Category Archives: ABA

A letter to myself

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I’m semi-participating in a Summer Blog Hop Challenge meant to show others how the life with a disability, or with a child who has a disability, is a journey. A never ending one, for sure. But a journey filled with triumphs and some tears. Of course per my usual stick–to-break-the-rules reputation instead of starting in week 1 it is now week 3. So today we are starting the journey half-way through with a letter to myself. Even though that was week 2’s prompt


Dear Younger Me,

I was going to write to the much younger us. The one who is upset because our first love left us. Or the one who just met David and thought um….not my type but sure let’s go to dinner. To the younger us who on the eve of her wedding and asked David to elope instead. Or to the new mom to Abby who was scared out of her mind at this thing that wouldn’t stop crying and tell you eventually she would no longer seem breakable. 

Instead I am writing this for you to receive after Boo’s birth. She is now four months old and you are thinking Holy Crap not only did I just get puked on from my neck to my toes I am getting a letter from the future. You are also thinking I’m writing to give you good news except you know us by now and realize maybe not.

First I want to tell you that Boo will survive. You can cry and breathe and rejoice. Now the other shoe dropping on your head is me telling you she will survive but it will not be easy. I am not writing to tell you what will happen. Because no matter what I write it either won’t change things or worse give you the magic answer you are looking form. Rather I write this to the mom of four-month old Boo to give you some advice.

Now you know it is really me, right?

Well here it is:

Never listen to a doctor, a nurse, therapist or school teacher that Boo cannot do something. There will be a doctor or two you will want to punch in the nose, but you will refrain from harming them.  

Pay no attention to someone who says that Boo is just like their daughter/son/grandchild and “will grow out of it”.

Never give up hope. In yourself or in Boo.

Do not ever, for one minute, stop searching for an answer. Do not listen to the doctor who says just accept Boo for who she is. It is too important. You and she need the answers and being an unknown neurological syndrome is not an answer.

Keep Early Intervention. As awful as it is you will need them when she is three. But do not listen to them when they say she does not need Spaulding Center for Children. You are right they are wrong and they will deal with being offended. 

As much as you have to fight to make Boo all she can be, you will spend more time loving her than fighting for her. She will impact not just your life but those around her. Boo is making a difference in this world one smile at a time.  You just have to get through the what seems to be unending puke phase. But I promise it does end.

You know all the friends that say “let me know if I can help”? Here’s the thing they WANT to help. You have to TELL them how. Instead of waiting for them to call you, call them. Say I just need someone to come over and sit with me. Call them and say David’s home do you want to go to the canal with me. Call them and say I’m drowning and just need a friend. Cry and laugh with them. You will be amazed at the support just waiting for you. Your future self knows she waited way too long to reach out. Once you do life will become so much easier and less lonely.

Remember that David is there and he is your partner in this unexpected life. Don’t wait so long to include him in Boo’s therapies (yes, there is more than one). You will be amazed at how well he does.

Lastly, give yourself a break. You are allowed to feel tired and overwhelmed. You are entitled to feel like this just isn’t fair. I promise you that this life becomes easier. You will one day brush your teeth before dinner time. You will one day wear a shirt without Boo’s remains on it. You will be amazed at her journey.

I won’t spoil the good parts for you. Be prepared to be amazed.

Love,
Older (but less tired) Me

PS–oh and don’t worry you will not cave and buy Abby a pony.







My Challenge: Eric

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I consider myself very lucky today. I have read a lot about autism from the perspective of the parent, the teacher, the doctor, etc…but today I want to introduce you to Eric. A young man who recently graduated high school and entered the work force. 

My Challenge: Autism

My name is Eric and my challenge is having autism.  Sometimes I have a hard time coming up with the words to say what I am feeling.  Sometimes I think people are acting a certain way for a certain reason and my mom and dad tell me that it is probably not for that reason.
I graduated from high school in May of 2013 and I did a lot of volunteer work.  I finally got a paying job last month and now I work as a dishwasher three nights a week.  I really like that I’m finally getting paid.  I am looking forward to my checkbook balance going up.  One day I would like to own my own car instead of driving one that my mom and dad own.

I like being able to drive myself and get around.  I’ve been driving for two years now and I haven’t had an accident.  I am a very good driver.
My favorite things to do are golf, bowling, watching movies, hanging out with my cat, working puzzles, building models and making things.  I created this marionette puppet out of pipe cleaners.
I thought it was pretty cool and brought it to school to show off.

