Every spring when I was teaching first grade, we planted bean seeds. Each child got a small cup of soil, a seed, and the very important job of checking on it every single day. We lined them up on the windowsill. We watered them. We waited. And then one morning, something would break through. It never got old. The excitement in that classroom when the first little sprout appeared, the running to the windowsill, the gasping, the calling across the room for friends to come look,

When my boys were little, there was a family of four who lived down the street. The mom was wonderfully quirky in the best possible way, and she introduced our neighborhood to the magic of “March 4th.” Each year on the 4th of March, her family invited all the neighborhood kids to “March Forth.” When the kids were small, this meant grabbing noisemakers, pots, and pans and parading down our little block with a dozen or so giggling children. It was loud. It was chaotic. It was j

It’s definitely not glamorous. And boring does not even begin to describe the days. Still, I am making it through with baby steps and the steady support of my family, friends, and community. It has been two weeks since the head on collision that landed me here. We were hit straight on by a drunk driver who entered our lane and accelerated directly at us. Our car on the left. In that time, I have left my house exactly twice. Once

I want to tell you a story I’ve been carrying in my heart this year. It’s about a little girl I’ll call Maya . When Maya first came to me, her parents were worried about reading.“She works so hard,” her mom said, “but it just doesn’t stick. ”They had tried tutoring, extra practice, new programs — all the usual routes. Maya was bright. Motivated. Trying her absolute best. But something wasn’t connecting. As soon as I began her NeuroDevelopmental Movement® assessment, I noticed