FIND ETERNAL HAPPINESS IN 2016!!!READ THIS.

But here I sit alone with you and my simple thoughts, without a sweeping or grand in sight. I do have tired and honest, though. Which fits, because lately I've been on a quest for the acceptance of imperfection. Sometimes just the want to love imperfection is all I have, which is still a step ahead for this OCD, Type A, Tightly wound-Recovering Perfectionist. Because you know- trying to get your love of imperfection -just perfect, sort of defeats the entire purpose.

I sit and reflect on the year that is coming to an end. I'm realizing that lately, my struggles have been so good. They aren't Cancer or moving or the realization of autism. They are normal, every day life struggles, which in comparison aren't actually struggles at all. Sometimes struggle is just another word for growth. If you are stuck in a moment, free of serious struggle- rejoice. Woo hoo with me.

WOO HOO!!!!


I struggle to find joy. It took me a long long time to realize I had to search it out, not wait for it to knock on my door. And so for joy I search. Whatever you seek- you will find. Seek good stuff. I'm realizing joy comes more frequently when I am awake. I don't mean awake- as in the opposite of sleeping. I mean awake as in aware. I struggle to be awake. To live in this moment right here between these two parenthesis of life. To notice smells, and hear sounds. Stop now, pay attention- what are all the sounds you can hear? I hear the crunch of leaves as someone walks over them. A faint lawn mower in the distance. The calming rhythm of my dogs breathing in and out. Paying attention to details brings me joy. And details of a beautiful life are a commodity that will never run out.


Parker seeks joy better than anyone I know. And the more he seeks, the more he makes.



I struggle to recognize love. I've always equated love to a feeling that comes from words and from doing. And not just doing- but doing how I would do. You see, sometimes it's hard for me to accept others for exactly who they are.





Jack the dog was my first encounter with a love that knows no words. Jack is the dock to my boat. I need to know he is near in ways I can't explain. I remember vividly a time almost seven years ago. My aloof, I'll give you attention if I feel like it, Jack, wouldn't let me out of his sight. I felt like a movie star and he was my paparazzi.  

If I were sitting on the couch he had to practically sit on top of me. He's 42 pounds, and not really a lap dog. He slept pressed up against me, a little spoon to my big. It all felt like love in just the right amount because I need a lot.  When I was in the bathroom he would scratch at the door until I let him in. It was the craziest thing- but made perfect sense a couple of days and one positive pregnancy test later. He sensed I was pregnant with Grey before I even knew I was. And he made it his job to make sure I was ok. Boy is that love. It paved the way for two bitty boys who can't really talk either. But they find ways to tell me I love you, in a million different ways. I just have to remember to recognize it when the ache for words comes along.


I have to work at recognizing love from my husband. If I am sad and want to be listened to- he buys me a starbucks and says, "It's not a big deal. Don't be sad" and the conversation is over. Sometimes that makes me so mad. Sometimes it makes me sad, sad, sad. But it doesn't sting as much when I realize he is loving the way he knows how. Imperfectly. So it is my job to recognize love. A love that doesn't look like my love, but occupies the same cells just the same.

I struggle to be myself. My REAL SELF- not the self I think I should be. Not the self I think I am expected to be. Those selves just turn me into a jumbled mess. I was made on purpose and by design. ONE OF A KIND SISTER (and Mister!) I do not need to veer from God's blueprint in order to be enough. Repeat after me:

I am (more than) enough, just the way I am. 

The older I get, the easier it is to embrace my true voice. We owe it to others and ourselves to be our true, imperfect, messy, complicated, brilliant, loving selves. I still have to work to silence the mean voices in my head. They try to make me like everyone else. And they never say- Boy are you awesome, (or beautiful, or strong). I'm working on shhhh'ing those voices, one single day at a time. Sometimes a million times a day.



Look at my boy here. Just looking at this picture brings tears to the front of my eyeballs and makes me FEEL. Greyson is 100% himself. He wouldn't even know how to be someone else if he tried. I watch him in envy and awe and just try to absorb a little bit of it's goodness.

A little while back he rode on those go-carts above. When the real ride was over and everyone exited- well, that's when HIS ride began. The lights were swirling and forming patterns on the floor and ceiling and everywhere and music was blasting. Greyson got out of his car and stayed on the floor. He jumped and flapped and grunted and squealed and danced, not politely and looking around like I would do. He did it disjointed and like he was possessed by authenticity. He did what felt good. I want to be more like him.