I need people to be willing to explain things to me different ways so I can understand, but then I am just as capable as any other teenager to do jobs.  I like being useful at home and at work.

It is a challenge to have autism and sometimes I wish I didn’t have it but I am learning to live with it.

************
Wow. Eric. Just. Wow. Thank you for being so cool and honest about living with Autism. How it makes you, well, you but it also changes how the world perceives you. Here’s the thing, though. Almost every one of us knows some one with Autism. They are learning next to you in school but then they grow up. Just like you. They get jobs, they have a fulfilling life.  A person with autism has just as much impact on the world as one who doesn’t, thank you Eric for showing that. And good luck on your new job!

To find more information about Autism, please visit The Organization for Autism Research. 

What's your challenge is a series that was inspired by a program I created at Abby's school. I am amazed at how honest and hopeful the challenges have been. Thank you to all who have contributed. To submit your challenge, please e-mail me at firebailey@gmail.com

Being okay doesn’t mean being satisfied

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A few months ago I wrote a post titled Paging Dr. House. One of the most fantastic benefits of blogging is when a reader might not comment but instead send you a lifeline. To protect her privacy, “T” wrote to me shortly after that post and encouraged me not to give up. Not to despair. But more than a pat on the shoulder “T” gave me the  name of a doctor who might be willing to review Boo’s history. She may have found our Dr. House.


So last week we took a little 20 hour road trip hoping to find an answer to what is Boo.
We were worried, to be honest. David was nervous of walking into a Justina Pelletier issue. I was excited, we might have an answer. A little nervous that we were making a huge monetary investment in a hoax. Then I got excited again. Until the day we left and I realized that answer might be that Boo has only five years left of life. I wasn’t quite ready for that news. I sent a panicked text to Tia who replied: BREATHE.

Thankfully our fears never came true. Instead we were given a new hope: finding an answer. We might not, the doctor was very honest with us. However just looking at Boo she said she was confident that not only did Boo have a syndrome but that the answer was out there. Not five years from now, but as near as six months. 

For the first time in too long a Doctor got it. A Doctor looked at Boo from her beautiful hair, to her teeth, to her fingers and toes. A Doctor didn’t talk with just me, but looked at Boo and spent time (almost 2 hours) with her. She noticed that Boo grinds her teeth, that her hands/feet are slightly webbed, that she is the best hugger and has bowed legs. She took out her medical books, laid them on the desk and said, “I’ve seen this characteristic before….” and “wait let me think about this…”

She was also honest and said we might not find the answer today but that it was important to never stop searching. She understood the why of it all. That to get Boo the best life possible we cannot be in the dark. We need to be aware of what she has so we give her the best chance at living her life that is this beautiful miracle. 

This Doctor was clear: While Boo’s tremendous advances may have “ruled her out” for certain syndromes that might not be true. Without her therapies and schooling she would not be where she is today. Her advances might be in spite of a syndrome rather than because of one. She was also honest: She might not find the answer but that didn’t mean the answer isn’t out there somewhere. 

She solidified for us that we have to continue to be warrior parents. That the hole in her heart may be “trivial” but it is important, that her temperature issues might be manageable but they are important, that Boo has dysmorphic features and they are important. In her terms, Boo has “structural issues” and these are due to a genetic syndrome and not by chance. That we need the answers because one day these “trivial” issues might prove to be catastrophic. That it is our job as parents to continue to be the thorn in the medical establishment’s side. She understood on an intimate level that this is our child, the most important child in the universe. 

Boo will have to undergo more laboratory testing. The tests take about six months to result. The six months will be worth the wait, even if the answer is we don’t know. At least we found someone who won’t stop looking with us. We will know we have exhausted every option, for now. 

Maybe, just maybe I will have to change the name of this blog from Undiagnosed but Okay to something more appropriate.

Won’t that be a cool problem to have?

Thank you, “T”. You know who you are. Thank you for reaching out and “stalking” until you found me on Facebook to offer us a lifeline. When I was in despair and worried you were willing to take time out of your life to offer me hope. I won’t forget it and hope to pay it forward someday.

Thank you

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While I have so much to be thankful for this week, I am only going to focus on one person who made a difference in Boo’s life.


