Uncategorized

A Thank You and a Statement on the future of The Olson & Son Hopyard

I Originally posted this at the new Olsonandsonhopyard.com but the information is just as pertinent here. Karin and I also want to take this transition as an opportunity to recharge pressure support.com. New posts and possibly even new writers (hint hint) coming soon!

Olson and Son Hopyard

Over the past two days the photos have been coming in from people wearing their brand new Olson & Son Hopyard T-shirts. It makes me incredibly happy and proud to see. I’ll be sharing some of the photos in another post soon, but I, of course, need to begin this one by thanking each and every one of you who have supported us in so many different ways. Yes – thank you to every one of you who has bought a shirt online or a beer glass at our Father’s Day event, but also thank you to all of you who have shared our story, and even everyone who follows, comments, and likes us on Instagram and Twitter. Thank You. Your support of us is noticed and appreciated more than you know.

Thank You.

Let me also start by saying that I am very happy with how well the website

View original post 1,198 more words

FullSizeRender (10)

Join the team with the Spring Olson & Son Hopyard T-shirt

FullSizeRender (10)

The 2016 Limited Edition Olson & Son Hopyard Logo T-shirt Sale is now live!  Click this link for details.

If you already have enough T-shirts, please feel free to share the link or this post to all your friends.

Proceeds will be used help offset the continued costs of Liam’s medical equipment as well as the replacement of hopyard ropes, mulch and any other things that help either Liam or the The Olson and Son Hopyard.

Thank you all so very much for your continued support of the Olson family! We greatly appreciate it.

Liam Love — Sunday June 19th 2016


Every day during the month of May, my father, Liam’s Grampa, made bowls in his pottery.  Like children, these bowls are one of a kind, made with love and in the moment. Rough around the edges these handmade stoneware bowls will be smooth and food safe inside. On June 19th, Father’s Day, My father and I hope that you can join us in the ISB Gallery of Rhode Island School of Design (55 Canal Walk, Providence RI) for Liam Love, a pottery sale to benefit the Liam the Lion Fund.

In addition to dozens of handmade unique stoneware bowls, the event will feature the unveiling of this year’s limited edition Olson & Son Hopyard t-shirt available for purchase in some sizes and orders for others, and also our brand new branded 12oz belgian beer glasses will be for sale.

Attendees will be treated to a retrospective exhibition of the wonderful paintings of Tom Sgouros! There will be light food, non-alcoholic beverages and even a few guitars around if you are so inclined to share a song! It promises to be a fun afternoon.

So come and celebrate Father’s Day with Liam, his father, and his father’s father. We hope to see you there, and if you know anyone who may be interested, feel free to share the link.

Special thanks to Susan Doyle, chair of Illustration at RISD and Michael Kolendowicz of the ISB Gallery for making this event possible.

 

 

Thoughts on our Halloween

It was actually Easter I think, a bunch of years ago, when Liam’s cousin Max saw us coming up the front walkway at Gramama’s house and bounded towards us with toy in hand. Racing toward us so quickly and at only three or four years old at the time, I could barely understand him as Max pushed the Darth Vader action figure into my hands. 

” the same, the same bleeding machine, he has bleeding machine!” His excitement proving that he had been waiting for us to get there just to show us.

” a bleeding machine?” I asked for clarification, as max let me have the toy and gently grabbed Liam’s hand to say hi to him. 

“No.” Max said and grabbed onto the circuit tubes connecting Liam’s trach to his ventilator. “BREATHING MACHINE.” He said. 

The same. The same. 

Better than even some adults who had met Liam in the early days, it isn’t as complicated as some would make it, his cousins got it. Like it was no big deal.

Darth Vader and his cousin Liam. They both need a breathing machine.

The same.

I’ve always loved that story and that moment, because in Max’s childlike enthusiasm he showed not only that he understood  what Liam needed but also that it was pretty cool.

I’m thinking Liam’s cousin Max would get a kick out of Liam’s Halloween costume this year. 

 

Darth Liam finds your lack of faith disturbing

 
Halloween can be tough one for us. Liam doesn’t eat by mouth so candy is out, most sidewalks and front walkways ( in our neighborhood anyway) aren’t wheelchair accessible, and even school has made costumes on Halloween against the rules, opting instead for a “spirit day” where all students are encouraged to wear black and orange, but NO COSTUMES! Either intimidated by the wheelchair ramp or because there just aren’t that many kids in the neighborhood we only got four trick-or-treaters so even making an event of that part of the night doesn’t work much for us. 

