Maya could be a lot of things . . .

Last night I was going through pictures, and I couldn't help but notice the many talents of Maya.  Below are some highlights, presented superlative-style:

Most Precocious Chopstick Handler (she can even work them in her sleep!)

 Most Likely to Eat a Scrabble Tile Mid-Game

 Most Cheerful Post-Op Patient

Cutest Easter Bunny

Avid Food Enthusiast

Most Daring Aquatic Gymnast

 

Most Determined

Most Proud (and rightfully so)

Most Adoring Pet Owner

Some of the pictures gave me insight as to Maya's bright future, and the many ways it could go . . .

She could be a reowned chef . . .

or a brilliant herpetologist . . .

or a wildlife wrangler . . .

 or an arctic explorer.

Well, those are all possibilities.  But one thing's for sure . . .

 she's going to be the sweetest big sister :)

And I think she's happy about it.

Dave, Maya & I are ecstatic to present to you . . . baby #2, scheduled to arrive on or around October 3rd :)

   

PRC & SCS vs. Speak for Yourself, links round-up

Author's note:  I'll continue to update stories as I can.  The articles with ** next to them are the most recently added articles.

In the few days since my last post went up there has been a suprising (well, to me --- I guess not to people in the know) response.  I expected to possibly hear from two groups: those in the special needs community (parents, therapists, bloggers) and those in the speech/assistive tech/AAC community.  Remarkably, those groups (especially the latter) have been relatively quiet.  (With regard to the AAC community especially, I get the walls-have-eyes feeling . . . I think a lot of people are chosing the watch-and-wait approach.  Which is perfectly fine, of course.)

What I didn't expect what the tidal wave* of sudden traffic from a third group: the tech community.  Being a very non-technological girl myself (I still often can't get two pictures side-by-side on the blog without some sort of formatting error) I was totally unaware of the tech blogs/boards/news sites until now.  Here's what I've learned: tech people tend to not like broad software patents.  Also, some of them have a lot to say on this matter.  Also, I can't understand a lot of what they say, which includes terms like jailbreak, open source, and prior art. (But I'm learning.)

I'm going to list some links below, places that this story has traveled . . . but with a few warnings.  First, I'll let you know which ones are articles and which ones are discussion-board style posts--some of which are very technical.  Second, and this is a big one, please realize that these are tech folks, not special needs folks.  Some of the comments could seem hurtful (along the lines of Well, there is a device out there, it's just $7,000 and the parents don't want to pony up the money or It seems like they should see a doctor and help the girl learn how to speak properly) . . . please realize that they are not hurtful to us.  They are just misinformed----frankly, in the same way that I would be misinformed if I tried to jump into a conversation on "prior art" (which actually has nothing to do with art, in case you were wondering).

If you decide to go check out the links, particularly the ones to the tech boards, please don't worry about trying to defend us.  We are perfectly content without being defended, and seriously, our feelings aren't hurt.  The differences between a specific AAC device and an app can be multi-layered and tricky to explain, and assuming that we just wanted the cheaper one (as opposed to the more fitting one) is a logical assumption.  Incorrect, of course, but logical.  And trying to explain undiagnosedness. . . well, I've encountered doctors who intially seem skeptical, so it doesn't phase me at all that non-medical, non-SN folks might have trouble wrapping their brains around it.

Without further ado:

Articles in the US:
A Little Girl Finds Her Voice Thanks to Threatened New iPad App (from TIME.com) This is the most comprehensive, balanced, fair article I've seen.  Plus, it has a super cute picture of Maya.

The Iceman Cometh, with his Legal Team (from supportforspecialneeds.com)  Robert Rummel-Hudson's perspective on the lawsuit, very interesting particularly because his daughter, Schuyler, has communicated with a device from PRC for the past 7 years. 

Patents Threaten to Silence a Little Girl, Literally (from techdirt.com)  (My favorite part of this one is that people keep misreading the title-here and on another site- as "parents" instead of "patents."  Well, that would change everything, wouldn't it?)