Each and every person who works with Boo becomes a part of our family. I am not sure if it happens with other parents, I hope so. Because you are all so important to a child’s success. This is a special thank you to Emily (or Emmy as Boo calls you) who had to say goodbye this week. She is leaving us for a great new adventure and we wish her nothing but happiness. 

Emily you will be missed. You have been an integral part of our “family”. Boo’s gains is due to your being a part of her team. Your patience. Your kindness. Your firmness. And yes, your snuggles. Boo (and we) love you “Emmy”.  We will never forget what you have done for us. 

We consider Boo lucky to be part of a team of teachers and therapists who work together to make her the best. I know your co-therapists will miss you as much as I will. Workshops won’t be the same. Heck, Fridays won’t be the same. 

You have helped us navigate feeding issues, potty training, stairs and Boo finding her voice. She has flourished under your care. I have seen you correct her with love. I have seen you stop when she wants just one more hug. You held me up after that field trip of tears. I have witnessed your patience (more than I could ever hope to have). I have been lucky to have you collaborate with others who work with Boo. You have allayed my fears and offered guidance. You do every task with attention and caring. 

Thank you from the bottom of our souls for giving Boo your best. 


It hasn’t happened yet

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Yesterday was preschool graduation. For the third year in a row I did not attend. As I was leaving another mom said, oh are you too upset to stay? 

Truthfully, no. Cause it’s year three and she will be going back today. She will take a one week break and be back the first of July. Boo does not get summer vacation (thank goodness) and she will not be moving on to Kindergarten in the fall. It is not meant to sound harsh or like I am upset. I am not sad at all that she is not graduating with her peers. I am overjoyed. Heck I am thankful that we are not facing Kindergarten next year.

I’m doing the happy dance.


You see, Boo has the best and I mean best ever pre-K teacher. One that loves and cares for Boo in a way that makes my heart ten sizes to large. Miss Trisha is the reason Boo was enrolled into the special education program. She is the reason Boo has made such significant gains. Miss Trisha is the reason Boo was included in the best ever ABA program headed by a team of professionals that but the child before anything else.

I am consistently amazed at Boo’s willpower and progress. Three years ago when she entered the pre-K classroom she had (maybe) 10 words and 20 signs. Now she shouts MISS TISHA OME ERE.  When Boo was screened for the pre-K program she was using a pediatric walker. 


Today she jumped around in a circle with her friends. Yes, she danced while they walked around in formation. But she was present. She was in the moment. She was having fun. This is the year Boo made friends. For real. Friends that invite her to birthday parties. Friends that do not let her sit on the sidelines and just observe. Friends that taught her how to play tag.  Friends that on a field trip at the Zoo make sure she keeps up. 




Not only did she help Boo up she celebrated afterwards











This marks the first field trip I attended with Boo that I did not cry afterwards. Afterwards her teacher asked if I was okay. Because to Miss Trisha all of us are her responsibility. 

This year Boo made friends. As in more than one. Ones that will keep in touch and be a part of her life for a long time to come. Girls and boys who play with her not along side of her. Children who run to hug her in the morning and interpret her language when there is a new child or substitute therapist. 

But for the first time the pre-K non-graduation makes me wonder not worry about what September will bring. How many more milestones and leaps she will make developmentally under the love of Miss Trisha? It is breathtaking to imagine.

No I did not attend Boo’s pre-K graduation. Because it hasn’t happened yet. I will be there in the front row when it does. But I plan on that not happening until Miss Trisha retires. 

Somewhere around Boo’s 18th birthday.






Why I’m not mad at Toni Braxton

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Toni Braxton is facing a lot of criticism over her memoir, Unbreak My Heart. According to E-online, Ms. Braxton writes that she believed her son’s autism was “God’s payback” for having an abortion.  While many are understandably upset about Ms. Braxton’s provoking statement, I think what is being missed in the outcry is she states in her book she BELIEVED. With a “D“. 

What parent of a child with special needs has not had that thought? That our child’s disability was because something we did? That you might be being punished for something? That you did something wrong? Did you have a cocktail before you knew you were pregnant? Did you scuba dive? Were you a bad person? You and your spouse fought. You cried when you found out you were pregnant.
When Boo was first in the NICU I wracked my brain trying to come up with some reason why. Every time some new worry arises with her I wonder why she suffers. I still am searching to the ends of Google to find an answer. I have blamed myself for not wanting a second child. I blamed myself for knowing that I probably had a glass (or two) of wine before I knew I pregnant. I blamed David, thinking surely something he must have come into contact with at work did this. This thing that no one could explain to us.

