Just Bob

   We made the heart wrenching decision to put down our sweet old dog, Bob, yesterday. Georgia was the reason we had Bob. When she was 5 she begged us "PLEASE, can I have just a little bit of dog?" And I said "Sure, you can have a tail." Um. Not a good response to someone who takes things literally. Hey, live and learn, right? The girls and I set out to our local no-kill shelter 10 years ago looking for a "young, small dog", so it was rather shocking to Brad when he returned home and found us with 65 pound, 2-4 year old Bob, who couldn't hide the fact that he had more than a little pit bull in him. Bob first came to us as "Billie Bob", which we found far too redneck, so we shortened it pretty creatively to just Bob. The vets office never did change it in their files. So I always had to steel myself for "those looks" from the other humans (and sometimes a cat or two) when they called him in to an exam room. They ALWAYS used a super-hopped-up southern accent when they called his name too! He looked the part of a redneck, really. Half pit bull, half....I dunno, I liked to say lab. Labs are well thought-of 'round here. So I decided he was part lab. It took the sting out of saying "part pit bull".  Brad pulled me out of the kids earshot and said "We can not keep this dog." But his mind was changed after walking him around the neighborhood that night, where they encountered a ferocious chow walking his owner. The chow went berserk when it saw Bob -lunging and barking, and straining at the leash. Bob didn't say one word back to that rude creature. Instead he hid behind Brad. Gentle giant. Deal sealed.

"Ohhh, Bob!"

  When I told Emily, Maggie and Georgia the day before that it was time to let Bob go, we all cried. I was a bit surprised that Georgia was showing so much emotion, but unlike the rest of us who want to just cry when we cry, Georgia talks through her tears. She was genuine in her grief, yet was attempting to rationalize and reason at the same time. "At least he will not be in pain anymore. And also not so much dog hair." Yeah, that *is* true. Surviving Bob (also known as: Bobsled, Bobbaloo, Robert Ferdinand - after Ferdinand the Bull, and Bobert)- besides us humans-are another dog, Charlie (aka Chuckles, Chuck Roast, Charles- for formal occasions), and three cats: Sadie, Bart and Sanford. (respectfully known also as: Sadiekins, or Muffin; Black Bart, or Bartemius Crouch (or just Barty Crouch); and Fatty.) He goes on to join his cat friends Kee Kee and Henrietta and the guinea pig, whose name I suddenly- and shamefully- cannot recall. (WAIT! He was black, and Maggie named him... "Ashes"!!....I think....yeah....we didn't have him very long before he got a bad lot of guinea pig feed and, well, our vet was valiant in her efforts, but there was no helping him.)

So we freed Bob to frolic with his old cat and dog buddies who had gone to heaven before him. But I've been thinking...cat heaven and dog heaven: are they two different places, apart from people heaven? Or just fenced off areas of people heaven? Like a dog park. Will Bob need a passport to be able to see Kee Kee and Henny? If they are separate I think dogs and cats should have a third option. There really ought to be a spot for dogs who like cats, and cats who like dogs, because Bob was an equal opportunity kinda guy. He got along with all creatures! Well, with the possible exception of that disemboweled, decapitated squirrel we once found on the bathroom rug. Although forensic evidence never could totally place Bob at the scene, so we weren't certain he was the perp. I wouldn't count him out as an accomplice to one of the cats, however, or to Charlie. Bob was easily led. Whatever scheme Charlie came up with, Bob was all in. Charlie was the brains, Bob the brawn."Bob, dude, we can totally get out of this chicken wire the humans call "a fence". Dig....HERE!" And Bob would dig. Occasionally he'd dig a hole just big enough for Chuck Roast to stuff himself through, and Bob would be left behind holding the proverbial bag. With the telltale sandy dirt ground under his nails, and dusting his snout like he'd just eaten a dozen powdered donuts. Which he was also known to do. Ok, not powdered donuts, but blueberry muffins. For a brief time we called him Blueberry Bob. This was just after we'd adopted him -Charlie wasn't on the scene yet so we know Bob was the brains behind this one. I'd baked several dozen blueberry muffins and left them on the counter to cool while I went out on an errand. I returned home to find half a dozen muffin papers scattered around Bob's bed. Completely intact. As if he'd suddenly developed opposable thumbs that allowed him to carefully unpeel each muffin paper before delicately popping the moist little morsel in his mouth.