Patent Dispute Threatens to Silence 3-Year-Old  (from webpronews.com)

Who owns the tech to talk?  The human toll of patent warfare (from digitaltrends.com)




How Tech Patents Hurt Real People (from pcworld.com)

Patent Dispute Threatens to Silence 3-Year-Old (from O-I newswire)


Patent lawsuit threatens inexpensive iPad app to let autistic speak (from teleread.com)

On David A. Wheeler's Blog


**Parent Draws Attention to Patent War Over Communication App (on About.com's Children with Special Needs page)

**Patent lawsuit threatens inexpensive iPad app to let autistic speak (on TeleRead.com)


International:
In Russia: "Patent owners want to deprive the little girl voice"  (from habrahabr.ru) There's clearly some stuff lost in translation here, and I can't tell which stuff was misunderstood and which stuff just might translate to English poorly. The comments definitely don't translate well, although reading things like "hooligans of rob!" and "what is jaundice" made me smile this morning. Also, it makes me worry that when google auto-translates my blog I might sound like an idiot.

In France: "Patents: choose between copyright and the silence of a little girl" (from zdnet.fr)  Again, not perfectly translated.

In Scotland: "Software patent threatens disabled child" 

**From a Romanian blog: Software patents and their harmful (that title may not have translated correctly)

Other stuff (these conversations tend to be more technical in nature):
On Slashdot
On OSnews
On Reddit
On Metafilter


*By tidal wave, I mean that we've had over 37,000 hits since that post went up.  That's way more traffic than I typically get in a few days.

Goliath v. David, AAC style

Last week a large, profitable company sued a small start-up business for patent infringement.  As a non-legal person, I can only guess that this sort of thing must happen fairly often.  I would also guess that the large companies, which have the means to hire crackerjack legal teams and drag cases out, must often win.  And while I guess I feel bad for the small businesses, I’ve never really cared before now.
Because this time, the stakes are high.

This time, it’s my daughter’s voice on the line.  Literally.

My daughter, Maya, will turn four in May and she can’t speak.  The only word that she can consistently say with 100% clarity is “done”—which, while helpful, isn’t really enough to functionally communicate.   When Maya was two and a half we introduced her to the iPad, and we’ve danced with AAC (augmentative and alternative communication) ever since.  We experimented with a few communication apps, but nothing was a perfect fit.  After an extensive search for the perfect app, we found it:  Speak for Yourself.   Simple and brilliant, we saw that it had the potential to serve Maya into adulthood, but was also simple enough for her to start using immediately. 

And she liked it.  And it worked.  And I started to have little flashes of the future, in which she could rapidly tap out phrases and ideas and tell me more and more of the secret thoughts that fill her head—the ones that I’m hungry to hear and she’s dying to share but her uncooperative mouth just can’t get out. 

My kid is learning how to “talk.”  It’s breathtaking.

But now Speak for Yourself in under fire, and from a surprising (to an AAC outsider) or not-so-surprising (to an AAC insider) source.  They’re being sued by Semantic Compaction Systems and Prentke Romich Company, big names in the AAC world.  SCS and PRC allege that Speak for Yourself is infringing on their patents.  I’m going to be honest: I don’t know about patents and infringement, and I’m not going to get into debates about the legal merits of the case, because that’s a conversation in which I would quickly drown. 

And if you were in my shoes, you would see that the legal part isn’t the part that matters.

Here’s what matters:  It’s a very logical assumption (confirmed by the AAC professionals that I’ve spoken with) that if SCS/PRC win this lawsuit, they will eliminate Speak for Yourself, the app that my 3 year old is working her damnedest to learn. 

They will remove it from the market.  It will disappear.   They have no reason to keep it alive and one giant reason to kill it . . . money.   PRC can make around $9,000 by selling one of their communication devices, and only a few hundred per iPad app.  Hardware profits annihilate software profits.

Lest you think that I’m unfairly anti-communication device or pro-app, I point you to this post, in which I declared that an iPad app wouldn’t be good enough for Maya, that I was determined only a full communication device would serve her properly.  Shortly after writing that post we met with reps from PRC and Dynavox to explore their devices.  We were disappointed to see that the devices were too big (both literally and figuratively) for Maya.   It was clear that in a few years PRC’s device would fit, but I didn’t want to wait.  I sent emails out (to users, AAC experts, and company reps) asking about whether PRC was developing an app for the iPad, and the answer was a clear no.   

I went on to learn that customers have been requesting an app for quite some time from PRC, but they seem to have no interest in joining the iPad market, much to the dismay of the users.  And why not?  Why not make an app that could be used by some of their nonverbal consumers?  Why not create a more affordable alternative to the large devices, something that could conceivably bring a voice to many, many more nonverbal children and adults?  I want to think that it’s not just about the money . . . but it seems to clearly be just about the money.