If not one parent has ever had that thought, I call bullshit. Yup, I just swore at you. Because it is impossible for me to believe that when told your child had XQZ you handed out cigars and said how proud you were that your child may have to struggle more than others. That not once did you second guess yourself, your doctor, your medical history or your God.  It is easy to blame God for a lot of things. He very rarely comes to the witness stand. He is kind of busy.
Photo Credit: Finding Ninee


He is blamed for war, for famine, why not question him for your child’s disability or illness? Or your own. I imagine there are many cancer warriors who wonder why they got sick. What did they do or not do?


In Ms. Braxton’s memoir she is recounting her feelings. What she went through as a parent of a newly diagnosed child. I do not agree with everything she states in her book. But am I outraged that she once thought God was punishing her for a decision she made? That she went there and bared her feelings? We might write in our diary, our blog, our book about our feelings and fears. We cry to our friends, our partners and our moms. We go through a period of grief of the child that might have been. That is natural. Am I sometimes fearful that one day Abby or Bridget might read a post I have written and be hurt by it? Of course! But I am also aware that my love for them will overshadow any fears or thoughts I have had, they will read the whole post/entry and not take a line or two out of context.
Did Toni Braxton set autism awareness back a decade with her memoir? Nope. Not buying it. Only if the crazies out there start using it as an anti-abortion statement. I can see it now, don’t have an abortion your next child will be punished. Let’s face it, there are idiots out there who use whatever sound bite possible to defend their position. Even if there is a thousand reams of information to back up the opposite position. Of course I wish she spent more time talking about how wonderful her son is, how proud she is, how she realizes that autism (or any disability) isn’t a punishment. That life with a child with special needs is a life-altering journey. 

But it’s not my memoir. 

Most parents would never, ever, tell her child that she wondered why her child was born with a disability. We tell them that they were born perfect. There is nothing “wrong” with them. We lobby for inclusion. We shout from the rooftops our advocacy. 

We believe deep in our hearts that our child is perfect, beautiful, amazing and we are astounded by their will.

But at one moment in time, each and every one of us wondered why “it” happened. Then our hearts grew ten times too large and we stopped wondering and began living. 

At least I’m honest enough to admit it.



Special thanks and a shout out to my friend Kristi at Finding Ninee who drew God on the Witness Stand with three hours notice, never asking why I needed it! And to Tia who pre-read this post and encouraged me to post it knowing others may disagree.


The joy of language

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Boo gives me a lot of atypical milestones, moments, frustrations and joys. Every once in a while, though Boo gives me that typical parent moment when I realize even special children are typical in ways never imagined.

Boo has worked so very hard to obtain language. She has been in speech therapy since she was in two years old. Her therapists have never given up on her. They have persevered, coming up with new techniques, scaling things back or pushing her forward as warranted. 

Like most parents the first time you hear your child babble on the baby monitor you lay there and smile, rejoice and wonder what the heck they are saying.

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When you go to their room in the morning and they greet you like you just missed the best dream ever your heart warms.
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And if you are a normal parent by 7 pm you just wish they would stop talking. When you tire of trying to decipher what they are trying to tell you. Even as they crack you up.



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I live for these typical moments. The moments that most parents, to some extent, gets to witness. The babble, the random words and the expressions. Things five years ago I never imagined.

Even as my ears ring.

A special thank you to Boo’s numerous therapists for giving me these moments.

And yes, Boo is still wearing her Halloween pajamas. And yes, I know it is May. Don’t judge.  

Mom in the elevator

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Dear Mom in the Elevator,

I’m sorry. I apologize for leaving so quickly. I saw you and your husband in the elevator at Children’s. You were wearing the badge of the NICU. You had hit the elevator for the respite floor. You looked so spent. So wiped. So scared.

As I left with Boo for her cardiology appointment I turned and said, It gets easier.

Then I left.

I’m sorry. I should have said something sooner. I should explained that it gets easier but not better. That today you are worried about your newborn and tomorrow you will be worried about you toddler.

But I swear it gets easier. You will be hit in the gut many times over the next few years decades. Right now, believe it or not, is the easiest time of your life with a sick newborn. You have the support of awesome nurses and physicians who allow you to nap, to eat, to cry and to ask questions. 