Basically, it’s hard not to feel isolated when nearly all aspects of the day do little but highlight how different our life as a family can be from so many of the people around us. Even dressing Liam in costume, an act that is essentially only for Facebook and Instagram, can be fraught with difficulty. 

Long time readers know how important Liam’s dignity and agency are to us. He is a little boy, he isn’t a doll, and so are we dressing him in costume for our entertainment or because society tells us that we must on Halloween. I don’t know. When he was a toddler it was easier. Choosing the right costume for a baby is always more for the parents whether going for adorability or irony (mad men characters? Game of Thrones? Donald Trump?) but at what age do we take into account what a non-verbal Liam wants or does not want to wear? We make it a point to ask Liam to choose his costume, and he does. We ask him if he feels comfortable when he’s wearing it which he generally does, and if he doesn’t it immediately comes off. Thankfully, target has come out with these hooded sweatshirts with a partial mask attached to the hood. Last year Liam was Captain America, this year he was everyone’s favorite Sith apprentice, while wearing nothing more than a hoodie. Awesome. (This is a blog that doesn’t do ‘brand engagement’ for a number of reasons. But thanks for these Target) they’re so awesome in fact that against the rules or not we send Liam to school in his costume anyway. I can’t wait until they try and tell us we shouldn’t have done it. Showing off his hoodie at school is just about the only Halloween thing he can do. 

This year we made the best of it. Unfortunately we spent a portion of Halloween at Liam’s pediatrician’s office (long story, he’s fine) but after that we celebrated on our own. Our way. After his grandparents visited with some little toys and crafts for his goodie bag (in lieu of candy), if I could have added large hinges to the wheelchair ramp and raised it like a drawbridge for the rest of the night I would have. We carved our pumpkins, we baked our seeds, we watched our Bruins (big win!) and soaked in being together as a family. 

Halloween can be a tough one for us. So we just stopped doing it. You guys do your thing with your candy and haunted houses and trick-or-treating, and crazy far out costumes. 

We’ll be at home, in our hoodies, being a family. It doesn’t always look like everyone else’s, and it can be vary isolating. 

But At least we have each other. 

Hoppy Halloween from the Olson & Son Hopyard

Screen Time. 

Timing. It’s about timing.

When games aren’t really games.

Wait for the ring to surround the space invader.

Hit the headswitch when it does.

*BOOM*

Explosions. Fireworks. Applause.

Change to the communication app.

It’s about timing.

Wait for the green box to surround the words you want to say.

Hit the headswitch when it does.

*BOOM*

“Yes”

*BOOM*

“Hi Mom”

*BOOM*

“I love you”

 

You guys can control the screen time of your kids all you want. I get it. It just doesn’t work for our family. An ipad with a headswitch acts as Liam’s voicebox, in the same way that his vent acts as his lungs. And not so long ago neither would be possible. Especially at home and not in an institution. Not so long ago, the technology wasn’t there.

It’s about timing.

*********************************************************************

 

The Limited Edition Olson & Son Hopyard T-shirts are still on sale at this link until September 1st. If you’d like the hottest Pressuresupport and hopyard gear do not miss out on this sale. We have achieved our goal number needed to guaranteeing a print run, so there’s no doubt that shirts will be shipping out about 10 days after the sale ends.

I want to thank everyone who has ordered, or shared the link for all of your help and support. So many people shared the sale page link that I was near tears at work trying to thank everyone as it was happening. It happened so quickly that I was overwhelmed by how many of you out there wanted to get the same shirt Liam and I wear. The Olson family appreciates all of you.

 

 

Picking Our Battles

Editor’s note: Due to a poorly designed web interface from wordpress, an incomplete, incoherent, and unedited first draft version of this post may have been sent to your inbox if you are an email follower to the blog. So if it reads familiar that is why I’m sorry about that, and about the multiple emails from me tonight. please give it another try for me. Here’s the blog as it should read.

The principal of Liam’s school during a very heated and contentious meeting that also included the director of pupil services and the superintendent of school for the city of East Providence (yes, even the supt of schools, you don’t want to piss me off when it comes to giving Liam the services he needs, he deserves, and he has a right to) once told us that she was offended by the fact that she had heard my wife describe our interactions to demand the wheelchair lift that she had promised as “battles”.

