The Buddy Walk has so far been an exception. A big day, full of big activities, throngs of people, an organized walk of thousands, loud music, you name it, the Buddy Walk is a great big ball of sensory overload. This is kind of why I am not so sure about her triggers. Knowing that Buddy Walk day is about her, she is always able to relax, take it all in, and have fun. No whining anywhere to be found. It's pretty astounding, really. And this year's, held two weeks ago, was probably the best one of all. My little hostess with the mostest hammed it up, played, socialized, and posed like a pro.
|Pics look familiar on the sign? Perhaps a little *outdated?* My printer was out of ink and I couldn't print out new photos the night before the event, so I just left everything from last year and changed the date. :-)|
|With her 1st grade teacher of last year and her former AP.|
|With Charlie. Love that kid.|
|With Cinderella, new mom of an 8-week old. LOL|
|With a sleeker, slimmer Batman than last year.|
She gravitated towards the music like a moth to a flame, keeping just enough distance between her and the speakers to stay comfortable. The kid seriously can't dance (sorry, baby, to your future self who may be reading this...), and for anyone who may or may not have witnessed her mother trying to teach her to crump, my humble apologies for what you may or may not have seen, and for any injuries you may or may not have sustained, either physically from trying to poke your eyes out, or emotionally (Note: I am *not* willing to pay your therapy bills). Just goes to prove the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, except at least she's cuter.
Bubbles = pure joy. Like she could have possibly experienced any more pure joy that day. Seriously.
And, for the cherry on top, a milestone achieved that surprised us all, including herself, I think. I've tried to get her to get her face painted so many times in the past, and each time, she balked, refusing to even entertain the idea. On our way back to our camp from the petting zoo, we passed the face-painting tent. On a whim, fully expecting her usual resistance, I asked if she'd like to get hers done. I took advantage of her silence and the brief flicker of interest, and quickly steered her towards an empty chair, making a fast selection of the same flower on the face of the girl doing the painting, willing everyone around us to stay silent, lest they ruin the moment and send her skittering away with nothing.
Once the artist began, Samantha was fully-engaged, while I still held my breath.
And this look said it all.