Interestingly, PRC’s mission statement starts with “We Believe Everyone Deserves A Voice.”  Perhaps “We Believe Everyone Who Purchases Our Devices Deserves A Voice” or “We Believe Everyone Except Those Needing An Affordable App Deserves a Voice” might be more appropriate alternatives.

Speak for Yourself is a clever, unique app that presents thousands of words in a simple, accessible way.  It’s unlike anything that I’ve seen, and I’ve seen a lot.  The creators are speech therapists and AAC specialists, and they have been helpful and supportive and enthusiastic when I’ve reached out to them.   They seem to be sincerely invested in helping new users learn and use the app, and have been excited when I’ve emailed them about our little successes.  They seem to embrace “everyone deserves a voice” in a much more legitimate way than the plantiff in this case does.  (And I don’t work for them, by the way, I just believe in their product and what it can do for kids like Maya.)

Is it possible that SCS/PRC could win this case and keep the Speak for Yourself app alive? Yes . . . but not likely.  Is it possible that SCS/PRC could win this case, kill Speak for Yourself, and replace it with their own iPad app?  Yes . . . but not likely.  Is it possible that SCS/PRC could lose this case, that Speak for Yourself will win and the playing field will be leveled in a kind of amazing way? Yes.  Yes it is.  And boy, am I hopeful.

For my daughter, the bottom line isn’t about what happens in the courtroom, it’s about what happens to her app.   Her iPad, equipped with its special case and Speak for Yourself, is now her communication device.  She doesn’t care about who is making the money, or patent law, or big guys vs. little guys . . . she cares about being able to tell me that she wants milk instead of water, or she wants to go to the zoo, or about who she played with at school.

She wants to be able to talk. 

And shame on you, PRC, for threatening to take away the closest thing that she’s ever had to a voice. 

Maya, proudly holding her "talker"

  

 

 

Author's note: If you're interested in more responses to this story, please see this post, which links the articles and responses that have been published on other sites. 

Maya is self-directed (and not in a Woody Allen way)

Last week I found myself sitting in the principal's office.  Of Maya's school.  Because she's acting naughty.

(sigh)

Well, not naughty exactly.  Manipulative. Stubborn. Flightly. Indifferent.  (Those are all my words.)  In preschool language, she is what you would call self-directed, which kind of sounds like a nice thing.  She knows what she would like to do, and will go do it.  Issues arise, however, when her plan doesn't line up with her class's plan.  They're supposed to walk down the hall and she doesn't want to?  Well, maybe she'll just have a seat in the hallway.  She's supposed to practice climbing stairs in physical therapy, and that's not her idea of a good time?  Perhaps she'll just go all limp-noodle on the poor therapist.  She has to take sips from a cup before getting her water bottle?  Well, that's fine, she just won't drink at all, then.

I mentioned these issues last week (after speaking with her teacher) but I was kind of startled by the chat with the principal.  I mean, it's the principal, you know? 

I guess I shouldn't be surprised by this, as I have a killer stubborn streak.  I was always very compliant and pleasant at school, though, and while Maya has a handle on pleasant, the compliance isn't following along.

Interestingly, through the conversations with the teacher, therapists, and principal, I realized that Maya is more obedient at home than she is at school.  I have some theories as to why this is: there are less distractions at home, for one.  Secondly, she only deals with two adults at home, and our expectations have been clear for years.  At school there are many adults (regular teacher, music teacher, 4 therapists, 5 one-on-ones that rotate, depending on the day, the administration, etc). Maya is sly-if one person handles her slightly differently than the others, she will keep wiggling and pushing and looking for ways to get around rules.  Add to all of this the fact that she's cutting a molar and her sleep hasn't been great since the big girl bed switch, and we've got a smorsgabord of possible causes for her recent increase in semi-defiant behavior.

But that doesn't make it ok.

So we're taking some steps.  And, in case anyone else out there is in need of some pro-compliance activities (it can't just be us, right?) here's what we've got going on:

1. For the cup drinking (or, really, and targeted skill that your child is fighting):  I dug into the blog archives (they can be handy) and re-discovered this chart.  Maya's teacher modified it for drinking from the cup (the pictures are now drinking instead of eating, and the star is the same).  She has to take a certain number of sips from the cup before she gets the star--in this case, the water bottle.  It's working well.