Soon, hopefully, you will be discharged. You will be scared. No, you will be terrified. As much as you looked forward to the moment of taking your baby home you are scared to your core. Because at this moment you realize you are parenting without a net. You are taking a child home that just 8 hours earlier was on a cardiac (or other) monitor. The doctors and nurses assure you that they are healthy enough to go home. As much as you (and everyone you know) prayed for this moment in time you are terrified that you are not ready.

But you are. There are just somethings you have to do to make sure you and your child stay whole.

You need to create a village. That friend that says call me, what can I do, I’m here for you. Hold them to it. Call them and say HELP ME I’M SCARED. More scared than you ever imagined. Unless you have been in the NICU you cannot describe the level of terror. They won’t get it, but they will hurt for you. They will be there for you. But only if you let them.

But I get it. I understand the moment you thought your child was going to die. The moment when you realized they would live. The moment you were told they were coming home.

It scared the crap out of me. I mean, like almost threw up I was so scared.

There will be moments in the future when you will worry, when you will cry, when you will say this is not what I signed up for…but they pale in comparison to the moment.

The moment when you go from being a parent in the NICU to a parent without a net.

Here is what you need:

  • Your partner. You are in this together. Remember that and hold them to it.
  • Your best friend. They promised to be there forever. Hold them to it.
  • Your mom. She loves you, no matter what. She might not understand what you are going through, but let her be there.
  • Your pediatrician. If you do not have one that is willing to be answer your call at 2AM find a new one. Their job is to be there for you and your child. Hold them to it.
  • Your friends. Here’s the thing. They want to be there for you. But they don’t know how. They are afraid to call and bother you, they don’t want to burden you, they are ashamed that they complain about their child talking nonstop when yours is nonverbal, they don’t know how they can help. So tell them. Tell them what you need. Be it a pizza delivered, a bathroom cleaned, a shoulder to break on or a text fest where you just spew. But let them be there. Don’t hide what you are going through because then they cannot help. You need them, it’s your job to let them know it.

Lastly, and this is the most important, listen to your inner warrior mom. You know your child better than any doctor, nurse or provider. If they smell funny to you then something is going on. I once had a nurse tell me that mother’s instinct trumps doctors order any day of the week. Remember that. 

When you gave birth to a child with a medical issue and/or special need, you didn’t just become a mom (sorry to tell you). You became a warrior mom. One who advocates, medicates, does therapy, uses Google to the ends of the research and who loves their child beyond all measure.

It does get easier. Not better, but easier. The caveat to being easier is to have your village. Go find them. Embrace them. Lean on them. I should have done it earlier. I am one of the lucky ones. My village found me. 

Dear Mom in the elevator, you are not alone. You are scared. You are terrified. You feel overwhelmed and heartsick. But you are not alone. Create your village. Embrace them. That is what makes the NICU experience bearable. I remember just 5 years ago keeping people away. I missed out on the support I needed. It took years for me to get it. That my village was there waiting to be tapped. Once I understood this journey became easier.

Not better, but easier. 

Don’t make that mistake, Dear Mom In the Elevator. Let your support system be there for you now and forever.

Love,
A parent who has been there and has the t-shirt.

A parent that is there for you, if you need.

A mom who wishes she spoke up sooner. That she said HELP. That she allowed those who love her and her child to help them.


PS–I had a different post almost ready for this Finish This Sentence Friday, Dear Mom…but then the elevator happened.

 Holy crap I’m a cohost and really hope I didn’t screw this up 🙂 Please link up below!

No interest

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I have no interest in being a person who wallows. I do not want to be a blog that focuses on one theme. I think of this blog as my therapy. If I am lucky it is your therapy too because you realize you are not alone.

Whether your child is healthy and ornery like Abby or challenging like Boo or your house has a crazy puppy who is equal parts loving and destroying your house. I want all to feel welcome and to feel a connection.
Then there are days like today. The day that started out promising, too rainy to run. Waking up early to realize that the morning goes smoothly without incident. You knew it was too good to last.

It started innocently enough. With your daughter telling you that her pants had a whole in the, well, crotch yesterday. A boy on the bus noticed and it ended up into a discussion about who had an elephant trunk and who was flat.

Yeah. I went there. 