My son was being made to leave his school building up to 5 times a day to re-enter through a different entrance to be on the floor where his other classes (art, library, music) during rain and cold weather but she was offended by our use of the term “battle”.

Her solution, as winter quickly approached and there was still no accessibility for Liam and the handful of other students who use wheelchairs in the school, was to put him in the 3rd grade class for those subjects. 3rd grade, for a developmentally disabled kindergartner, because those classrooms were closer, as if he were a piece of furniture. yet SHE was offended that we used the word “battle”.

During the same meeting this principal was caught flat out lying to us about whether or not Liam was already being put into the classroom with third graders without our permission (helpful to have a nurse follow Liam’s every move and texting us when something feels hinky) yet she was offended that we used the term battle.

It was a battle and we told her so again.

It was a battle that we won.

The wheelchair lift was installed over the holiday break in january. We haven’t had to interact with the principal since. I’m sure she’s thankful of that. But the next time we do have to cross paths. that will be a battle as well.

Because when it comes to making sure that Liam gets the services, the equipment, the supplies and even the medicines that he needs, it is always a battle.

One that his mother and I are perfectly suited for, and happy to fight.

*****

The equipment company that takes over 10 months to fix the armrests on Liam’s chair after his orthopedist and physical therapist alerted them that his original rests were unsafe and he was at risk for getting his arms caught and/or dislocating his shoulders during a seizure. After months of phone calls and emails, and not only one but TWO scheduled appointments for an equipment technician to come to the house to fix the chair where the tech was a no-call no-show (with Liam staying home from school specifically for both) the tech finally, on the third try, arrived at our house with parts, only the parts that he brought weren’t the new ones, they were the exact same armrests already on his chair. Then we got to start from the beginning all over again, signatures from doctors, approvals from insurance companies, months and months of opportunity for Liam to be injured with unsafe conditions in his chair. Being blown off by uninterested “customer service reps”

A battle in every sense of the word.

It shouldn’t take a full school year to switch a part on a wheelchair when multiple medical professionals deem it unsafe, but this is the system we fight.

Twelve days ago the armrests on Liam’s chair were finally replaced.Still, after 10 months, I have a hard time calling that battle a win in our column.

*******

The pharmacy that despite knowing that Liam has been on a med for over four years refuses to carry a full refill supply of it. Whether for the saving of shelf space or a refusal to pay for it until it has been paid for by my insurance, every time we call for the re-fill we are given a “partial order”. ‘We can only give you a few doses. Come back in two days for the remainder’ they say, increasing the chance of an error.

Three days ago we were told that they would not re-fill Liam’s prescription. We should have enough for 14 more days the insurance company computer told them, and they would not give us any more until then. End of story.

Or so they thought. Karin can be very persuasive. She has to be. Our sniper of phone calls. Explaining to the poor sap working his part time shift as a pharmacy tech that he was plainly wrong, and that they had to go back and recheck how much volume we were given in our last ‘partial’ fill. That not only would we not take no for an answer, but that we would hold him and his company responsible when Liam would need to be admitted to the intensive care unit the next day because of the withdrawal he would experience if they failed to fix their mistake.

Yesterday they called and explained that they did an inventory of their supply and found that, what do you know, they did owe us 14 days worth of Liam’s medicine. found a whole bottle with his name on it and everything.

That happened this week, but similar situations with prescriptions have happened dozens of times before. Liam takes 11 different perscription medications, Many of them in large volumes that for some reason this enormously recognizable corportaion refuses to keep in stock. The battle against incompetence is very real.

*********

The medical supply company that provides Liam’s everyday supplies like trachs, trach ties and vent circuits, suction catheters and feeding pump bags, pulse oximeter probes and fenistrated gauze sponges. All the things that keep Liam in his home and not in a hospital but that you can’t just roll up to your local megamart and buy if you run out of them. Again, if we run out of many of these supplies our recourse for keeping Liam alive is a trip to the hospital until we recieve these supplies, so you would think that a person going on vacation or leaving the company for another job wouldn’t put my son at risk but of course, you’d be wrong.

Because even if these companies cared about the patients that rely on them (which they don’t) the patient is not their customer. The patient’s insurance company is and as long as those reimbursement checks and approvals keep coming in, they can and will treat their patients like garbage. Including sending out Liam’s monthly order of necessary items with invoices showing that they have been paid for, but many of the items just happen to be on “back order”. Nearly every other month, when we are washing and reusing what should be disposable felt ties that hold Liam’s trach in place at an exposure point for infection, it gives me such comfort to see that the company has already received the funds for those products. Essentially removing the motivation for them to rush those type of products out to us.