For this upcoming year I want to search for all the religion I cannot find at church. The religion not sung in hymns, or found in psalms. The religion that God places before my eyes daily.




His toes are my religion. I worship them. I kiss each one goodnight before bed. I squeeze them so hard I'm afraid they may pop. His eyes light up and lock into mine, my little life enthusiast. We squeal over the goodness of his toes. At least once a week the beauty of his perfect toes almost knocks me to the floor. THANK YOU GOD!!! I yell out loud, excited for this gift. Thank you God for his toes and for the way they make me feel- in love and alive. If his toes were people, the big one would be my best friend. He would give the best hugs. We would go out for cheeseburgers and he would always make me laugh.


My religion is connection. My religion is plugging into life. Into you, into my family, into my environment, into friendships new and old. Sometimes I walk around for days with my head down. I don't want to run into anyone I know. I fear small talk. I feel lonely and empty. That's a sure sign that what I shy away from is exactly what I need- human connection. I do not need to hide, I do not need to be afraid. I need to see and be seen.




I need reminders as to what matters most to me. Awake is my religion. Yet I sleep for days. Not aware of the beauty of my surroundings. Not aware of the beauty of my pain. The beauty of my mundane. Please God, let me always see this beauty.


As I embark on 2016 I make friends with time. Think of the pain, hurt and disappoint you have waded through this year. What has it taught you? What has gotten you through? I'm learning to see the places I ache as a reminder that I need to accept or change something. Right now while the waters are calm, take a moment. What will you seek this year?  When the rapids start you will forget to remember.

Prayer is not asking for what you think you want, but asking to be changed in ways you can't imagine, says poet, Kathleen Norris. So yes, what she said God. 

I'm ready to let you go. Thank you, you've been a wild ride. XOXO Chrissy

what happens when you stop looking for perfect and start getting real

I realized it was getting harder and harder to capture my then two year old son, Greyson, with our camera. Like any other, more energetic than lightening toddler, it was hard for him to sit still for even one click of a camera shutter. But there was something else going on that I couldn't quite decipher or explain. His eyes, once a sparkling blue that made strangers comment in adoration, looked cloudy and dark. In pictures, he looked as disconnected as I was starting to feel from him. I would sit and say his name over and over, waiting for him to look at me. It didn't seem to ever happen anymore. I tried to remember the last time someone commented to me about his shimmery blue eyes... It had been months. What happened between then and now? was the wonder I wondered late at night when sleep competed with fear.

At night while Greyson slept, I read every single thing I could find on portrait photography. I watched video tutorials. I asked people who knew. I was determined to make the image I took reflect the Greyson I saw. I was desperate to capture his sparkle, to prove it wasn't gone. During the natural light of day, I practiced all I had learned on Greyson. Finally, after millions of imperfect attempts, the image I saw of Greyson in my heart started to match up to the Greyson I saw with the eyes of my camera. 

A few months later, Greyson was diagnosed with autism. Suddenly his lack of eye contact and interaction with me made painful sense. Fast forward a couple of years and add one precious baby boy named Parker. Despite my passion for photography and my King Kong sized determination, I still couldn't get a perfect picture of my two beloved boys together. Photo shoots ended in tears, (theirs and mine.) I yelled the entire time. Sit down! STAY STILL! GREYSON STOP!!!!! PARKER LOOK AT ME!!!




PARKER! Don't bite your brother!!! 



GREYSON- Where did you put your shoes? They were JUST ON!



Over the years I was able to get a handful of acceptable shots of the boys together, but what I really, really wanted was that perfect posed family picture. You know- a picture where we are ALL looking at the camera at THE SAME TIME, and we are all wearing pants. (I gave up on the shoes part).







Hmmmpffff. At least we are all wearing pants. 

Over the years we tried everything. Bubbles, iPads, bells, toys, reinforcers, bribery and threats. We brought in Behavior therapists and babysitters to help. Nothing worked. Below is the photo shoot that made me say, "Screw all photo shoots".*  (*Warning. What you are about to see is unedited, imperfect, real life.)



My hair was butchered by an impromptu Super Cuts trip, Parker's jeans were 17 inches too short, Greyson wanted to be ANYWHERE but there, and Michael got punched in the jimmies.



Parker is trying to get down to run to the mall to buy himself some pants that fit. Possibly even some shoes for Greyson.