 Along with baked goods, Bob also loved going to the beach! He'd bound down to the shore, lap up a gallon of good old Mobile bay water, and then throw it up on a rug back at the house. There is the most wonderful little beach just down at the end of our street. We haven't utilized it like we did when Bob and the girls were younger. Of late some *older* kids have discovered this nearly secluded site and begun using it for rather dubious purposes. It wasn't unheard of 10 years ago to stumble across empty beer cans, or poorly tamped-out bonfires, or even condoms down on Our Little Beach. But those have become ubiquitous sights now, along with the occasional hypodermic needle, and slumbering Scene Kid. Or are they Hipsters? or maybe Rastafarians? I never can get all those sorted out into the right categories! My girls roll their eyes and sigh at me when I ask, then try to explain all of the differences again, to no avail. I never remember. I suppose I really don't need to burn that into my memory, I just need to know enough to give a brief description to the cops. Then I put on my best Gladys Kravitz and scream, "HEY, YOU KIDS! GET OFFA MY LAWN...er...BEACH!"

Alas, however, it is not "our" beach. It's public. But the police don't police it because to get to it, one must huff down a flight of 76 steps, trudge through a fire swamp, and then plod across....SAND. And sand is sandy. And gets into your shoes. Ew. And then one must reverse the trek back through the swamp, across narrow planks of scavenged wood, UP those 76 steps, all while attempting to wrangle a dozen handcuffed teens. It was those endless stairs which eventually prevented Bob from accompanying us to the bay. I doubt he could ever have scared off the pesky teens, though. He was a friend to all, and all were friend to him. "You wanna rob our house!? SURE! C'mon in! *wag*wag*wag*" Unless the robbers were wielding hammers. Then Bob would probably run and hide behind the couch. He was afraid of tools. We don't like to speculate on why.

There were so many more things that Bob loved: car rides through the school pick-up line, rain, cat poop (oh, hush, your dog eats it too!), and visitors! I won't attempt to list more, this post would be days-long. Georgia informed me that it would "take a few years" before she was over the passing of her "first dog". Of course her sense of time and space is somewhat skewed, but I have to agree with her here. And we have tons of great memories of Bob to draw on as the years pass. He was a Good Dog. The Best Boy. He was Bob.

See ya, buddy!

Don't get your drawers in a knot!

Just FYI: This is not our house.

  Our 1971 ranch house has been a work-in-progress for nearly 12 years now. It's not so much being renovated, or remodeled, as it is being reinvented. This reinvention has been happening at our own hands, which is why it will probably never be finished. I'm sure it isn't an ideal arrangement for someone on the spectrum who might have trouble living in a constant state of flux. But - there we are.


  When the kids were little the only uninterrupted block of time we had to work on the house was after they'd gone to bed. So we'd kiss them goodnight, tuck them in, and then tear out a few walls. Or there was the time we said goodnight, climbed up into the attic, shimmied out on to the rafters, and took wire cutters to the suspended acoustical tile ceiling hanging over the living room. A few snips later, the whole thing came crashing down. We then proceeded to shove all the debris out through the front window. It was quite satisfying! The girls never heard a sound. At age 5 Maggie said to us once, in an incredulous tone, "WHY did we have to buy a BROKEN house?!" Hey, location is everything, kid!

  So - for Christmas this year Brad gave me kitchen drawers. I was ECSTATIC! We gutted the old kitchen 10 years ago, and immediately built cabinets and poured concrete countertops. It took another few years before we had doors on the cabinets, so I wasn't holding my breath for drawers any time soon. To hold all of our utensils we've been using this cheap plastic rolling cart with 3 extra-deep drawers. What a headache. You could only locate one of our twelve shrimp forks by noisily, and angrily, rifling through six layers of stainless ladles, slotted serving spoons, and four complete sets of measuring cups. (I didn't even know I had four complete sets of measuring cups.) For the record: we never use the shrimp forks for shrimp. My girls know them only as "fruit forks". I am thankful my Very Southern Grandmother isn't alive to bear witness to this bastardization.      

Hey, look! The plastic rolly cart!