The patient is not their concern, their shareholders are, the insurance companies are, medicaid is. But make no mistake, it isn’t my son that they care about.

So they don’t like hearing my voice on the line, every month when we run out of the things that keep Liam alive. Where Karin is our sniper in battle over the phone; I am our nuclear bomb.

********

The oxygen delivery service that brings Liam his oxygen every other week decided last month that instead of delivering on Thursday they would be switching our delivery day to Tuesday. I shouldn’t be the one who has to point out to them that if you are changing us from thursday to tuesday that you have to make that change on the tuesday BEFORE the normal thursday delivery, or else we will run out of oxygen. I shouldn’t have to be since you would think the dispatch and delivery department for an oxygen delivery company would understand that people’s lives rely on them doing their job correctly.

You would think that, but you’d be wrong.

The job doesn’t get done correctly without a fight.  Without a phone call. Without a battle.

*********

School departments, insurance companies, medical supply and equipment companies. “Partners” in care. They arm themselves with bureaucracies, with paper, with seemingly automatic denials only to approve to anyone with the audacity to appeal. (how many people get an insurance denial and don’t think they can appeal? The math must work out in their favor.) They defend themselves with red tape, with their “policy”, with the incompetent at best and inconsiderate and uncaring “customer Service reps” at worst, and every single time, it puts my son’s life in danger.

Which is why we fight. Which is why we arm ourselves with emails, and phone calls, and documentation. It’s why I can be such an asshole on the phone. We fight incompetence with aggressiveness.

And we always win.  We have to.

Our son’s life depends on it.

WordPress Issues

In their infinite wisdom the brilliant minds at WordPress believe that they have come out with a great new way to create and enter posts for publishing to your wordpress blog. The problem though is that the interface is crap and while the sidebar of the window will scroll down the main part of the page does not move. The Publish button on some programs, Chrome to name one, hidden into just a tiny little sliver on the bottom of the screen. When inadvertently pushed  in error there is no recourse and so my unedited ramblings then get sent off to all of the followers to this blog, no doubt alerting all of my readers that I have forgotten how to form coherent thoughts or paragraphs.

So thanks for the great new way to create posts WordPress! Now when I try and delete the crappy post I wasn’t ready to publish to the public I’m getting an error message that you’re having problems moving my post to the trash.  Even better.

Just when I was getting back into this blogging thing.

If you recieved an email post from me a few minutes ago, please disregard it. I haven’t yet decided if I have the energy to go through and finish it now. I’m a bit frustrated.

It’ll Be Just Like Starting Over

I’m not sure where or when, but I lost it.

Sometime in the last year I lost my voice.

Not my speaking voice, as can be evidenced by my presentation at Hasbro Children’s Hospital for Pediatric Grand Rounds with the Brown University Medical School in January, or in March when I spoke in front of almost 400 social workers and case managers at the New England Fathering Conference. No, my speaking voice is just fine.

Not my advocacy voice, as this year I was elected to serve as the co-chair of the Hospital Wide Advisory Council for Patient and Family Centered Care at Women & Infants Hospital, along with my post on the Board of Directors at RIPIN. On top of that I spent the first three months of the year working every Saturday with the LEAD (Leadership, Equity,  and Advocacy for Dad’s) Speakers Bureau through the Children’s Welfare Institute at the Rhode Island College School of Social Work crafting our stories with other dads to lead policy changes in the health care, family court, and child support systems.

And after two paragraphs like those, it obviously isn’t my ‘bragging about myself’ voice that I can’t seem to find.

It isn’t even my writing voice. I’ve been doing plenty of writing, you’re just going to have to wait a while and pay anywhere from $7.99 to $15.99  in order to read it in book form someday (hopefully).

No, it’s my blogging voice that I lost.

But I’m determined to get it back.

Determined to make this work again the way I have in the past because you know all of those things I bragged about up in the beginning of this post?

Yeah, well none of those things would have even been possible without this blog. Sharing Liam’s story, our story, and listening to you, all of you, in your comments and emails, and tweets, has been the only thing to give me enough confidence to stick my neck out and claim to have any expertise on something, for the first time in my life.

So until I can get back into a rhythm, I’ll start out small. There will be some short posts I’m sure. Maybe it will be a while before I’m back to big long 2,000 word essays again. Sometimes it might even be only a picture.