At one point in the shoot, I was laughing hysterically WHILE I was sobbing. And to make it worse, the perfect family Christmas card people were just feet away getting their perfect family photos taken. The children listened to every request of the photographer. They even followed directions. No one was flailing on the floor or trying to hit anyone in the private parts or taking off their shoes.They even had their perfect dog with them WHO ALSO FOLLOWED DIRECTIONS. I'm not kidding.

I was so mad at them for being so calm and uncomplicated. I also desperately wanted to be them.


Now Greyson is 6, and Parker is 4 years old. It's been a few years since I've subjected us to the torment of a photo shoot. This year, I thought long and hard about those perfect family cards. I asked myself- why is this so important to you? Because everyone else does it? Because you can't have it? I think it was probably a little of both. But these pictures are torture for our entire family. There isn't one single moment of joy to be found in any of it. I decided I just couldn't do it again.

I love pictures because each one is an opportunity to tell a beautiful story. This year I realized, I don't need our picture to depict my family as something we are not. I want our Christmas card to be a true story. One that makes you laugh or cry or simply feel as though you can relate. 




Here is our card this year. We were on an Behavior Therapy community outing at Target. We were racing our cart through the aisles as fast as we could and having a ball. I realized this is about as real life as it gets, and while perusing the Christmas aisle I asked our awesome therapist, Jordann, if she would take our picture. She took a series of pictures with her phone and texted them to me. I picked the one that was the worst because it made me laugh the most. It shows our real life and it is awesome.

I now realize, most people don't have perfect Christmas card lives. Even the people who DO have perfect Christmas card pictures, don't actually have a perfect life to go with it.  Some families have two moms. Some families don't have any. Some families are blended by marriages or separated by death, distance, estrangement or divorce. 

Although pictures can be in black and white, real life is not. Real life is a million beautiful shades of in between. We are all just humans, making mistakes and trying our best to contribute to our real life story, every single day. We are all imperfect, but perfect- just the way we are.



I love us. I love our family and our sometimes hard, real life. I no longer ache for that perfectly posed family portrait. Candid pictures are my favorite. I love our truth and the story we are writing as each day unfolds. Real life is very complicated, and the very best lives are the ones that can't fit inside a 5 x 7 little box. I am grateful for my two perfect boys who have taught me what real beauty looks like. 

Like our picture says, This Holiday Season, Embrace Imperfection.
From my family to you and yours, Happy Holidays. 

seeking uncomfortable

I want to be more kind.

Like for real. I mean, I always want to be kind, and have the very best intentions to be. I believe in the mantra- "kindness wins" and all that good stuff. I mean for most of us, kindness wins over being mean. Of course kindness wins! You know- like if those are the two choices.

Chrissy- Do you pick kindness or being an asshole? Well kindness of course! Duh!

I think the harder part is picking kindness over nothing. Picking kindness instead of comfortable. Picking kindness instead of convenient. Because the truth is, sometimes kindness is so dang inconvenient.

Sunday morning I find myself at Urgent Care. Apparently when you are starting to get a cold, it's a bad idea to stay up late at an ugly sweater party, eating all the things you can imagine, and drinking the signature cocktail of vodka, pomegranate sparkly stuff, and champagne.


Bad for a cold, but GOOD for fun.


Go figure, I thought perhaps there was some vitamin C somewhere in there. I'm no doctor, but I'm pretty sure that all that malarkey could have contributed to waking up with no voice, and a cold that now felt like a pounding sinus infection.

About 30 minutes after I arrive at Urgent Care, a little 18 month old boy comes in and lights up the room. He is smiling, pointing and waving. His eyes lock into mine and his grin grows bigger. Then mine grew bigger because clearly he is a life enthusiast like myself and we already have something in common. He says something to me in Spanish; I long to understand. I nod vigorously. We smile again. I see his lips covered in what looked like painful cold sores. I get those suckers and I know how painful they are. I study this boy's joy. I borrow some. He makes more.

After about 5 minutes, he starts to get unruly. Hitting his chair. Getting down and up and down. Demanding more and more of his papa who is clearly so, so tired. He needs room to play. He wants to jump and run and open all the doors.

"Christina Kelly". The Nurse calls my name and I enter. I feel a tug from somewhere. A whisper that first contacted me as I thought of many hours accumulated in waiting rooms with my two boys. You should let him go first, it said.

But I am so tired and achy, I said back to the tug. You see, if I did let him go first- it certainly would be kind. But NOT letting him go wouldn't be mean- technically, I did arrive first. I just want to be wrapped up in my warm fuzzy blanket lying in front of the fire. I just want home. I will still need to bring an rx to the pharmacy after this- and they always make me wait at least 20 minutes there. I don't want to delay this any further. I think of my plan, my daily agenda, already laid out in front of me. It's set already, and I'm sticking with it.