  Georgia did not look upon my drawer present as a gift. She was thrown into a minor tizzy. New drawers meant something was going to CHANGE. She was "not used to it!" I told her that she typically has this reaction to change, but she eventually gets accustomed to the new things, and it will all be OK. For a child on the spectrum there are some things you try to keep the same, for the sake of peace. You *try* to keep the same schedule day after day. You *try* to keep things in the places they expect them to be. But I was getting my drawers, by God. She was just gonna have to bloody-well get used to it! And.....she did. Without much fuss really. She was actually pretty tickled to be able to locate her ice cream spoon so easily. No meltdown. No drama. Also for the record: ice cream spoons in my house are actually iced tea spoons. Again, glad Grandma doesn't know this.
 

  There will continue to be changes in the coming year - with the house, and no-doubt with it's occupants! If Georgia can continue to have only "minor" tizzies over them, we will have accomplished something amazing. Today marks exactly one year since we left on our California adventure to the Stowell Learning center, and I've been very pleased with what we've learned along the way. This adventure with our Stowell work is not done. Not by a long shot. We are always changing and growing, so how could we ever be done? I guess that's why the realization that our house will never be "done" doesn't really bother me. It simply means something super cool, and really interesting is lying right around the corner. But watch out, we just may be wielding a sledgehammer to get to it!

http://www.clipartguide.com/_pages/0808-0801-1115-5662.html

Festivus miracles

It is the season of miracles, and we seem to be experiencing quite our fair share here. But before I qualify that statement let me say this: Georgia is exceptionally strong-willed. Hard-headed. Hard-nosed. And, yes, somewhat self-centered. She doesn't usually stray much from these adjectives, but she can also have fleeting moments of compassion, empathy, sympathy and understanding. Compromise sometimes finds a way in as well. This is Georgia pretty much all year long. Just because it's the Christmas season doesn't mean she suddenly starts behaving like a good little child, wary of incurring Santa's wrath. I'm afraid my children just missed the whole "Elf on the Shelf" phenomenon as a means to securing their sainthood, and I can't say I am sorry. Frankly that elf idea terrifies me more than the thought of Santa tallying up a rap sheet on me. No, the notion of Santa keeping tabs on her all year has never really had an effect on Georgia's attitude, nor her sisters for that matter!

                                               
This year, however, seems to have brought about a preternatural change in Georgia. Oh, sure, she displays all of the qualities I listed above, but despite those ever-present endearing characteristics, she has been exhibiting  some wondrous, and astonishing behaviors. First and foremost is the way she expressed her thoughts on the shooting rampage in Newtown. She wasn't just matter-of-fact about it, simply stating (and re-stating) to me what happened. Instead she said to me "It so sad. Those poor li'l kids. They had their whole life to live." She sat and watched some of the news reports too. In fact she's been coming around to sit on the couch with the rest of the family to watch other shows and movies. This is a rare occurrence. I really can't say how much that can be attributed to the tragedy in Connecticut, but I do wonder if she's feeling somewhat vulnerable, and the way she is able to express it is to simply sit with her family.


And as for those other miracles? These next two involve math homework. It's a nightly nightmare. Some nights are more terrifying than others, but usually it's a big serving of stress all around. One night last week Georgia was so worked up over it, she stomped off to her room sobbing uncontrollably. She calmed down a tad, then reemerged, but with a hiccoughing sob. Middle sister Maggie was sitting at the kitchen counter, turned to her and said "It's OK, Geosie. Do you need a hug?" Geosie (Maggie is the ONLY one who can get away with that nickname) went to Maggie and let her hug, pat her back (!) and coo that she would be fine. A few days later we were finishing up watching something on TV when Georgia decided it was time to start her math homework. (She waits for Brad to help her, and sometimes it gets kind of late!) Her usual M.O. is to start whining to Brad that "it's time", and when they sit down to start she instantly yells "I DON'T REMEMBER HOW TO DO IT!" Instead she quietly got her binder out, opened it up, and started solving the problems on her own. I could hear her talking herself through the steps.


About a week and a half ago Brad and I were gone all day and evening attending a funeral two states away. (My best friend from college lost her 93 year old Cajun grandma. Tough woman, but so sweet to me! And FYI: Cajuns throw damn good funeral parties!) We left Maggie in charge of helping Georgia with some homework, and fixing supper. That afternoon Georgia went to get Maggie for homework help, and found her asleep. Instead of getting upset, she made hot cocoa and brought it up to her room to help wake her up. When supper time rolled around, Georgia agreed to eat sushi rice, and try miso soup. I could fill three more pages with exclamations about that stunning phenomenon.