You tell the boys mom. Because you want to make sure that 1. she knows your child typically does not go into school with a hole in her crotch (unless she is Kristi) and 2. that you made sure there was no inappropriate show & tell on the bus that would get either kid suspended from elementary school. The other mom kind of reacted differently than you, had ‘the talk’ with her child. You felt bad because you saw and admitted to the inappropriate humor to the situation. The fact that Kristi saw the humor and said HEY RIGHT A BLOG POST ABOUT IT made you feel better.

You think that is the most you would have to deal with in a day. You think hey I handled this maturely. I answered my daughter’s questions in a way that she understood and didn’t feel embarrassed about. I promised not to tell her dad. Thank GOD he doesn’t read the blog since I never promised her I wouldn’t tell the world. 

Then the other shoe drops. Boo happens. She has a meltdown at school and at home. Abby tries to compensate by being the good girl. She tries to placate Boo but I stop her because I do not want to reward Boo’s behavior.

I realize that I am wallowing. I am stuck in this mantra that Boo is sucking the life out of us. That as awesome as she is, she is draining.  That I suck at this. That I cannot stop wondering where Spring is. When life will get easier.

When Boo will not demand so much energy (probably not going to happen). That I will not have to demand a doctor pay attention.

That I will not think life would be easier with the Abby issues.

I never intended to resent Boo. But sometimes I do.  Sometimes I suck at this whole “special” parenting thing.

Something else I never expected to do. I never had an interest in being a parent, let alone a parent of a child with challenges. Sometimes it is great. Sometimes it sucks. Most times it is not the life I intended.

But it is my life and I am doing the best I can, even when it seems I’m not.

Finish the Sentence Friday

Therapy with love

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Every month we have “workshops” at Boo’s school. It is a time when we get to be at her school for an afternoon and observe her various programs. All of her therapists are there, along with the head of her program. We find it a very rewarding, if sometimes heartbreaking, experience.

It is an opportunity for us to ask questions. To provide input on what is happening at home and seek advice. We are able to see the techniques corrected by the head of the program and adapted in ways to promote Boo’s best chance for success.
Success, though, is hard fought. The yesterday afternoon Boo refused to do her program. It was simple really, she just had to answer a question. 

For whatever Boo reason there is, she refused. Simply refused to comply. David arrived at pick-up, her tortured therapist explained that Boo wasn’t being compliant. The first time for this particular therapist. David couldn’t wait, Boo had after school therapy. According to him, he put her in the car. Asked her the question and not only did she reply…

She replied with a grin. Repeated herself just to make sure David heard her.

Round one: Boo

Today I drop Boo off to her integrated preschool and am stopped at the door. Instead of going into school she is taken to her SPED program where they will repeat the program until she complies.

I try to understand it. That they cannot let her ‘win’. That this is important because it will matter one day that she answers a question when asked. For her safety she must comply. It is not acceptable to not respond to a teacher, a policeman, me. Boo must begin to understand that it is not up to her.

I wouldn’t put up with it with Abby, for example. If a teacher asked Abby her name and she refused I wouldn’t say, just let her go play. I would hold the teacher and Abby accountable.

But it’s Boo.

Part of me is proud of her stubbornness. Even as it frustrates me. Her stubbornness has given her the determination to roll over, sit up, walk and run. Her stubbornness has allowed her to become a verbal child, overcome her fear of sand and open doors that should have remained closed.

I’m also overjoyed that this behavior is happening at school. I always feel like a hypochondriac when I attend workshop and say Boo is exhibiting a behavior that she never repeats for them. It makes me happy to know that she is feeling comfortable to let loose at school.

Boo went to the SPED classroom with her therapist. I went to work worried. Both for the therapist and for Boo. 

Eventually Boo complied with what her team was asking her to do. It took almost an hour an a half, but she did it. Boo never understands that it hurts her therapist when she is being stubborn. That at five years old she has the power to break our hearts because we want to play, we want to be at Boo’s speed.

But for her safety we cannot give in. The ABA therapy works well for Boo. As long as it is administered with love and patience.

Round two: Therapist

When I picked Boo up from school she was the happy little girl we know and love. She hugged her therapist good bye. For the rest of the afternoon she repeated the phrase they wanted over and over again, without prompting.

Proving once again she is the stubborn girl we know and love. Doing things in her own time.

Round three: Boo

I’m sorry to all her team that Boo was challenging today. Thank you for loving her through it.