I always have a carefully laid out agenda. So much due to necessity and a 4 and 6 year old with extremely complicated schedules. But also because of the order I crave. The order that helps me self regulate against the chaos of life. Sometimes I can't see the blurry line between how things need to be and how I think things simply MUST be or I will die. And so often, I want to be kind, but it gets in the way of my schedule.

You see I am happy to drop off cookies, or switch my time in advance, or leave you a thoughtful message or show up when you need me. I love to do those things that just happen to be kind and not at all inconvenient.

But I realize, like really realize- sometimes true kindness is a bit inconvenient. As I start to walk down the fluorescent lit corridor of the physician office, I suddenly turn to the nurse. "Can the gentleman with the small child go before me?" I plead.  "I know how impossible it is to keep little ones entertained in the waiting room."

Her smile made me blush. "Of course", she responded. "Thank you so much." So I went back out into the waiting room. My turn came only moments later.




I felt sick but good. Lesson learned, life. Lesson learned.


My birthday was on Tuesday. This past weekend I celebrated at lunch with the girls in my village. Being the center of attention in that capacity makes me VERY uncomfortable. Opening gifts makes me VERY VERY uncomfortable. It's been like that since I was a little girl. One birthday I remember asking my Mom, "Can I open my gifts in my room? I hate everyone staring at me." I remember feeling so much pressure. Plus, I have no poker face and I was afraid someone would know if I hated my gift. My Mom wouldn't let me go in my room to open them, but we comprised- I could bring one gift at a time in the hallway, open it, and then come back out and thank the gift giver. (Yes, I am laughing as I tell you this.)

As I was opening my gifts at my birthday lunch, I found it hard to breathe. My hands were shaking. I started to feel really hot. "Whew"... I said. "This is so uncomfortable." My friend Andrea said, "I think sometimes it's good to be a little uncomfortable." (And then she said- Put that in your blog- which really made me laugh.)

And you know what? She's right. Sometimes in kindness and in life, a little uncomfortable is exactly what we need to grow. The older we get, the more we veer away from uncomfortable. We can make our kids do something uncomfortable because we know it will help them grow. But most often- no one is challenging us in that same way. Doing what's best for us as a human. It's up to us to seek out that kind of uncomfortable. To find it and breathe in and out as we navigate through it. Chances are, that's where the best stuff lies.

Calling all humans with passion and heart

It's a devastating, exciting time in the world right now. Isn't it funny how the world often works both sides of an extreme?

Autism prevalence is on the rise. Skyrocketing. If you follow the stats you may get whiplash. Yes, one teeny, tiny percent of that rise is better detection and diagnosis. But the bulk of that whopping number is unknown. The "N" in the equation. And that is the frightening part. I remember the first moment I realized it was autism. It felt as if we had been hit by random gunfire. We were devastated and mourned the life we had expected to have.

And now just a few years later, we have worn our own path in the grass while traveling on this life adventure. A path we didn't want to create. You see, we wanted to follow one that already existed- but that isn't be the case for us. It will never be the case for us. Most parent's of children with Special Needs understand this reality intimately.

As the numbers increase, so does the need for therapists and teachers. This is the exciting part. There is no better medicine for children with Special Needs than education and LOVE. Because the truth is, Teachers- YOU play one of the most important roles in these kiddos entire life. You often spend more time with our children than we do. You have the ability to make their lives exceptional. I've had the honor to work alongside many of these professionals. They inspire me to do better. To be better.

Educators- I've seen the absolute MAGIC you can create in our daily lives. You watch our babies struggle and figure out how to specifically meet their needs. Not doing for them- which is easier and faster- but teaching them to do for themselves. You donate your soul for the well being of our children- a little at a time. I want you to know I see what you are doing, and I'm humbled, grateful and amazed.

I know that not all parents are open, willing, and appreciative of your skill, your wisdom, and your input. I've met these parents, and I don't understand it either. I imagine that is heartbreaking for you- donating your soul to these families and having it neglected or ignored. You may find yourself caring more than the parents. In some ways, those kids need you most. Keep doing what you know is right. And please, please remember, your worth is more than gold to families like us.