But there will be posting again.

Because lately I’ve been feeling guilty that I’ve abandoned this space that helped me find my true passion and calling for public speaking and advocacy. Because lately I’ve been feeling guilty that I have “abandoned” so many people who care about Liam and want to hear how he is doing now that he has finished kindergarten (!!!!!).

Because lately I’ve been feeling so guilty that NOT posting has become harder than regularly posting ever was.

Thanks for reading again.

It’s time for me to get my voice back.

Liam the Ninja and his new Belt. 

Editors note: Look I didn’t mean to take nearly 6 months off of regular blogging. It just kind of happened. But I’m back now. I mean it, but before I get to any of the cool new stuff I want to blog about I have to tell you this story first. Because it is an awesome story, and also because I should have posted it last October right when it happened. So let’s just move past the fact that I haven’t yet posted in 2015 mmmkay? thanks.

 

 

We almost didn’t make it to see Walter at all. (You’ve heard me talk about Walter in my speech here) The President was visiting Rhode Island for the first time in a generation that night, and with most of the exits off the highway between providence and the airport in Warwick manned by state troopers, and traffic at a near stand still for the evening, we were 25 minutes into the drive and still less than 5 miles away from our house, and close to 10 miles away from our destination. Karin floated the idea out there.

“I’ll just text Walter that we aren’t going to make it. This is nuts, it’s going to be over before we even make it there.” She said.

“No, Walter has been talking about this for months. We have to make it.” I said through gritted teeth and clenched jaw as my frustration at the interstate becoming a parking lot grew. “It obviously means so much to him, we have to make sure Liam makes it there.”

After ten years of teaching karate, Walter, Liam’s nurse for the past 4 years, had asked if we would bring Liam to the final class of his closing dojo. We were happy to be a part of it for Walter. Happy that it meant so much to Walter that Liam attend, but we had no idea why Walter wanted him to be there, and why he was so excited that we promised to be there. It wasn’t much of a choice really, after Walter had attended so many of our own family events, birthday parties, thanksgiving dinners, and milestones like first days of school, it was now Liam’s turn to be at something that meant so much to his big buddy Walter. Our full-time nurse, and part-time ninja.

“You made it!” Walter couldn’t have been more excited when he saw us wheel Liam into the room. About 25 students of all ages, in their Gis, kicking and punching in an impressive display for their family and friends around the room, while we tried to sneak in along the wall and take a place in the back so as not to distract from Walter’s night.

Walter wouldn’t have it though, and only a few minutes after we got settled the sensei addressed his students for the last time. A few minutes in to an already emotional speech Walter started telling the whole room about his patient and buddy Mr. Liam.

 

I don’t remember where Walter was going with the start of “it’s unfortunate … ” before the video cuts out but just know that it was incredibly sweet and inspiring words about Liam’s strength and determination. And then, in what was a total surprise to Karin and I, Walter presented Liam with his honorary Black Belt.  Embroidered with Liam The Lion Olson and a certificate in Japanese and everything.

Yes that’s right, ‘In recognition of his perserverance and indomitable spirit fighting the odds, and proving that nothing is impossible with hard work and the support of others’ (according to the translation side of the certificate) Karin and I are now the proud parents of a black belt, and we were blown away by the kidness. It was just Liam’s nurse Walter deciding to do something nice. Something he didn’t have to do at all. Something that still means the world to us.

For the remainder of the evening all of the students from children to adults in the class would make their way up to Liam to meet him. Every one of them bowing and calling him ‘sir’ as he was a black belt now, a title worthy of respect, while Karin and I, blown away by such a generous gesture and the incredible speech that Walter gave about Liam’s strength and determination, tried to figure out how we would ever be able to thank Walter and his entire family for such an evening.

An evening we almost didn’t even make it to.

I’m so glad that we did.

Thank you again Walter, Amy and the all the kids. You guys rock and Liam is a lucky kid to have you all in his life

 

 

Liam meets Santa

For almost ten years I’ve called Evelyn a friend but I suppose acquaintance would be more accurate. Walking past her desk every morning on my way to my own our talks would range from 15 second hellos to 20 minute complaint sessions about the Red Sox. She even took these photos, as we passed her desk on the day Liam was discharged from the NICU. (I wrote about that day and these photos here.)

For ten years I’ve called Evelynn a friend. After yesterday, and what she and her family did for Liam, I feel like I should call her family, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to thank her enough.