2. For general lolligagging:  We got the Time Timer.  She doesn't fully understand it yet, but I can see a million uses for it.  For example, when she is refusing to take off her coat I can just set it for three minutes.  If her coat isn't off before it beeps, then I'll do something.  What?  Um . . .  I'm not sure yet.  Maybe put her bag of stickers in time out.  She loves her stickers.

3. For combatting total self-directed-ness: I'm going to be choosing some of our activities each afternoon.  The timer is going to help me out by showing her that there is a limit to my activity choice, but we will do the full time before we move on.   My choices will be functional---OT and/or academic in nature.  We're referring to my time as "Learning Time."

Learning Time started today.  Over the weekend we had a session with an OT that I love (wish we could just have her come by a few times a week, but we don't have the funds).  Luckily, she loves us too, and we did a session in which she primarily trained me on a pre-writing program that I can do at home.  We did 4 minutes today (which she thought would be an appropriate jumping off point, attention-span wise).  When she got distracted (only twice) I paused the timer, and when we were done I felt super accomplished--and Maya was proud, too :)

If you're thinking that you don't have a pre-writing program to try, don't worry.  I emailed the teacher explaining my Learning Time plan and she was all for it.  I asked her to keep an eye out for skills that I would be able to help reinforce at home and she's already sent me one idea.  Between your child's therapists, teacher(s), and Pinterest*, there are a million fun projects to do.

There are probably people who think "Eesh---therapy and academic stuff should be left for the therapists and teachers."  I just don't feel like that's the case for us.  I came away from today really enjoying the (tiny) session we had, working on a goal together, and Maya really liked it, too.  And since we can't afford unlimited therapy, and I feel like I'm smart and capable, I'm glad to jump in and fill some of those gaps.

If you've got any other tips or tricks, feel free to share them in the comments . . .


*FYI, I've heard that Pinterest is full of ideas.  I still haven't figured out Pinterest.
 

Necessity is the mother of invention (possible solution for iPad accidental hits)

It's been a few months now since we started using Speak for Yourself on the iPad for communication.  Maya loves it, and will nod vigorously if you ask her if she needs "the talker."  There's only one flaw to the app (and it's not just limited to this app)---accidental button pushes.  Often Maya will be reaching to touch something with her index finger, but her palm and other fingers foil her plan by bumping into the screen and hitting other buttons.  She accidentally says words, moves through screens, and closes apps that she wasn't intending to. 

Here's a visual:

See?  My intention is to touch the green button, but my hand is bumping the screen at 3 other points, accidentally pushing things.

It's been holding her back.  She often seems to not understand how she ends up on a screen and will then just pick her favorite word to say out of the choices in front of her.  When left on her own she ends up saying things that sound like this: milk-princess-animal-Daddy-Daddy-alligator-purple-milk-cereal bar-orange.  She has a great time, but it's not as purposeful as it could be.

I've tried different things to help her with accuracy.*  Sometimes I put a finger under her wrist to hold it off the screen . . . but this doesn't work well because she gets angry that I'm interfering with her communication, and she grabs my hand and pushes it away defiantly.  I've tried holding on to her index finger to help her reach the button she's aiming for and tap it . . . but in a heartbreaking twist she's starting doing her own hand-over-hand---using her right hand to try to steady her left index finger and tap the screen.  Focused and adorable, yet somehow sad that she's trying so, so hard, and knows that she can't trust one hand on its own.

A few nights ago I had an idea, and today I finally tried it out.  It worked.  But I think it could be improved upon.  (Also, it's entirely possible--probably, even--- that other people are doing this.  I'm not claiming to have invented this idea, but I haven't seen it mentioned so I thought I'd share.)

Here's what you need: 

-a pair of gloves that fits your kid

-a pair of scissors.

Step One: Cut the index finger off of the gloves.

Ta-da!

She's not thumbless.  Her thumb is buddied up in the index finger slot.

The gloves won't activate the screen.  Adults in cold climates are all too familiar with this, as you can't use your touchscreen phone with gloves unless you have special gloves.  So the only part of her hand that can now effectiely touch a button is her index finger. 

 The three fingers that are currently on the screen can't hit any buttons.

Using her pointer finger to hit a button.

This is the best picture, because her knuckles and the heel of her hand are actually resting on the iPad, but not activating any buttons!  She's able to take the time to line up her index finger and hit the button that she is intending to. Success!