But we still need LOADS more Teachers, Therapists and professionals.  Incredible teachers with passion and heart. WE NEED YOU. It's never to late to get the training needed to teach if you feel like it might be your calling. I don't care if you're 17 or 70. I don't care if you had the best grades in your class. I just need you to be strong and loving and possess passion, and heart. I've realized that pretty much anything can be taught, except for those two things. If you have a spirit for helping, for education, for teaching and for world changing- I urge you to explore a career working with people with Special Needs. We already have a significant shortage of Teachers with this particular passion. It's not for everyone. But if you feel even one tiny spark of interest- EXPLORE IT.


Teaching children who are inherently smart and learn easy is good for the ego. Teaching a child with special needs- one that learns slowly. One that makes you reevaluate your approach again and again, one that will challenge you to the very depth of your being- that is good for the soul. I believe it's also the stuff that life is made of.


I've also encountered teachers and professionals who are checked out. Who quit playing the game but won't get off the field. Maybe they had that passion and that fire but the system beat it out of them and turned it to apathy. As a parent, handing your child over to this person is heartbreaking. It feels like you are stuck sinking in the middle of the pool, your legs won't work and you are desperately trying to kick your way to the surface. You see- there's a downside to playing one of the most important roles in their life- you can create just as much bad as good. And if your fire to teach has extinguished completely, as a parent there's nothing I can do to make it reignite.

That's why I make this plea. WE NEED MORE INCREDIBLE TEACHERS!!! Here's the truth- Teaching Special Needs children is like playing with unicorns. You can only hope that a little bit of their magic might rub off on you. These kids- my eyes well up just thinking of so many that I've met.

Kids like Alyssa.




You're smiling right now- aren't you. This gal is human love. Her Momma says that behind that contagious smile is a hardworking and determined girl who clocks in more hours learning and in therapies every week than most adults.  But, few things ever get her down.  Her gift is her silly personality and kind soul.  It is guaranteed anyone in her presence will walk away feeling happier and more loved.

And Alyssa's mom Zoua is the most spirited pioneer I've met. She does whatever it takes to make sure Alyssa has all the tools she needs to succeed. And she does it with a smile as big as Alyssa's on her face.


And this precious boy with big chocolate-colored eyes is Dominic. He is happiest when he's outside. He loves to swing and feed the birds. His Momma shares some of the many things her sweet son has taught her, "I am not perfect. I can't change the unchangeable. I've got to be loving, even when loving back is not always granted. I've got to be humble. I've got to see the light, even when it's so dark around."

If you enter a career in Teaching you can also teach kids like my boys.



My Parker. Who makes me smile pretty much every time I say his name out loud. This kid is happier than any other human I know. But he can also be stubborn and scream louder and higher than a teenage girl at a Justin Bieber concert. He is my nature boy, and he reminds me how important it is to soak up life and explore.




And Grey. His determination leaves me in awe. I love watching him solve problems- like when something doesn't fit and he turns it over again and again until it works. He works investment banker hours. He's the fastest, slowest learner I've encountered.


Be warned- these kids will change you. They will grow your heart ten times bigger. You may realize you never really knew up from down after meeting them. You will be challenged. You will be delighted. You will realize your beliefs about the world aren't what you first thought. You will be cracked wide open to a love and passion you never knew existed. And when these kids learn- when they finally get it- it's a feeling like absolutely no other.  No words could describe this joy, this elation, this liquid magic that feeds your soul. And that goodness builds up and you store it, and it feeds you through the challenging times.

This is an exciting time. With the rise of autism, also comes a deep need for exceptional education. Every city, every town, every single child needs the love and patience that only teachers can provide. You have an opportunity to be a pioneer in revamping the entire education system in special needs. A system that right now is extremely broken. These children desperately need people with a fire in their belly and passion that shines through their eyes. Kids like Alyssa, Dominic, Greyson, Parker and millions more. They need you to help create something exceptional.

You may find that you are the one who walks away learning the most.

everyday wednesday

Do you think you can keep them little forever? I ask God. Often. As so many other parents do, probably for centuries now. Some things never change, no matter when you inhabit earth. I bet even momma dinosaurs growled out, "it goes by so fast."

And each year God shows me, No, I can't. In fact they must grow and change at a rate so astonishing you won't believe your pictures. So fast you won't remember their funny little thinking lips or that crazy thing they did with their toes. Those memories are like bubbles. Watch them rise up towards you. Recognize the beauty in their rainbow reflection. Be in awe of it.

When they are ready, with no warning at all, those bubbles-- they will pop.  Every time. I promise you. You can not mourn the loss of that bubble. Instead you must celebrate the beauty it once carried. You will see that beauty again, but it won't be in the same bubble. If you focus on the old one popping, you will miss the new and all the beauty that it holds.