*****

“Hey Eric, have you taken Liam to get his picture taken with Santa yet this year ?” She asked, the beginning of last week, as I made my way into the office.

 

“Hmmm, No. Actually Liam hasn’t ever met Santa Claus yet, we just can’t wait in a germy line of kids at the mall or anything. Someday though, and he’s almost 6 years old now so soon I hope.” I explained, but Evelynn asks about Liam every day. She knows the deal.

 

“PERFECT!!” She shouted ” what are you doing next Saturday? You have to come to my sister’s house.” She picked up the phone in front of her and held a finger up to make sure I didn’t walk away. “Yeah, it’s me, what time on Saturday? Liam is going to come….. Liam!, that kid I was telling you about. His family is going to come on Saturday. Ok. I’ll let him know.” She hung up the phone and that was that. On my way into work on a monday morning I somehow had made plans to go to someone from work’s sister’s house for dinner on Saturday night. And I still wasn’t exactly sure why.

Evelynn had to explain.

If we came to her sister’s house on Saturday night, Liam would finally get to meet Santa.

******

Evelynn’s sister’s family had had her own children’s pictures taken with Santa and Mrs. Claus at a local restaurant from when they were infants until they were in college. With all the kids home for the holiday this year they had hoped to continue the tradition with a picture of their nearly adult children but the restaurant now closed leaving them without a place for Santa to see them this year. Until Evelynn’s sister had run into Mrs. Claus somewhere shopping. Mrs. Claus explained that Santa would be happy to stop by her house to take the picture, and a date was set. Plans were made.

Santa was coming, and by Evelynn’s thoughtfulness, and her entire family’s boundless generosity, it turned into one of the most magical evenings of my life.

We arrived a little early, and after getting Liam’s chair up the portable ramp we travel with, introductions were made. Introductions made so warm and comfortable that we were instantly set at an ease of familiarity among a group of strangers and one acquaintance. No one asked about Liam’s chair, or his syndrome, or his wheelchair, but each and every one of them pinched his cheeks, and said hello, and told him how handsome he was. A house filled with relatives and lifelong friends who instantly treated us as one of their own.

And when they all heard that Liam had never before met Santa Claus, the entire party seemed to change from a oppurtunity for them to relive old family traditions to a celebration of their part in starting a new one for us.

*****

And then Santa arrived and met Liam.

/home/wpcom/public_html/wp-content/blogs.dir/9e5/14859762/files/2014/12/img_3141.jpg

Along with Mrs. Claus and their elf helper Tiny, Santa was able to stay for about 45 minutes. He sat, holding Liam’s hand and whispering in his ear for easily 35 of them. Concerned that we were monopolizing Santa’s time too much, many in the room with their own camera’s firing away and with joyful happy tears in their eyes waved away my concern telling us and Liam to take as much time as we wanted. They would ultimately get their own pictures taken but their patience and interest in being a part of Liam’s first exposure to Santa was truly a testament to the power of the Christmas Spirit as hokey and Charlie Brown Christmas as that may sound.

/home/wpcom/public_html/wp-content/blogs.dir/9e5/14859762/files/2014/12/img_3140.jpg

Liam had slept for almost 22 hours that day. A rough end to the week with seizures induced a medicine change on friday night which wiped him right out for most of Saturday. Most but not all, for when St. Nick was whispering in his ear and holding his hand, Liam was wide-eyed and alert, engaged in communication and tugging for dear life on Santa’s beard with his free hand. Liam won’t tell me what they talked about. He won’t even tell me if Santa told him if he’s on the nice list or not. Whatever Santa had to say to Liam will always stay between them. I like that.

/home/wpcom/public_html/wp-content/blogs.dir/9e5/14859762/files/2014/12/img_3146.jpg

After Santa had to leave and get back to his busy week-before-Christmas schedule, we stayed and we ate dinner and we got to know everyone a little better. When they found out that Liam’s birthday is the day after Christmas the whole group of our new friends sang Happy Birthday to him. We left happy and to invitations for future plans including a repeat holiday visit next year if possible, and as we made our way out the front door and down the ramp the first snow of the season here started sticking to the ground.

It was downright magical.

The magic of friendship, the magic of a kind and open-hearted family, and the magic of Liam’s positivity and love.

But, I think most of all, it was the magic of Santa.

 

/home/wpcom/public_html/wp-content/blogs.dir/9e5/14859762/files/2014/12/img_3147.jpg