Pros:

1. It works.  (Only one pro, but it's the biggest one ever.)

Cons:

1. She has to keep it on.  She managed to for a while tonight, but then wanted to take it on and off. 

2. She has to not eat it.  She likes to chew on stuff, and I can see the glove becoming a target.

3. We will need several pairs.  These are going to get dirty and I'll need back-up pairs.

4. The material isn't ideal-it's thick and bulky.

If I could design the ideal glove, here's what it would be like:**

1. Thin, stretchy fabric: something like nylon?  It would be lighter, more smooth, and less fun to chew.

2. Index finger missing or reinforced with conductive thread (which works on touchscreens). (I think fingerless is easier for her at this stage, though.)

3. Toddler and child sizes available

Eventually, you would want to cut the thumb out too, for apps that involves stretching or pinching things (you know, that motion with the thumb and index finger)---but right now Maya needs to have as little activating surface area as possible showing.

It's not a perfect solution, but it's a start.

*The creators of SfY are working on a keyguard that will help to address the issue of accidental button hits, but I'm trying to come up with something in the meantime.

**If you have any ideas on how I can make better gloves at home, let me know.  I don't sew.  This is foreign to me.

 

The muss & fuss of independence

Two weeks ago I had a little meeting with Maya’s preschool teacher.  I went in just to warn her about a possible issue with an upcoming field trip . . . little did I know that she had some things to discuss with me, too.  If I could sum up her points in one sentence, it would be this:  Maya is smart and capable, but stubborn and kind of a pain in the butt.

(Not that she would ever say that, of course.  I’ve taken license of parental rephrasing.)

Here are some examples:  Maya is capable of walking, and climbing stairs with support, but often refuses.  If it’s time for the class to transition to a different room and Maya doesn’t want to walk, she will simply sit on the floor like a stubborn puppy (with a sly smile).  She is capable of taking her coat off (alone) and putting it on (with assistance), but if she doesn’t feel like complying it takes some serious wrestling maneuvers (which she will either giggle or scream throughout, mood depending).  She can feed herself with a fork (I’ve seen her do an entire waffle without help) or her fingers, but it’s rare that she eats a meal independently, because she’s not really motivated.  If I stab the pieces and hand her the fork, maybe, but if I just leave the plate and fork on her tray she’ll play happily and ignore it until I start feeding her.

The teacher thinks that Maya would be able to keep up with a larger class next year, academically speaking. “She’s so smart” she tells me, and I smile on the outside and on the inside cheer I know, right?! That’s what I’ve thought, too!  But even with a one-to-one, she wouldn’t be able to swing it in a larger class right now because “her behavioral issues are holding her back.”

Hee hee.

This all kind of cracked me up.  Clever, but stubborn and manipulative?  Well, I can relate to that, and get behind it, too.  I guess part of me was secretly (or not so secretly) pleased . . . I’ll take smart and naughty over the alternative, I think.

But another part of me was disappointed with myself.  While talking with the teacher about incentives and sticker charts and self-dressing and feeding and promoting independence a little voice started to whisper to me, It's you--you’re doing it. You’re underestimating her. You’re not pushing her.  You’re making things too easy.

It’s true.  It’s unintentional, but it’s true.

I guess I’ve been so focused on communication stuff that independence has been way on the back burner.  I like her to walk instead of getting carried, but if she refuses to move I pick her up.  Usually we’re rushing somewhere and I don’t have time for fighting.  If she’s not eating by herself, I pop a piece of something into her mouth, lest dinner take an hour and dissolve into a tantrum.  Dressing her, changing her, putting on her coat---these are just things that I’ve always done, quickly and efficiently.  How did I miss the fact that it was time to start turning over the reins?

Since I scraped myself off the floor after my stay in the airport, I’ve been confident that Maya will do whatever she wants to.  I was certain she would walk, and I’m sure that she will speak, too.  I’ve spent a lot of energy thinking about and working towards the big goals, and somehow overlooked when it would be time to teach her the small things. 

I think this must be a normal parenting stage—realizing that your child is able to do some of the stuff that you’ve been doing for them, pushing them to pull up their own pants or wash their own hands or whatever.  But the special needs component adds a layer of complexity, I think. First, because (in my mind, at least) I fiercely want Maya to be independent in as many age appropriate ways as possible, to eliminate as many differences between her and her peers as I can.  And secondly, because she will likely need more practice to master these skills.  Stubborn streak aside, her fine and gross motor issues will make some of these tasks more complicated for her than for other 3-4 year olds.  I have to give her the opportunities to practice and practice and practice.