So now we find ourselves at what could possibly be the biggest marvel of the season: I retrieved Eldest Sister Emily from college on Monday. Before we'd even set down a suitcase Georgia was running at her, waving an invitation in her face, excitedly asking if she would like to go to the resource room Christmas party the next day. (I had to work, so couldn't go) To her great credit Emily immediately, and enthusiastically, said "YES!" Now, you must understand that historically these two have not gotten along as well as Maggie and Georgia. But the last few years have brought more maturity and insight to Emily in dealing with her littlest sister, and it's beginning to pay off. When Emily walked through the classroom door the next afternoon she reports that Georgia jumped up to hug her. They had sustained conversations! Georgia was very pleased, and proud, to have her sister there.

Jaw-dropping, yet heart-warming moments! I can only hope the new year brings more of those, and that we haven't actually been living in some sort of dream state. Don't anyone pinch me, though, just in case!

Speak for yourself!

  Georgia may be getting out of mic work today simply because I cannot string more than three words together without coughing up my spleen. I'm considering making up a turban soaked in Vicks VapoRub and wearing it EVERYWHERE until after flu season. I'd be like Professor Quirrell walking around with a smelly Voldemort on my head, only hopefully the VapoRub wouldn't be hissing orders at me to kill Harry Potter. After a few months of donning my odiferous headgear though, I imagine someone might want to do ME in!



  And speaking of things that don't smell quite right, I have only recently been made aware of some information that Autism Speaks isn't exactly the organization I believed it to be. (Shout-out to PDDWorld/Moms!) Now, this blog was never intended to be used as a forum for promoting, or bashing, any particular agency or therapy that might believe itself doing good deeds to further autism awareness, or improve the lives of those on the spectrum. But A.S. evidently has only just begun using the term "awareness", having been founded on the premise of "curing" autism by funding a ton of research to that end. They seem to be trying hard now to cover their tracks, as the autism community at large has called them on it. As I've seen on the Autism Self Advocacy Network site, ("Nothing about us, without us" http://autisticadvocacy.org/ ), it's not a cure they want, but acceptance. Being autistic is being themselves. This was echoed in an old NPR interview I dug up where a young man on the spectrum said "What the rest of the world needs to know about autism is that it's not something that can be separated out from the person, it's part of the person. And so you cannot meaningfully say I love my child, but I hate the autism. That's like saying I love my child, but I hate that she's a girl and I'd like her to be a boy instead." When asked if there were a cure for autism, would he take it, he answered "No. Never will. I love the way my brain works."


  On the A.S. site under "initiatives" they state "...In fact, many experts agree that a collaborative approach to autism research is the only way science will solve the mysteries of this devastating disorder." The definition of "devastating": 1) highly destructive or damaging. 2) causing severe shock, distress, or grief. The synonyms are destructive, and ruinous. You can see why someone on the spectrum might take exception to the A.S. approach. Now, the man in the NPR interview did state that he knows his life would be "easier without his Asperger's. He would understand social cues. He would get along better in work and everyday interactions." But he's "come to like being autistic. He even celebrates it." I know there are parents out there who might have felt shock, distress, or grief at first hearing a diagnosis of autism, but that doesn't mean the child's life, or the family unit ends in a ruinous state. For me the diagnosis was just validation, and then it was time to keep seeking out therapies which could help Georgia unlock all of her potential. I am not a shout-in-the-streets activist. I just quietly go about my business. So if Autism Speaks is shouting for a cure for autism, I will shout back in the form of not funding their research.

   A friend of mine with an Aspie son told me "You know the saying, 'If you've met one kid with autism, you've met one kid with autism.'" I do not claim to know all there is to know about autism, or every intricate detail of every advocacy group. I've done enough research to know that I don't know half of what's out there! What I do know is my child. I do know that, even though I want to help her overcome her learning problems, I do not want to help her overcome who she is at her core. She's silly, and goofy, and funny. She talks incessantly, (and obsessively!) on the way home from school. But sometimes she says the most amazing things! Yeah, sometimes she's a pain-in-the-ass, (Yep. I said it out loud.), but I usually put most of that down to being a teenager. The autism thing I can handle. This teen thing? OY VEY.

