Sablog: A "blog" by Sabrina. First manicure!

So, do you like your nails?

Sabrina: "Yeah."

Why?

Sabrina: "Because they're pretty."

What color are they?

Sabrina: "Purple with light pink. Bofe of them." [She cannot say her th's so "both" is "bofe."]

And who likes purple?

Sabrina: "Max does."

And is that why you got purple?

Sabrina: "No."

Why did you want me to polish nails?

Sabrina: "Cause I wanted them to look beautiful. Abbie polishes her nails. She does. Don't you know that?"

I didn't know. Should we polish Max's nails, maybe?

Sabrina: "No. Because boys are a boy because, uh, they're taller than girls."

What polish do you want to do next?

Sabrina: "Another pink that's darker. Yipppoooooo!"

After this blog was recorded, I was forced by Sabrina at watergun-point to drive her to Target and purchase glittery polish. Then she made me open the bottle and cover the purple polish with the glittery one right then and there. Uh-oh, I am in for it.

BTW, there's still plenty of time to enter to win the Pottery Barn Kids gift card.

"Oh, mom, leave me alone!"

Some students at a local college are raking leaves in our neighborhood in exchange for a donation to Habitat for Humanity, a favorite cause of mine. I signed up, and two guys and a girl came over and plowed through our front and backyard. Max was right out there with them. He helped rake. He dumped leaves onto the tarp. He helped drag the tarp to the curb.

When I stepped outside to take pictures of him, Max shook his head and waved me in. I tried to hide behind a bush (he looked so cute, I really wanted more photos), but he spotted me and again told me to go inside. I just barely snapped this pic.

Max wants independence. Of course he does. It's something I forget sometimes, because he's still dependent on us for a lot of things—feeding, dressing, diapering. But he's going to be 7, soon. And inside that body is a little boy who wants to be free to do things alone, without his mom or dad. Like any other 7-year-old.

It's me who needs to work on this independence thing. Because every inch of me wants to hover around Max, help Max, take care of Max. I've been in overdrive for years.

I know I have to let my baby grow up, in whatever ways he's ready to.

I have to let go.

Nice hat, Dad!

I saw my dad on Sunday. He's 86 and a little out of it at times, but he's still plenty smart and generally not doing so bad. Especially considering the hat he was wearing.

"Um, is that a pot plant on my dad's hat?" I asked the woman who helps take care of him.

"Yes, it's ganja!" she said, cheerfully. She's from the islands, so she knows what she's talking about. Seems like she's been wheeling him everywhere in that cap. For a year now.

"Who got it for him?" I asked.

"Your mother," she said.

Hmmmm.

I called my mom.

She told me she had a pair of pants to return to some discount-type store; the place wouldn't give her cash, so she decided to pick up a few things instead. Including this bargain $1.50 ganja hat. "Mom, what did you think that design was?" I asked. "I thought it was a maple leaf, like on the Canadian flag," she said.

I pondered the hat. What the heck, I thought. I mean, I don't want anyone mistaking my dear old dad for a weed dealer, I wouldn't let my mom buy ones for the kids and I'm not condoning ganja or anything, but there's something to be said about being the hippest 86-year-old in the whole hood.

Pottery Barn Kids giveaway—my thanks to you!

First off, the winner of the Buzzy (the device that helps make shots less painful for kids) is Cristin, from Tiptoeing Through The Tulips. I hope Graham uses it, er, in good health!

When I won The Bump's award for Best Special Needs blog, I said I'd give away the $100 Pottery Barn Kids gift card. Ta-dah! It came in the mail on Saturday, with a nice note from the woman in charge of the awards.

To enter, just leave a message below for Max. Because he's the star of this blog (don't tell his little sis!) and someday, I hope he can read all of your words for himself. Note, if you do not have a blog you must leave your e-mail in your comment or I won't know how to find you; I do not possess heat-seeking missiles. I'll pick a winner by next Sunday and announce it on Monday the 16th.

Oh, and word to my best friend Hedy: happy, happy birthday.

Max's other mom

So, Max's teeth keep falling out but I haven't been able to save a single one; we think he's been swallowing them. Leave it to our nanny, Linnette, to actually snag a tooth when it came out today.

"Nanny" always sounds so pretentious to me but Linnette is so much more than a babysitter. Actually, "Max's patron saint" would be a much better description. That's her above, with Pumpkin Max at nine months old.

I hired Linnette even before Max was born; she sort of fell into my lap, referred by a friend of a friend. I thought she was kind, competent, sensible, good-hearted, and a little bit proper, which I adored about her. Then Max was born and we spent two weeks in the NICU. I called and told Linnette there had been some problems at the birth, but I was scared of telling her the truth. Hell, I didn't even know what the truth was. My newborn had a bilateral stroke at birth and resulting brain damage—that much was true. He was going to have challenges, but I didn't know how severe they'd be. Nobody did. Would Linnette want to quit? Just the opposite: Linnette was in. She said she'd do whatever she could to help Max along. I think she fell in love at first sight, which wasn't too hard. Max was a heartbreaker from the get-go.