Since this meeting we’ve had some changes, big and small.  She moved into the big girl bed (which was planned pre-meeting, but the timing was fortuitous).  She’s putting her coat on (with help) and taking it off.  She’s learning to climb into her stroller, and I’m encouraging her to climb onto the couch with me (Encouraging to climb? Madness!). She pulls her pants up and down (mostly) and we’re doing more verbal prompts to eat before offering assistance.  I’m trying to look at her with fresh eyes instead of seeing the little girl that I’m used to doing so much for.

And you know what?  It’s changing her.  She is so proud of herself for being a big girl, trying new things on her own.  The smile when she carries her coat over to her chair and puts it down by herelf is positively gleeful.  There is frustration, but not nearly as much as I had anticipated.

We’re supposed to be working on drinking from a cup and it hasn’t been happening much, mostly because she enjoys dumping cups of liquid more than trying to drink them.  But we’re going to try again today because in the end, the mess will have been worth it.*

*Someone remind me of this later this week when I’m complaining about cleaning up spilled milk, again.

Uncommon Sense is up for an award!

I received an email late last night notifying me that Uncommon Sense has been selected as one of the 5 finalists for "Favorite Special-Needs Parenting Blog" in the About.com Reader's Choice Awards!  Thanks, everyone :) 

You can go to this page and check out all 5 of the finalists. 

Then, head to this voting page and cast a vote!  You can vote once a day from now until March 21st.  There's a little graphic thing where you can also see who's in the lead.  (I also put the little clickable vote icon on the upper right corner of the blog.)

I'm really psyched to have been nominated.  Also, a special thanks to the person whose quote was used to describe my blog, that was really nice to read :)

Princess Maya (half-hearted sigh)

Let me start by saying that I blame her school.  (Yes, her lovely, wonderful school that I love.)  This is all their fault.

The Friday before Christmas Maya came home with a little holiday gift (I'm not sure whether it was from her teachers or from the Santa that came to visit the school).  The bag contained a little finger puppet (a dragon, which she called an alligator and adored) and a book. 

This book:

She went bananas over it.  At first I thought it was because of the masks (masks are fun, and we would hold our fingers over our eyes as "masks" as we read) . . . but soon I realized no, it wasn't the mask, it was the princesses.

Princesses! (please imagine me saying princesses! the exact same way Seinfeld says Newman!)

Prior to this book, Maya had never encountered a princess.  We don't really watch tv, we didn't have any princessy books, and the thought of dress up gowns or shoes were laughable given her motor issues.  Here Maya, let's put on layers of poofy dress and plastic kitten heels and run around! 

I was cool with the lack of princesses because, on principle, I don't like them.  They're too thin and too perfect and too appearance oriented and too girly.  I've never been girly.  I love the fact that Maya's favorite things include alligators and dinosaurs, that she doesn't mind dirt.  I didn't want to introduce princesses as a standard of what makes girls good-beauty and dresses and pretty hair (and often, some codependency, it seems).

But damned if she didn't flip her little lid over the princess book.  She would grab my index finger and put my finger on a princess and wait, her code for "Name this, Mommy." And I would say "Belle, Tiana, Ariel" etc . . . and sure enough, now she knows their names.  She's in love with them. (And secretly, I kind of liked that she was into them.  It's very "typical little girl," and I like that if other girls had princess backpacks or whatever Maya would recognize them and share that interest.)

I didn't embrace the princess trend the way I embraced the alligators . . . I didn't want to discourage it, but I didn't want to overly encourage it, either.  We visited the "princess store" (Disney Store) but didn't buy any princess action figures or gear.  

Then we inherited a bag of hand-me-downs filled with princess stuff. A chair, a coat, a hat, cups, etc.  Maya was in heaven . . . and I started to cross over to the dark side.

You may have noticed the princess chair in this picture on the Facebook page:

 . . . as it turns out, it's much easier to get her to sit in one spot (for a snack, or a book) if I can say "Go sit in the princess chair." 

Then there's the coat. When I first saw it I laughed, "Oh my.  She might have to join the Ice Capades if she wears that jacket."  Dave thought she looked like one of the Pink Ladies from Grease.  I thought maybe we would just wear it around the house.

so happy that she wouldn't stand still enough for a picture

 . . . but, as it turns out, she's happy to put on the princess coat and head out the door. (Whereas putting on her normal coat sometimes involves some serious wrestling maneuvers.)