                                                                                 

                                                                         
                                                                     

                                                                       

Wheeling and dealing

 
   I've gotten fairly adept at cutting deals with Georgia for just about anything. And she's picked up my talent for it pretty well. I'm hoping the devil isn't keeping tabs, as I would not enjoy being offered a training position in his fiery corporation. Besides, I know quite a number of people who would be way better suited for the job than me. And anyway, I abhor that kind of heat! Yes, I am aware that I live in the deep South, but contrary to popular belief, it is not *typically* hotter-than-hell here. Well, with the exception of the month of August.

   Thursday afternoon I made a deal with Georgia that we could skip mic work, if she promised to make up for it on Sunday. After all, I was anxious to meet up with my LWDC peeps later (Liberal Women's Drinking Club. Whether you're a liberal, or you just drink that way, we welcome you!), I'd had a really long, tiring day of wrangling second graders, and frankly still had a cough and sore throat.(Have I mentioned I'm also good at rationalizing just about anything?) Geo hemmed a bit, then agreed, and we shook on it- but with a dangerously impish twinkle in her eyes. I said "You think I'm gonna forget by Sunday, don't you?!" I don't know how or why, but somewhere along the way I've managed to instill in my children the concrete certainty that Mommy will always forget things she is supposed to remember. Important things. They are convinced that I will forget to show up to retrieve them from school, or sign an important life-or-death form, or - heaven forbid- WASH THEIR SCHOOL CLOTHES. I honestly can't recall an event that would have imprinted this fear so indelibly on their little brains, and so I've decided to just blame it on my father-in-law, who actually DID forget to pick them up from school one time. Not my fault!          

   You will be relieved to know that I did not forget our Pact Of Procrastination! After letting Georgia have an entire morning of uninterrupted screen-time, I called to her that it was time for our mic work. She did not go quietly, but I could tell that her whole heart wasn't in the whine, and she was cracking a smile. We got right down to business. This was a difficult lesson, but she did such a great job! We went over that pesky "tion" ending, Me: Holds up card: "This is the word 'mention'. The 't-i-o-n' says 'shun'...." Georgia: Blank stare: "HUH?!" Me: "What part says 'men'?" Georgia: "m-e-n". Me: "What part says 'shun'?" Georgia: "s-h-u-n?!" Me: "No, sweetie, remember the 't-i-o-n' says 'shun'. Georgia: Looks at me like I'm insane. Me: Thinks: "Oh, yeah, this is the ever-confusing, always ridiculous English language!!" Honestly, who came up with these rules? I WAS impressed she could distinguish the sounds though, and spelled it like she HEARD IT. She did eventually catch on, after ten more words ending in "tion", and we kept our cool for the most part. The reading passage in this lesson was more challenging, and she was irritated that she had to spell so many words, but she gained a little more confidence once she read a bit from her chapter book. It's always nice when we can end a session on a positive note!

   Only two and a half more weeks of school until the Christmas break. I know because Georgia obsessively goes over this information with me every day. I'll do my best to keep on track with our Stowell work over the holiday, and Georgia will do her best to help me forget!

 

Color my world

                     
   Is it possible to cough so hard that you pop a blood vessel? I think I'm about to find out. The empty Kleenex boxes are piling up like blubbery carcasses after a traditional Inuit seal hunt. To comfort, console and distract myself from this lingering cold, I'm blasting Christmas music from my Pandora "Bing Crosby Holiday" station. It's keeping me pretty distracted, seeing as how Pandora likes to toss completely obscure NON HOLIDAY songs into my very distinct HOLIDAY station. So I have to dive across the room and hit the "thumbs down" icon, effectively telling that song to "move along, you're not welcome here."


     No, it's not quite December yet, so it really shouldn't be legal to listen to Christmas tunes already. Too bad. I'm in the spirit despite my hacking cough! Brad, Emily and Georgia appear in the spirit, but Maggie is lagging a little behind this year. Not to worry, we'll infect her eventually! (with the Christmas spirit, not the stubborn cold) I'm actually pretty excited that Georgia is talking about needing to make her wish list. It's hard sometimes to guess what it is she REALLY wants. The standard gift for her, whether birthday or Christmas, seems to be multiple packs of Sharpies and reams upon reams of paper. Oh, also coloring books. Georgia ADORES coloring books. And she's got a pretty impressive coloring method. She has a thing for the color red. She goes through the pages accenting certain objects, or clothing pieces, with red first. Then she might go back through with blue, filling in other areas on each and every page. And again with the next color. Each page. One color at a time. Wash, rinse, repeat. She never just works on one page until it's complete. This fascinates me. It is a method which, in her mind, is totally logical. Here are two of her masterpieces. I *think*  they're done. (Right now she's working on the areas of a koala picture that she feels should be pink.)