Luckily, today God compromised. He kept them little all day long. And for the first time in awhile I brought my camera with me everywhere. Because today, I wanted to document the bubble before it popped. And holidays and school events and vacations are a great way to document life. But I like pictures from a random old Wednesday myself. Because I want to remember what our real life actually looked like.



At 8:15 on Wednesday, Parker's day begins with a 50-minute session of Speech Therapy while Grey goes to school. Shhhh- Don't tell Parker, I'm pretty sure he thinks we go just so he can play.



In addition to Applied Behavior Analysis (the gold standard of treatment for kids with autism), I also HIGHLY recommend a play based speech therapy. Our Speechies just so happen to have their SLP and a BCBA (a credential for Behavior therapy). We've been coming here for four years now. In my experience, school speech therapy doesn't even touch the itch.

After Speech, I drop Parker off at a school/clinic for ABA. More learning and more play. He is working on communication, social skills, and good behavior in a classroom of typical peers. Many children with autism need some typical peer models- so they can see play, good behavior and communication close up. In fact, we stopped going to early intervention preschool and started our own gig because they had no typical peer models. Grey wasn't able to see what good looked like. As far as he saw- it was normal to hit, scream, fall to the ground, refuse to share and throw your toys on the ground.




This is when I get a little ME time. It's the best stuff on earth, and without it- I am a terrible mom. At least five days a week I take a class at a place called The Bar Method. I started going to make my body healthier, but the best thing it does for me is clear my mind. It's a mixture of pilates, and yoga ballet poses, and other twisty, bendy hard things. It's hard to overthink when your quads are shaking. Exercise + Effexor are two things I've realized I just can't live without.



I pick up Doodle after a three hour therapy session. This place has the greatest leaf-dropping-trees around. Today we stayed and played a little.









Parker is the happiest guy I'm lucky to know.



My little buddy and I go home for lunch. I won't know what to do when he goes to full time school.


And then we pick up Grey from school.

Grey has a three hour ABA session as soon as he gets home from school at 2:30. He's working on at least ten different skills. Three days a week Parker also has another 3-hour Behavior Therapy session in the afternoon. He does not pull a double on Wednesday. 


Grey is learning to ride his bike. He's a whiz with training wheels. I think we're ready to try without. 




This program is called One to One Correspondence. This concept is so fundamental that we don't even think about it. Rote counting is important, (ie counting from 1-10) but those numbers can just be memorized like the lyrics to a song. In order to have a stronger understanding of mathematics, kids must have an understanding of the numbers. Here Greyson has to match the number on the board with the number of items he places in the bin.



At around 3pm, I think I'm going to die without caffeine or a nap. Unless it's the weekend- the nap just aint happening. Lately this has been my favorite. Coffee, with a half a pack of hot chocolate. Add vanilla creamer and marshmallows. I like a little coffee with my sugar.



He is the hardest worker I know. Like seriously investment banker hours. Whenever I feel bad about that- I remind myself that this makes his life easier and better. I can't express just how much ABA has changed our lives. This kind of therapy won't be available to them forever, and turning it down would be like throwing away money- or brain cells. This is a short time LONG TERM INVESTMENT. We've already seen so many dividends.



Throughout therapy Greyson works for reinforcers (a toy, a piece of chocolate, jumping time on the trampoline), in addition to pieces of this puzzle. When his session is complete, if he's earned it- he gets 45 minutes of play on his ipad. It's a good system.



Oh yes, and somebody pooped on the toilet, so he got ice cream. He hasn't had an accident in over two weeks!!! Poop training has easily been one of the HARDEST part of parenting for me. 



My socks don't lie.

I'm happiest at home. I'm the type of person who longs for home before the end of the vacation. If you can't be content doing absolutely nothing at home, then you probably can't be happy- period. I love our daily routine. It's soothing and predictable. Until it suddenly bores me and I feel like I'm going to explode. Yep- that happens too. But for the most part, I am happy.


So often when tragedy and heartache  or even stress strikes, we think back to our normal from before. "Why didn't I appreciate it more then?" We ask ourselves. So right now, when all is calm, take a moment to appreciate it now. Everyday life is my favorite. Even the hard days, the days we feel broken and exhausted really are just a little drop in the big bucket on life. Taking pictures and chatting with you always reminds me of that. Pay attention to your bubbles, friends. They were blown just for you.



XOXO Chrissy