And then there's the princess hat . . .

 . . . aka "the only hat to have ever remained on her head for more than five consectutive minutes."

What can I do?  She's going to love them anyway.  I'm feeling very if-you-can't-beat-'em-join-'em.

Well, mostly join 'em.  I didn't buy her princess bedding because I knew she would love jungle animal bedding just as much.  We still only have the one princess book.  And I'm going to talk a lot about how the princesses are kind and share and use manners and sit still for their haircuts and  . . .  wait, what now?

Yes, when Maya was unenthused about getting a haircut today I may have leaned over into her stroller and whispered, "Don't you want to go get your haircut like a princess?!" 

I mean, I may as well make it work to my advantage, right?

Princess Maya, post-haircut

(PS-We also streamed a princess movie last night.  She was over the moon excited (clip below) but lost interest after about 2 minutes.  I think that's a happy compromise.)

Maya & the big girl bed

The day has finally arrived! 

(. . . drums a-rolling . . . )

Big girl bed day!!!

After Dave got home today we rushed to convert the crib into a toddler bed:

The crib in its final intact moment.

We got the toddler rail on and stood the crib back up, only to realize there was a big problem.  Poor kid wouldn't stand a chance of not rolling out of bed if the bed was tilted at this angle:

We quickly realized we needed to unscrew the feet from the crib wall we had removed and move them over.  (See the foot in the bottom of that picture?)

Problem solved. And adorable :)

Maya loved it and climbed right in . . .

 . . . and Parker loved that there was a perfect doggie-sized opening!

 After a minute or two she grabbed one of her "magazines" (Lakeshore catalogs) and got to work reading.

But she took a break to say, This is awesome!

With all of that enthusiasm, we weren't sure how bedtime would go down.  It went . . . well, see for yourself.  Here's a little video of her seeing the bed for the first time (this afternoon) and then going to sleep tonight (care of the freaking awesome video monitor that I did indeed buy):

 

So, right to sleep.  What a champ :) (And how cute was the little pop-up head?  Hee hee.  I love this video monitor already)

Tomorrow morning will be interesting.  It may be an IV coffee drip kind of day.

Change is a-comin

Look what arrived today:

That is a toddler bed rail.  Friday night we're converting the crib to a toddler bed.  It's going to be epic.

Maya is now 3 years 8 months old.  She's a big girl.  We've held off on transitioning to a bed under the if it ain't broke don't fix it philosophy.  She loves her crib and she's a great sleeper: she goes in quitely (worst case scenario is a minute or two of fussing), sleeps through the night (11-12 hours), and plays quietly in her crib when she wakes up (we'll hear her chattering, but she'll just flip through books, etc). 

(Don't send hate mail.  We know we're lucky.)

But the time has come.  She's coyly started to lift her leg up when she's standing in the crib, in a hey-maybe-I'll-just-climb-right-out teasing way.  With her, um, lack of coordination any attemps at climbing would land in a very hard fall.  She's just hinting at the idea of scaling the crib, but we're going to nip it in the bud.

Also, and I hate to admit this, but the crib is starting to feel a little like lazy parenting on my part.  It's blessedly easy to have her contained, but she should move into a bed now.  We should Maya-proof her room, and she should learn how to climb out of bed and make us crazy, and she should get to get up in the morning and pull all of her books out of her bookcase and make a big mess.  That's what kids do.  It's only fair.

We're waiting until Friday night because Dave & Maya are both off from school for the next week . . . and if we're going to be losing sleep, then we're all going to lose sleep together, dammit.

We've got a lot of logistical issues to think through: where to stash the fan that runs in her room at night (away from little fingers) and how to hide the cords to the air purifier.  I need to get door locks for her clost (french doors) so that her fingers don't get pinched.  We've got to put down some mats or pillows because I've got a feeling that sooner or later she's going to plummet to the floor. 

The most puzzling question is the door status: she's always slept with the door to her room closed.  It's dark and noise blocking.  I feel like we should keep that consistent (because closed door = bedtime) but I know I'm going to want to be able to peek in on her, and to make sure that she's safe.  I'm thinking about getting a video monitor (we still use a regular baby monitor-with all of our fans and air purifiers I would never hear her without it) but I'm not sure if that's smart parenting or helicopter parenting.  (If I take the plunge and get one I bet we'll see some adorable footage, though.)

I can't wait to see what happens on Friday :)