     












                         

  I'm hoping that if Georgia does have coloring books on her list, we'll be able to track down at least one that she doesn't already own. It will be a challenge, but one that I'm sure we can take on! (and talk about affordable!) But what's on MY "Christmas wish list", you ask? Hmmmm....Peace on earth? Goodwill toward men? I'll settle for Peace in the Davis house, and a trip to Goodwill to see if I can find an aluminum Christmas tree!

                                                      (This here is my DREAM HOME!)
                                                     (And the dress. I want the dress too!)

There will be a quiz on this later

  I  thought it would be a good time to give a refresher course on a few things related to this blog. Namely: why I do it. Get your pencils sharpened and poised to take notes, and - as always- I believe it's good to grab a snack before travelling into my Blogdom. (That's sort of like a kingdom, only it's the realm of my blog. Although I can't say I really rule it. It's more like a puppet monarchy.)

                                                               
   This blog started so that I could keep folks informed of the wild adventures my youngest daughter and I were encountering at the Stowell Learning Center in California. I took her there in order that she might be helped to overcome her many, varied, and unusual learning delays. But aside from her learning issues, Georgia is also somewhere on the autism spectrum. Her diagnosis is considered to be PDD-NOS, which is an acronym for Pervasive Developmental Disorder-Not Otherwise Specified. Sounds pretty vague, right? Here is a link to a great definition on the Autism Speaks site: http://www.autismspeaks.org/what-autism/pdd-nos  If you don't follow that link, and read the page, you will fail the quiz later. OK, not really. If you don't read it, at least read the following paragraph that I've lifted right from the site on a description of three subgroups of PDD-NOS:

    "More helpful, perhaps, are studies suggesting that persons with PDD-NOS can be placed in one of three very different subgroups:

• A high-functioning group (around 25 percent) whose symptoms largely overlap with that of Asperger syndrome, but who differ in terms of having a lag in language development and mild cognitive impairment. (Asperger syndrome does not generally involve speech delay or cognitive impairment).

• A second group (around 25 percent) whose symptoms more closely resemble those of autistic disorder, but do not fully meet all its diagnostic signs and symptoms.

• A third group (around 50 percent) who meet all the diagnostic criteria for autistic disorder, but whose stereotypical and repetitive behaviors are noticeably mild.

As these findings suggest, individuals with PDD-NOS vary widely in their strengths and challenges."

  Georgia most definitely falls into the first category. I will admit to daydreaming at times, imagining her without all of her learning issues, the language delay, and have decided that she would probably be considered an Aspie! That wouldn't be so bad, huh? I mean, if ya gotta be on the spectrum.....

.....and that leads me to report that I recently stumbled upon a terrific resource for families with loved ones on the spectrum! It's billed as "the official social network and resource guide for Autism Speaks". It's like Facebook, but just for ASD folks! It's called My Autism Team. Go check it out: http://www.myautismteam.com/  As I've perused the site, I've seen many people lament that their extended family members just do not "get" autism, or their child's weird behaviors. We've been pretty lucky  in that regard. It has taken some folks a bit longer to "get it", but most all of our family, and friends are understanding and incredibly supportive!

  So.Over the course of the last 10 months I've talked about the ups and downs Georgia and I (and really the whole family) have gone through with our Stowell work, and life with a special-needs kid in general. I've never been on a quest to cure my child of autism. In fact I regard any treatment, therapy, or program which claims a *cure* to be nothing more than a snake oil salesman. (With apologies to any snake oil salesmen in the audience!) I do believe that with certain therapies you can help lesson your child's more troubling (or troublesome) behaviors. This can help tremendously with their self esteem, and with easing tension at home and school. But they are always going to be autistic. Georgia will always be Georgia! But I DO hope to *cure* her of dyslexia, and help her language to evolve to a higher level. And to that end, we will keep plugging along with our Stowell programs, and I'll keep dragging you all along with us! One of these days - I promise - I will try to covertly video tape Georgia reading, and post it here. One of these days - I hope - she will let me candidly video tape her reading because she's just so dang proud of herself!