After I returned to work from maternity leave, Linnette sat through Max's therapies. She exercised his stiff arms and legs, helped him hold toys when he had trouble grasping them, spoke to him and did everything she could to stimulate his brain. Over the years, I've found that she's been able to handle certain things in a more level-headed way than I can. Feeding Max, for instance. It's still an emotional issue for me, even more so when Max was very young. It took such a long time to feed him, since he didn't have good tongue coordination and kept on pushing out food with his mouth. I was always so concerned he wasn't getting enough to eat. And I was unnerved. Eating seemed like the most fundamental, basic thing in the world for a kid to do. It was upsetting that Max couldn't do it well, although now I understand just how cerebral palsy affects a child's ability to use his tongue muscles. Max's issues with eating were an undeniable reality: I had a child with disabilities.

Linnette didn't see things this way. To her, Max needed to be fed, period. Calmly, she would feed him. And feed him. And feed him. She still does, to this day.

I'd heard about a "Care Hero" contest on Care.com where you can nominate caregivers who've gone above and beyond to care for people they love or work for. So, I nominated Linnette. I'm hoping she'll be a semi-finalist. In my dreams, she'll win the grand prize, which includes a hotel stay, tickets to a show and dinner. If you have someone in mind to nominate, here's the Facebook page. Also, this weekend, Care.com is giving free access to the site, where you can check out profiles of approved local caregivers.

Who's the babysitter in your life who you trust most?

Would you like fries with that?

Sabrina has a new favorite sandwich: peanut butter on whole wheat bread with lettuce and a sprinkling of M&M's. I say, whatever!

I have a very open mind about my kids and food: I think they should be exposed to—and enjoy—all kinds. Growing up, my father was into health food (way before it became fashionable), and he was fond of saying charming things like, "Sugar is poison!" Which of course meant that the second he dropped my sister and me off at a Sunday weekend activity program, we'd make a mad dash for the vending machine and buy candy bar after candy bar.

So, no food is off limits for my kids.

Max's favorite eats:
• Avocado
• Chicken and rice
• Chocolate ice-cream
• Sweet and sour soup
• Meatloaf
• Hamburgers
• Chocolate ice-cream
• Sweet potatoes
• Pancakes
• Berry fruit shakes
• Chocolate ice-cream

Sabrina's favorite foods:
• Pickles
• Breakfast cereal (most any kind)
• Chicken nuggets
• French fries
• Grape tomatoes
• Hard boiled eggs
• M&M's
• Pink ice-cream (whatever flavor, as long as it's pink)
• Chicken salad that we tell her is tunafish (we don't want her downing too much tuna)

On weekends, we sometimes hit McDonald's for lunch. Dave and I get salads; I like the Southwest kind with grilled chicken (I've looked up the nutrition info, it's a respectable 320 calories and 9 grams of fat). Typically, I try to grub a McNugget off Sabrina and typically, she says "No!"

When I went to BlogHer's conference in Chicago this summer, I met a really nice woman, Maggie, who works for McDonald's. She recently invited me to a local McDonald's for a tour. I actually got to go behind the counter; haven't you always wanted to do that?! I was impressed by how clean everything was and surprised to see they made salad orders from scratch. I also got to help make a batch of fries (I know, I am getting to be so wild and crazy lately). And I found out you can customize orders—so if, say, you want a Big Mac without the bun and with balsamic vinaigrette, no problem. Or you can get an Egg McMuffin with no butter. Someday, maybe McDonald's will figure out a way to make four-year-olds share their McNuggets with their moms.

What's your general philosophy on your kids and the foods they eat?

iphoto/Aleksandr Stennikov

Help! I can't stop organizing! Plus, the first Special Needs Swap Shop

Lately, I have been on an organizing bender:

• I organized the piles of paper in our attic/office, some of which dated back to 2000.
• I organized the three cabinets in the living room wall unit (aka The Black Holes).
• I organized the kitchen pantry—a completely annoying pantry since the shelves are deep but they do not slide and as it turns out I like to hoard spaghetti sauce, although I wasn't aware of it until I kept pulling out jar after jar and there were, I am not kidding, 26 jars. If there's ever a spaghetti sauce shortage in the world, you know who to call.
• I organized four closets.
• I organized the basement and, evidently, I like to hoard light bulbs, too. If there's ever a light bulb shortage in the world, contact me.

My good friend Denise told me that if I get the urge to organize my sock drawer, it's time to get a life. I didn't have the guts to admit I'd already spent a half hour organizing my underwear drawer.

Putting things in order and tossing stuff frees my mind, which is very cluttered. I've also uncovered some great things from Max's early years that I forgot I had. Including the above Pony Gait Trainer, the contraption that helped Max learn to walk; it's for kids up to age 3. I can't find any photos of him actually using it, but I did dig up one of him in his other preferred method of transportation back then:



Here's what I'm thinking: I'd like to give this Pony to the first person who e-mails me about it, you just pay for the postage (be warned, this thing isn't light, but it is in good shape). Obviously, you should first check with your physical therapist about whether this is the right gait trainer for your child.

I'll be offering up a couple of other things from Max's past in upcoming weeks. And if you have something that you'd like to give away that might help a kid with special needs, send me an e-mail with a writeup of what the item is and a photo. Also, if there is something that you're seeking for your child, send me an e-mail with a description of what it is. I'll start doing occasional Swap Shop posts and somehow we'll make it all work!

UPDATE: The Pony Gait Trainer has been taken.